making their steps with the utmost precision, bearing themselves with
sufficient decorum for a court ball. After a while the men began to
itch for a turn, and two of them, taking hold of one another in the
most approved fashion, waltzed round the circle with the gravity of
judges.

All at once there was a cry: 'There's Liza!' And several members of
the group turned and called out: 'Oo, look at Liza!'

The dancers stopped to see the sight, and the organ-grinder, having
come to the end of his tune, ceased turning the handle and looked to
see what was the excitement.

'Oo, Liza!' they called out. 'Look at Liza; oo, I sy!'

It was a young girl of about eighteen, with dark eyes, and an enormous
fringe, puffed-out and curled and frizzed, covering her whole forehead
from side to side, and coming down to meet her eyebrows. She was
dressed in brilliant violet, with great lappets of velvet, and she had
on her head an enormous black hat covered with feathers.

'I sy, ain't she got up dossy?' called out the groups at the doors, as
she passed.

'Dressed ter death, and kill the fashion; that's wot I calls it.'

Liza saw what a sensation she was creating; she arched her back and
lifted her head, and walked down the street, swaying her body from
side to side, and swaggering along as though the whole place belonged
to her.