st at the tea-table and rejoicest in
the rattling of cups: Who were they that attended St. Symphorian's
Church on this Sunday morning? First, there were the Misses
Limpenny, in black tabbinet dresses and lace shawls; a cameo brooch
adorned the throat of each, and from her waist a reticule depended.
These first directed the gold-bound optic glass at the strangers'
pew. Behind them sat the Doctor and his wife, the one conspicuous
for his black stock, the other for a shawl of Paisley workmanship.
Next, the Harbour-master, tall Mr. Stripp, with his daughters
Tryphena and Tryphosa; nor would Mrs. Stripp have been absent had she
not been buried some years before. Yellow-haired were both the
daughters, and few knew better the prevailing fashion in dress; these
whispered concerning Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys' costume. By them sat Mr.
Moggridge, the poet, good at the responses, and Sam Buzza, his
friend, whom few Trojans excelled in casting glances at the female
congregation. Then, most gorgeous and bravest of all, the Admiral:
he wore again his gold-laced coat, but the cocked-hat rested
underneath the seat, and none could fathom the import of his gaze.
By him sat his three daughters, a-row, in straight-backed dresses of
like cut and colour, and peeped over their prayer-books; and Mrs.
Buzza, timorous, in bright green satin. But of the throng of Trojan
men and women, not though I had a hundred mouths, etc., etc.

"Her dress must have cost nine shillings a yard if it cost a penny,"
said Miss Limpenny when they were outside in the open air.
She looked at the ground as she said so, for she could forget neither
the Nightcap nor the Telescope.

The Admiral was silent.

"She is very lovely," remarked Mrs. Buzza, "and did you remark how
the Vicar paused in the Litany when he came to 'all the Nobility'?"

"I was particularly careful to pray for Lord Sinkport," said Calypso,
innocently.

Still the Admiral was silent. That afternoon Mrs. Buzza, stealing
softly into the back parlour lest she should disturb her lord, was
amazed, in place of the usual recumbent form with a bandanna over its
face, to find him sitting up, wide awake, and staring gloomily.

"My dear--" she began in her confusion.

The Admiral turned a Gorgon stare upon her, but made no answer.
Under its petrifying influence she backed out without another word,
to communicate with the girls upon the portent.

This mood of the Admiral's lasted all day. Next morning, at