dalwood chair, somewhat insulated by
a surrounding sea of polished floor. She sat with a smile on her lips,
quite still, save for the continual movement of her white hands on her
black lap. To her gray hair some lace of Chantilly was pinned with a
little diamond brooch, and hung behind her delicate but rather long
ears. And from her shoulders was depended a silvery garment, of stuff
that looked like the mail shirt of a fairy, reaching the ground on
either side. A tacit agreement had evidently been come to, that she was
incapable of discussing 'the Land' or those other subjects such as the
French murder, the Russian opera, the Chinese pictures, and the doings
of one, L---- , whose fate was just then in the air, so that she sat
alone.

And Nedda thought: 'How much more of a lady she looks than anybody here!
There's something deep in her to rest on that isn't in the Bigwigs;
perhaps it's because she's of a different generation.' And, getting up,
she went over and sat down beside her on a little chair.

Frances Freeland rose at once and said:

"Now, my darling, you can't be comfortable in that tiny chair. You must
take mine."

"Oh, no, Granny; please!"

"Oh, yes; but you must! It's so comfortable, and I've simply been
longing to sit in the chair you're in. Now, darling, to please me!"

Seeing that a prolonged struggle would follow if she did not get up,
Nedda rose and changed chairs.

"Do you like these week-ends, Granny?"

Frances Freeland seemed to draw her smile more resolutely across her
face. With her perfect articulation, in which there was, however, no
trace of bigwiggery, she answered:

"I think they're most interesting, darling. It's so nice to see new
people. Of course you don't get to know them, but it's very amusing to
watch, especially the head-dresses!" And sinking her voice: "Just look
at that one with the feather going straight up; did you ever see such a
guy?" and she cackled with a very gentle archness. Gazing at that
almost priceless feather, trying to reach God, Nedda felt suddenly how
completely she was in her grandmother's little camp; how entirely she
disliked bigwiggery.

Frances Freeland's voice brought her round.

"Do you know, darling, I've found the most splendid thing for eyebrows?
You just put a little on every night and it keeps them in perfect order.
I must give you my little pot."

"I don't like grease, Granny."

"Oh! but this isn't grease, darling. It's a special thing; and