It was almost nine o'clock by this time, and she rang for lights, subsiding into a low chair while the servant brought them.

The candles flickered in the light breeze that fanned fitfully through the room, and, finding it difficult to read, the Countess sent for Miss Skeat.
"What a tiny little world it is!" said Margaret, by way of opening the conversation.
Miss Skeat sat down by the table.

She was thin and yellow, and her bones were on the outside.

She wore gold-rimmed eyeglasses, and was well dressed, in plain black, with a single white ruffle about her long and sinewy neck.

She was hideous, but she had a certain touch of dignified elegance, and her face looked trustworthy and not unkind.
"Apropos of anything especial ?" asked she, seeing that the Countess expected her to say something.
"Do you remember when I dropped my parasol at Heidelberg ?" "Perfectly," replied Miss Skeat.
"And the man who picked it up, and who looked like Niemann in _Lohengrin_ ?" "Yes, and who must have been a professor.