"It never cost a pound, making and all," suggested another Barkingtonian nymph.
"But what splendid pearls!" said a third: "can they be real?"
"Real! what an idea!" ejaculated a fourth: "who puts on real pearls as big as peas with muslin at twenty pence the yard?"
"Weasels!" muttered Alfred, and quivered all over: and he felt to Mrs. Dodd so like a savage going to spring, that she laid her hand upon his wrist, and said gently, but with authority, "Be calm, sir! and oblige me by not noticing these people."
Then they threw dirt on her bouquet, and then on her shoes, while she was winding in and out before their eyes a Grace, and her soft muslin drifting and flowing like an appropriate cloud round a young goddess.
"A little starch would make it set out better. It's as limp as a towel on the line."
"I'll be sworn it was washed at home."
"Do let us move," whispered Alfred.
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