'Do you not dance, my child ?' 'Not till the music strikes up,' rejoined Rose.

'I suppose we shall have to eat first.' 'That is the Hamlet of the pic-nic play, I believe,' said her mother.
'Of course you dance, don't you, Countess ?' Rose inquired, for the sake of amiable conversation.
The Countess's head signified: 'Oh, no! quite out of the question': she held up a little bit of her mournful draperies, adding: 'Besides, you, dear child, know your company, and can select; I do not, and cannot do so.

I understand we have a most varied assembly!' Rose shut her eyes, and then looked at her mother.

Lady Jocelyn's face was undisturbed; but while her eyes were still upon the Countess, she drew her head gently back, imperceptibly.

If anything, she was admiring the lady; but Rose could be no placid philosophic spectator of what was to her a horrible assumption and hypocrisy.