'I think I would rather wait for father, if you will excuse me, please.'

'Your father is busy now; it is no use for you to think of saying
anything to him.'

Picotee followed her guide up a back staircase to the height of several
flights, and then, crossing a landing, they descended to the upper part
of the front stairs.

'Now look over the balustrade, and you will see them all in a minute,'
said Mrs. Menlove. 'O, you need not be timid; you can look out as far as
you like. We are all independent here; no slavery for us: it is not as
it is in the country, where servants are considered to be of different
blood and bone from their employers, and to have no eyes for anything but
their work. Here they are coming.'

Picotee then had the pleasure of looking down upon a series of human
crowns--some black, some white, some strangely built upon, some smooth
and shining--descending the staircase in disordered column and great
discomfort, their owners trying to talk, but breaking off in the midst of
syllables to look to their footing. The young girl's eyes had not
drooped over the handrail more than a few moments when she softly
exclaimed, 'There she is, there she is! How lovely she looks, does she
not?'

'Who?' said Mrs. Menlove.

Picotee recollected herself, and hastily drew in her impulses. 'My dear
mistress,' she said blandly. 'That is she on Mr. Doncastle's arm. And
look, who is that funny old man the elderly lady is helping downstairs?'