The trumpet blew, the drum beat, the fiddlers swung into a quick, staccato air, and Darden's Audrey, leaving the post which she had touched some seconds in advance of the foremost of those with whom she had raced, came forward to receive the guinea.
The straight, short skirt of dull blue linen could not hide the lines of the young limbs; beneath the thin, white, sleeveless bodice showed the tint of the flesh, the rise and fall of the bosom.

The bare feet trod the grass lightly and firmly; the brown eyes looked from under the dogwood chaplet in a gaze that was serious, innocent, and unashamed.

To Audrey they were only people out of a fairy tale,--all those gay folk, dressed in silks and with curled hair.

They lived in "great houses," and men and women were born to till their fields, to row their boats, to doff hats or curtsy as they passed.

They were not real; if you pricked them they would not bleed.