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A little desultory conversation goes on among these
stair-loungers,--conversation mingled with much dreary yawning,--a
trained opera-singer is shaking forth chromatic roulades and trills in
the great drawing-room above,--there is an incessant stream of people
coming and going,--there is the rustle of silk and satin,--perfume,
shaken out of lace kerchiefs, and bouquets oppresses the warm air,--the
heat is excessive,--and there is a never-ending monotonous hum of
voices, only broken at rare intervals by the "society laugh"--that
unmeaning giggle on the part of the women,--that strained "ha, ha, ha!"
on the part of the men, which is but the faint ghostly echo of the
farewell voice of true mirth.
Presently, out of the ladies' cloak-room come two fascinating
figures--the one plump and matronly, with grey hair and a capacious neck
glittering with diamonds,--the other a slim girl in pale pink, with dark
eyes and a ravishing complexion, for whom the lazy gentlemen on the
stairs make immediate and respectful room.


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