For Janet was arrayed in a close-fitting pale blue dress, cut in semblance of an ancient kirtle, and with a huge chatelaine, from which massive chains dangled, not to say clattered--not merely the ordinary appendages of a young lady, but a pair of compasses, a safety inkstand, and a microscope. Her dark hair was strained back from a face not calculated to bear exposure, and was wound round a silver arrow. Elfie shook with laughter, murmuring-- “Oh dear! what a fright!” in accents which Miss Ogilvie tried to hush; while Babie observed, as a sort of excuse, “Janet always is a figure of fun when she is picturesque.” “My dear, I hope you are not going to show yourself to any one in that dress,” added her mother. “It is perfectly correct,” said Janet, “studied from an old Italian costume.” “The Marchioness of Carabbas, in my old fairy-tale book. Oh, yes, I see!” and Babie went off again in an ecstatic fit of laughter. “I hope you’ve got boots and a tail ready for George,” added Bobus. “Being a tiger already, he may serve as cat.” Therewith the post came in, and broke up the discourse; for Babie had a letter from Eton, from Armine who was shut up with a sore throat. Her mother was less happy. She had asked a holiday for the next day for her two Eton boys and their cousin John, and the reply had been that though for two of the party there could be no objection, her elder boy was under punishment for one of the wild escapades to which he was too apt to pervert his excellent abilities. “Are not they coming, mother?” asked Babie. “Armie does not say.” “Unfortunately Jock has got kept in again.” “Poor Jock!” said Bobus; “sixpence a day, and no expectations, would have been better pasture for his brains.” “Yes,” said his mother with a sigh, “I doubt if we are any of us much the better or the wiser for Belforest.” “The wiser, I’m sure, because we’ve got Miss Ogilvie,” cried Babie. “Do I hear babes uttering the words of wisdom?” asked Allen, coming into the room, and pretending to pull her hair, as the school-room party rose from the breakfast-table, and he met them with outstretched hands. “Ay, to despise Lag-last,” said Elvira, darting out of his reach, and tossing her dark locks at him as she hid behind a fern plant in the window; and there was a laughing scuffle, ended by Miss Ogilvie, who swept the children away to the school-room, while Allen came to the table, where his mother had poured out his coffee, and still waited to preside over his breakfast, though she had long finished her own.