"It was bad weather for their broods. You never saw such a
scurrying, pin feathers sticking every which way. The proudest hour of
Hughy Bellmer's life was when the march started, and he walked beside
Helen--same parade as always--through that wide hall between the Astor
gallery and the big ball room; committeemen and patronesses at the head
and the line tailing. You may believe the plumes drooped and the war paint
trickled. Nelly was the only girl looked at. Milly, you should have been
there? Headache? You look pale beside Helen."
"Oh, I don't hope to rival Nelly's colour; she looks like--like somebody's
'_Femme Peinte par Elle-meme_.'" said Milly with a laugh that might
have been innocent. Since Ned's entrance she had grown white and my cheeks
had burned, until there was reason for her jest.
"Is Mr. Bellmer handsome--handsome enough to be Nelly's partner?"
persisted Ethel, impatient for her gossip--to her it's all there is of
gayety. "And is Lord Strathay--nice?"
"Mr. Bellmer's an overgrown cherub with a monocle," I laughed. Ned shall
not think me one of those odious, fortune-hunting girls.
"Hughy's pretty good-looking, Ethie," said Meg, amiably; "and the best
fellow in the world; but probably not of a calibre to interest a college
girl.
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