I've found out a great many things in that way, my dear, which were not suspected." Presently a glass at the other end of the room that was bobbing up and down and about at everybody and thing--at the ceiling, and the wall, and the carpet--discovering the rouge upon cheeks whose ruddy freshness charmed less perceptive eyes--reducing the prettiest lace to the smallest terms in substance and price--detecting base cotton with one fell glance, and the part of the old dress ingeniously furbished to do duty as new--this philosophic and critical glass presently encountered Mrs.Dagon's in mid-career.

The two ladies behind the glasses glared at each other for a moment, then bowed and nodded, like two Chinese idols set up on end at each extremity of the room.
"Good-evening, dear, good Mrs.Winslow Orry," said the smiling eyes of Mrs.Dagon to that lady.

"How doubly scraggy you look in that worn-out old sea-green satin!" said the smiling old lady to herself.
"How do, darling Mrs.Dagon ?" said the responsive glance of Mrs.Orry, with the most gracious effulgence of aspect, as she glared across the room--inwardly thinking, "What a silly old hag to lug that cotton lace cape all over town!" People poured in.

The rooms began to swarm.

There was a warm odor of kid gloves, scent-bags, and heliotrope.