Lizzie went about laughing, laughing at everybody, looking for something to laugh at everywhere. Now and then she would stop suddenly to contemplate the vision she had created.
“If Connie didn’t wear a bustle—or, oh my dear, if Mr. Hancock did——”
“Mr. Hancock!” Clear, firm laughter, chiming and tinkling.
“Goodness! To think how many ridiculous people there are in the world!”
“I believe you see something ridiculous in me.”
“Only when—only when——”
She swung her parasol in time to her sing-song. She wouldn’t say when.
“Lizzie—not—not when I’m in my black lace fichu and the little round hat?”
“Oh, dear me—no. Not then.”
The little round hat, Lizzie wore one like it herself, tilted forward, perched on her chignon.