"And Elfie?" asked Mrs. Brownlow.
"I'm not so late as Janet," she answered; and the others laughed at
the self-defence before the attack.
"It is a lazy little Elf in town," said Miss Ogilvie; "in the country
she is up and out at impossible hours."
"Good morning, Janet," said Bobus, at that moment, "or rather, 'Marry
come up, mistress mine, good lack, nothing is lacking to thee save a
pointed hood graceless.'"
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.
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