pale-blue ribbon, and, to the woman now looking at her, suggested an
interesting survival of the Victorian age. Quite old ladies had worn
such caps when she, Blanche Farrow, was a child!

The rest of Miss Burnaby's costume consisted of a high black silk dress,
trimmed with splendid point lace.

Miss Burnaby was evidently enjoying herself. She had taken a glass of
sherry, was showing no fear of her champagne, and had just helped
herself substantially to the delicious sole which was one of the special
triumphs of the French _chef_ who had come down for a month to Wyndfell
Hall. He and Miss Farrow had discussed to-night's menu together that
morning, and he had spoken with modest enthusiasm of this _Sole à la
Cardinal_....

On the other side of the host sat Helen Brabazon.

Blanche looked at the late Mrs. Varick's one intimate friend with
critical interest. Yes, Miss Brabazon looked Somebody, though a somewhat
old-fashioned Somebody, considering that she was still quite a young
woman. She had good hair, a good complexion, and clear, honest-looking
hazel eyes; but not her kindest friends would have called her pretty.
What charm she had depended on her look of perfect health, and her
alert, intelligent expression of face. Miss Farrow, who was well read,
and, indeed, had a fine taste in literature, told herself suddenly that
Miss Brabazon was rather her idea of Jane Austen's Emma! Her dark-blue
velvet dress, though it set off her pretty skin, and the complexion
which was one of her best points, yet was absurdly old, for a girl.
Doubtless Miss Brabazon's gown had been designed by the same dressmaker
who had made her mother's presentation dress some thirty years before.