gown of black gauze, with a row of sparkling crescents, stars, and
clusters, about the low line of the corsage.

"Isn't she lovely?" whispered Miss Leslie. "_She_ got a French Duke. But
she deserved her luck. She's sweet."

All were very _décolletée_.

"Reminds one of the days when slaves were put up on sale at the mart,
not far from this very spot," murmured Chapman.

One sprightly matron entered with an imperious air, and was immediately
surrounded.

"Who's she?" inquired Andrew, scornfully. "Why, her frock and gloves are
soiled, and her hair's dyed."

"Oh, she's out of sight, my boy! Once in a while they do look like that.
She's going to lead things this summer. Wish she'd hurry up!" Then he
named a number of people to Webb.

The band on the platform facing the triple row of seats at the far end
began a waltz. Most of the men were elderly and well preserved. They
danced with the girls. The half-dozen youths improved their chances by
assiduous attentions to the unwieldy dames. Andrew thought that his
princesses danced very badly. Many of them were taller than the men, and
looked about to go head first over the shoulders whose support they
seemed to disdain. The little ones bounded like rubber balls. The old
women formed groups and gossiped. A number sat about a plethoric lady,
whose diamonds made her look like a crystal chandelier. Chapman informed