She had time in the afternoons to do crewelwork and embroidery, no longer occupied by the constant spinning of wool. Better take these sandwiches. Her father had determined on a new line. Few approached the émigrés directly, preferring to stare covertly from behind their fans, while pretending to admire the simple elegance of Lady Bicknacre’s neo-classical refurbishments. Sheppard's dress—extremely neat and clean, but simply fashioned, and of the plainest and most unpretending material,—offered nothing assailable; and her demeanour was so humble, and her looks so modest, that—if she had been ill-looking—she might, possibly, have escaped the shafts of malice preparing to be levelled against her. "Here!" shrieked Lady Trafford.
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