Mr.Weston waited a short time to give affairs time to right themselves, but at length determined to inquire into the cause of the confusion.
As he passed through the long hall, the faces of his ancestors looked down upon him by the dim light.

There was a fair young lady, with an arm white as snow, unconcealed by a sleeve, unless the fall of a rich border of lace from her shoulder could be called by that name.

Her golden hair was brushed back from her forehead, and fell in masses over her shoulders.

Her face was slightly turned, and there was a smile playing about her mouth.
Next her was a grave-looking cavalier, her husband.

There were old men, with powdered hair and the rich dress of bygone times.
There were the hoop and the brocades, and the stomacher, and the fair bosom, against which a rose leaned, well satisfied with its lounging place.