There was his mother, with those two great friends of hers, Lady Emily Blanchard and the Hon.

Mrs.Vavasour; there was Her Grace's mother, Mrs.P.Tunster (an enormously stout lady); there was Miss Helen Crasper, who was staying in the house.

These people were gathered at the end of the cot, and they looked down upon Henry Fitzgeorge, and he lay upon his back, gazed at them thoughtfully, and clenched and unclenched his fat hands.
Opposite his cot were some very wide windows, and three windows were filled with galleons of cloud--fat, bolster, swelling vessels, white, save where, in their curving sails, they had caught a faint radiance from the hidden sun.

In fine procession, against the blue, they passed along.

Very faint and muffled there came up from the Square the lingering notes of "Robin Adair." This is a Wednesday afternoon, and it is the lady with the black straw hat who is singing.