of ladies and their attendants.

Of these the most prominent was a slim, tall, elderly lady, with
large, dark, soft eyes, that spoke of a vanished youth and beauty from
her heavily wrinkled face. She was the Dowager Lady Dalrymple, and
acted toward the rest of the party in the multifarious capacity of
chaperon, general, courier, guide, philosopher, friend, and Mentor.

Next came Mrs. Willoughby, a widow of great beauty and fascination, a
brunette, good-natured, clever, and shrewd. I might here pause, and go
into no end of raptures on the various qualities of this lady's
character; but, on the whole, I think I'd better not, as they will be
sufficiently apparent before the end of this story is reached.

Then there was Miss Minnie Fay, sister to Mrs. Willoughby, and utterly
unlike her in every respect. Minnie was a blonde, with blue eyes,
golden hair cut short and clustering about her little head, little bit
of a mouth, with very red, plump lips, and very white teeth. Minnie
was very small, and very elegant in shape, in gesture, in dress, in
every attitude and every movement. The most striking thing about her,
however, was the expression of her eyes and her face. There was about
her brow the glory of perfect innocence. Her eyes had a glance of
unfathomable melancholy, mingled with childlike trust in the
particular person upon whom her gaze was fastened. Minnie was
considered by all her friends as a child--was treated as a
child--humored, petted, coaxed, indulged, and talked to as a child.
Minnie, on her part, thought, spoke, lived, moved, and acted as a
child. She fretted, she teased, she pouted, she cried, she did every
thing as a child does; and thus carried up to the age of eighteen the
bloom and charm of eight.