’ ‘I beg your pardon?’ said Miss Froxfield frostily. “I first saw you crossing the river Arno, after a spring rain had spoiled the day for everyone except the ducks. ” She nodded. A stomacher, fastened by imitationdiamond buckles, girded that part of her person, which should have been a waist; a coral necklace encircled her throat, and a few black patches, or mouches, as they were termed, served as a foil to the bloom of her cheek and chin. These were so outside her experience that she found it possible to thrust them almost out of sight by saying they would be “all right” in confident tones to herself. The cloth nearly touches the floor. What had she to do with such as these? She had hard work to keep a smiling face, as Mrs.
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