 clearer distinction
of ranks and a dimmer distinction of parties; so that Mr. Brooke's miscellaneous
invitations seemed to belong to that general laxity which came from his
inordinate travel and habit of taking too much in the form of ideas.
    Already, as Miss Brooke passed out of the dining-room, opportunity was found
for some interjectional »asides.«
    »A fine woman, Miss Brooke! an uncommonly fine woman, by God!« said Mr.
Standish, the old lawyer, who had been so long concerned with the landed gentry
that he had become landed himself, and used that oath in a deep-mouthed manner
as a sort of armorial bearings, stamping the speech of a man who held a good
position.
    Mr. Bulstrode, the banker, seemed to be addressed, but that gentleman
disliked coarseness and profanity, and merely bowed. The remark was taken up by
Mr. Chichely, a middle-aged bachelor and coursing celebrity, who had a
complexion something like an Easter egg, a few hairs carefully arranged, and a
carriage implying the consciousness of a distinguished appearance.
    »Yes, but not my style of woman: I like a woman who lays herself out a
little more to please us. There should be a little filigree about a woman -
something of the coquette. A man likes a sort of challenge. The more of a dead
set she makes at you the better.«
    »There's some truth in that,« said Mr. Standish, disposed to be genial.
»And, by God, it's usually the way with them. I suppose it answers some wise
ends: Providence made them so, eh, Bulstrode?«
    »I should be disposed to refer coquetry to another source,« said Mr.
Bulstrode. »I should rather refer it to the devil.«
    »Ay, to be sure, there should be a little devil in a woman,« said Mr.
Chichely, whose study of the fair sex seemed to have been detrimental to his
theology. »And I like them blond, with a certain gait, and a swan neck. Between
ourselves, the mayor's daughter is more to my taste than Miss Brooke or Miss
Celia either. If I were a marrying man I should choose Miss Vincy before either
of them.«
    »Well, make up, make up,« said Mr. Standish, jocosely; »you see the
middle-aged fellows carry the day.«
    Mr. Chichely shook his head with much meaning: he was not going to incur the
certainty of being accepted by the
