|On the Makaloa Mat LondonJack Publishedabllbd

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the other hand, the musicians,
having a much weaker light, could hardly be discerned by the
performers in the dance.
The music was now rattling on, and the ladies in their foam-like
dresses were busily threading and spinning about the floor, when
Faith, casually looking up into her brother's face, was surprised to
see that a change had come over it. At the end of the quadrille he
leant across to her before she had time to speak, and said quietly,
'She's here!'
'Who?' said Faith, for she had not heard the words of the coachman.
'Ethelberta.'
'Which is she?' asked Faith, peeping through with the keenest
interest.
'The one who has the skirts of her dress looped up with convolvulus
flowers--the one with her hair fastened in a sort of Venus knot
behind; she has just been dancing with that perfumed piece of a man
they call Mr. Ladywell--it is he with the high eyebrows arched like
a girl's.' He added, with a wrinkled smile, 'I cannot for my life
see anybody answering to the character of husband to her, for every
man takes notice of her.'
They were interrupted by another dance being called for, and then,
his fingers tapping about upon the keys as mechanically as fowls
pecking at barleycorns, Christopher yilai：
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On the Makaloa Mat LondonJack Publishedabmbpf