Farnsworth has told us all about it! I don't know what you mean by this masquerade. But it's over now, and you must come into the drawing-room at once! Take off that apron and cap, and put on your collar and bow again." "Oh, Mrs. Brewster, I can't go into the drawing-room. All your guests have on their evening things, and this is a morning frock!" "Nonsense, child, come right along in.
On a platform at the farther side a row of men and women sat against the canvas wall; to their left a folding organ had been erected, and was presided over by a man with a blurred, greyish countenance; while, standing at the forefront of the platform, a large, heavy man in a black frock coat was addressing the assemblage.
"It it isn't quite suitable here," and there was just enough suggestion in the point of her fan to make him think of his frock. "It is an unpardonable truth that if we stay any longer I shall make people talk about you." He turned astonished eyes upon her, eyes in which she remembered afterward there was absolutely nothing but a literal and pained apprehension of what she said.
So varied it is, so cosmopolitan, that if you sit there patiently enough, and watch sharply enough you will even see a chance New Yorker. From door to desk Jock's eyes swept. The afternoon-tea crowd, in paradise feathers, and furs, and frock coats swam back and forth.
"This is exacting too much; 'all that you can desire, is beyond my power to make her; but I will try to make her a comfort to you. I have good ground to work upon, and I hope you will have reason to think, that I have not neglected the soil." As Mr. Bruce was returning to his carriage, his daughter, who was descending the stairs with a clean frock, flew to him, exclaiming, "do say you forgive me!
They had both spoken as if they two were alone in the room. Dosia, who had withdrawn to the ottoman some paces away, out of the radius of the lamp, sat there in her white cotton frock, leaning a little forward, her hands clasped loosely in her lap, her face upraised and her eyes looking somewhere beyond.
Seeking its cause she found von Rittenheim's eyes fixed on herself, so full of love and longing and sadness that her one wish was to comfort him. Involuntarily she took a step towards him, and held out her hands. Then she remembered herself, and swept him a low courtesy, as if in thanks for the admiration of his gaze. "You like my frock, M. le Baron?" she asked.
They were so dainty, so fragile I With their delicate yellowed laces! They were so soft and faded with age! Each little frock was packed by itself in a yellowed linen case, each had shoes and stockings and sometimes a gay little head dress folded away with it. Short-waisted, scant skirted "Oh! Oh!" cried Felice, "these are the ones I love best of all! These are the ones I'll wear! Oh Margot!
She had never once in her life dined in the same frock as she had worn during the day and hardly ever in the company of men in morning clothes. This cheap restaurant, where the food and cooking were good but the appointments meagre, struck her as strangely as if she had been made to eat in a kitchen.
"Hurry!" cried Tom, panting as he rushed across the lawn; and they reached the gate just as a stout, elderly woman and a pale-faced little girl, dressed in a quaintly-frilled black frock, paused for one moment before it.