The shining floor was covered with moving figures.
Every one was there. Under the Gallery, surveying the world like Boadicea
her faithful Britons, was Lady St. Leath, her white hair piled high above
her pink baby face, that had the inquiring haughty expression of a
cockatoo wondering whether it is being offered a lump of sugar or an
insult. On either side of her sat two of her daughters, Lady Rose and Lady
Mary, plain and patient.
Near her, in a complacent chattering row, were some of the more important
of the Cathedral and County set. There were the Marriotts from Maple
Durham, fat, sixty, and amiable; old Colonel Wotherston, who had fought in
the Crimea; Sir Henry Byles with his large purple nose; little Major
Garnet, the kindest bachelor in the County; the Marquesas, who had more
pedigree than pennies; Mrs. Sampson in bright lilac, and an especially bad
attack of neuralgia; Mrs. Combermere, sheathed in cloth of gold and very
jolly; Mrs. Ryle, humble in grey silk; Ellen Stiles in cherry colour; Mrs.
Trudon, Mrs. Forrester and Mrs. D'Arcy, their chins nearly touching over
eager confidences; Dr.
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