A handsome middle-aged lady in dark velvet; a gentleman who might be her son--the best face, the finest figure, I thought, I had ever seen; a third person in a pink dress and black lace mantle.
I noted them all--the third person as well as the other two--and for the fraction of a moment believed them all strangers, thus receiving an impartial impression of their appearance.

But the impression was hardly felt and not fixed, before the consciousness that I faced a great mirror, filling a compartment between two pillars, dispelled it: the party was our own party.

Thus for the first, and perhaps only time in my life, I enjoyed the "giftie" of seeing myself as others see me.

No need to dwell on the result.

It brought a jar of discord, a pang of regret; it was not flattering, yet, after all, I ought to be thankful; it might have been worse.
At last, we were seated in places commanding a good general view of that vast and dazzling, but warm and cheerful hall.