"Is Miss Rathbone here?"

Before he could reply, there was an ecstatic cry behind him: "Sally!"
And another in front of him: "Nell!"

In the very nick of time he slipped aside, and thus avoided the
inconvenience of being crushed to pulp between two locomotives under
full steam. It appeared that they had not met for some years, Sally
having been in London. The reunion was an affecting sight, and such a
sight as had never before been witnessed in James's house. The little
room seemed to be full of fashionable women, to be all gloves, frills,
hat, parasol, veil, and whirling flowers; also scent. They kissed,
through Sally's veil first, and then she lifted the veil, and four
vermilion lips clung together. Sally was even taller than Helen, with a
solid waist; and older, more brazen. They both sat down. Fashionable
women have a manner of sitting down quite different from that of
ordinary women, such as the wives of James's tenants. They only touch
the back of the chair at the top. They don't loll, but they only escape
lolling by dint of gracefulness. It is an affair of curves, slants,
descents, nicely calculated. They elaborately lead your eye downwards
over gradually increasing expanses, and naturally you expect to see
their feet--and you don't see their feet. The thing is apt to be
disturbing to unhabituated beholders.

Then fashionable women always begin their conversation right off. There
are no modest or shy or decently awkward silences at the start. They
slip into a conversation as a duck into water. In three minutes Helen
had told Sarah Swetnam everything about her leaving the school, and
about her establishment with her great-stepuncle. And Sarah seemed