She felt terribly conscious of being the centre of observation, and rather overpowered by the novelty of her attire, which was plainly creating a sensation. Octavia, however, who was far more looked at, was entirely oblivious of the painful prominence of her position. She remained standing in the middle of the room, talking to Lucia, who had approached to greet her. She was so much taller than Lucia, that she looked very tall indeed by contrast, and also very wonderfully dressed. Lucia's white muslin was one of Miss Chickie's fifteen, and was, in a "genteel" way, very suggestive of Slowbridge. Suspended from Octavia's waist by a long loop of the embroidered ribbon, was a little round fan, of downy pale-blue feathers, and with this she played as she talked; but Lucia, having nothing to play with, could only stand with her little hands hanging at her sides.
"I have never been to an afternoon tea like this before," Octavia said. "It is nothing like a kettle-drum."
"I am not sure that I know what a kettle-drum is," Lucia answered. "They have them in London, I think; but I have never been to London."
"They have them in New York," said Octavia; "and they are a crowded sort of afternoon parties, where ladies go in carriage-toilet, not evening dress. People are rushing in and out all the time."
Lucia glanced around the room and smiled.
"That is very unlike this," she remarked.
"Well," said Octavia, "I should think that, after all, this might be nicer."
Which was very civil.
Lucia glanced around again—this time rather stealthily—at Lady Theobald. Then she glanced back at Octavia.
"But it isn't," she said, in an undertone.
Octavia began to laugh. They were on a new and familiar footing from that moment.
"I said 'it might,'" she answered.
She was not afraid, any longer, of finding the evening stupid. If there were no young men, there was at least a young woman who was in sympathy with her. She
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