’ Lady Bicknacre, resplendent in purple satin, and basking in her triumphantly full rooms—for it was obvious that her patronage of the refugees had set a quickly to be followed fashion—was all sorrow and sympathy when Gerald spoke of them. She would just have to show up and hope for the best. ‘I—I mean, she were—’ ‘Pretty as a picture?’ suggested Gerald. Every window, from the groundfloor to the garret had its occupant, and the roofs were covered with spectators. O'Higgins struck a match and lit his Henry Clay, thereby drawing upon himself the mutual disapproval of the spinsters. He turned to Mrs. E. He remained talking with her however.
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