Then they threw dirt on her bouquet, and then on her shoes, while she was
winding in and out before their eyes a Grace, and her soft muslin
drifting and flowing like an appropriate cloud round a young goddess.

"A little starch would make it set out better. It's as limp as a towel on
the line."

"I'll be sworn it was washed at home."

"Where it was made."

"I call it a rag, not a gown."

"Do let us move," whispered Alfred.

"I am very comfortable here," whispered Mrs. Dodd. "How can these things
annoy my ears while I have eyes? Look at her: she is the best-dressed
lady in the room; her muslin is Indian, and of a quality unknown to these
provincial shopkeepers; a rajah gave it us: her pearls were my mother's,
and have been in every court in Europe; and she herself is beautiful,
would be beautiful dressed like the dowdies who are criticising her: and
I think, sir, she dances as well as any lady can encumbered with an Atom
that does not know the figure." All this with the utmost placidity.

Then, as if to extinguish all doubt, Julia flung them a heavenly smile;
she had been furtively watching them all the time, and she saw they were
talking about her.

The other Oxonian squeezed up to Hardie. "Do you know the beauty? She
smiled your way.