And from her shoulders was depended a silvery garment, of stuff that looked like the mail shirt of a fairy, reaching the ground on either side.

A tacit agreement had evidently been come to, that she was incapable of discussing 'the Land' or those other subjects such as the French murder, the Russian opera, the Chinese pictures, and the doings of one, L---- , whose fate was just then in the air, so that she sat alone.
And Nedda thought: 'How much more of a lady she looks than anybody here! There's something deep in her to rest on that isn't in the Bigwigs; perhaps it's because she's of a different generation.' And, getting up, she went over and sat down beside her on a little chair.
Frances Freeland rose at once and said: "Now, my darling, you can't be comfortable in that tiny chair.

You must take mine." "Oh, no, Granny; please!" "Oh, yes; but you must! It's so comfortable, and I've simply been longing to sit in the chair you're in.

Now, darling, to please me!" Seeing that a prolonged struggle would follow if she did not get up, Nedda rose and changed chairs.
"Do you like these week-ends, Granny ?" Frances Freeland seemed to draw her smile more resolutely across her face.

With her perfect articulation, in which there was, however, no trace of bigwiggery, she answered: "I think they're most interesting, darling.