"Last time we met," said Mr. Salvin, "was at the Farquhars. Poor lady!
She has much to put up with."
"Doesn't she look charming?" exclaimed Miss Eliot, as Clara Durrant passed them.
"And which of them…?" asked Mr. Salvin, dropping his voice and speaking in quizzical tones.
"There are so many …" Miss Eliot replied. Three young men stood at the doorway looking about for their hostess.
"You don't remember Elizabeth as I do," said Mr. Salvin, "dancing Highland reels at Banchorie. Clara lacks her mother's spirit. Clara is a little pale."
"What different people one sees here!" said Miss Eliot.
"Happily we are not governed by the evening papers," said Mr. Salvin.
"I never read them," said Miss Eliot. "I know nothing about politics," she added.
"The piano is in tune," said Clara, passing them, "but we may have to ask some one to move it for us."
"Are they going to dance?" asked Mr. Salvin.