"That's the Marquis of Blackborough," said the young man--"the one
in the white coat. I heard him speak the other night in the House
of Lords; it was something about ramrods; he called them 'wamwods.'
He's an awful swell."

"Did you ever see anything like the way they are pinned back?"
Mrs. Westgate resumed. "They never know where to stop."

"They do nothing but stop," said Willie Woodley. "It prevents them
from walking. Here comes a great celebrity--Lady Beatrice Bellevue.
She's awfully fast; see what little steps she takes."

"Well, my dear," Mrs. Westgate pursued, "I hope you are getting some ideas
for your couturiere?"

"I am getting plenty of ideas," said Bessie, "but I don't know
that my couturiere would appreciate them."

Willie Woodley presently perceived a friend on horseback,
who drove up beside the barrier of the Row and beckoned to him.
He went forward, and the crowd of pedestrians closed about him,
so that for some ten minutes he was hidden from sight.
At last he reappeared, bringing a gentleman with him--a gentleman
whom Bessie at first supposed to be his friend dismounted.
But at a second glance she found herself looking at Lord Lambeth,
who was shaking hands with her sister.

"I found him over there," said Willie Woodley, "and I told
him you were here."