"All young ladies dress alike now, aunt; there's really not much distinction: they seemed all black and white to me."
"Certainly the balls don't look half so gay as they used to do: a little colour gives cheerfulness, I think." (The good old lady herself had worn crimson satin and a suite of chrysolites—if her theory were correct, she was enough to have spread a glow over the whole company.) "But let me see;—tall, with pearls, you say; dark hair and eyes?"
"Yes."
"You must mean Lucy Fielding."
"Nonsense, my dear Ma'am—I beg a thousand pardons; but I was introduced to Miss Fielding, and danced with her—she squints."
"My dear Frank, don't say such a thing!—she will have half the Strathinnis property when she comes of age. But let me see again. Had she a white rose in her hair?"
"She had, I think; or something like it."
"It might have been Lord Dunham's youngest daughter, who is just come out—she was there for an hour or so."
"No, no, aunt: I know her by sight too—a pale gawky thing, with an arm and hand like a prize-fighter's—oh no!"
"Upon my word, my dear nephew, you young men give yourselves abominable airs: call her a very fine young woman, and I've no doubt she will marry well, though she hasn't much fortune. Was it Miss Cassilis, then?—white tulle over satin, looped with roses, with gold sprigs"——