"You're off to the meet ?" "I am.

Look at the day!" Chloe Fairmile, who was standing in her riding-habit at the window of the Duchess's morning-room, turned to greet her hostess.
A mild November sun shone on the garden and the woods, and Chloe's face--the more exquisite as a rule for its slight, strange withering--had caught a freshness from the morning.
The Duchess was embraced, and bore it; she herself never kissed anybody.
"You always look well, my dear, in a habit, and you know it.

Tell me what I shall do with this invitation." "From Lady Warton?
May I look ?" Chloe took a much blotted and crossed letter from the Duchess's hand.
"What were her governesses about ?" said the Duchess, pointing to it.
"_Really_--the education of our class! Read it!" ...

"Can I persuade you to come--and bring Mrs.Fairmile--next Tuesday to dinner, to meet Roger Barnes and his wife?
I groan at the thought, for I think she is quite one of the most disagreeable little creatures I ever saw.

But Warton says I must--a Lord-Lieutenant can't pick and choose!--and people as rich as they are have to be considered.