The Venetians by Mary Elizabeth Braddon

While the Lancers were being danced to the good old hilarious tunes, which always give an air of boisterous gaiety to a public ball-room, Vansittart, ignoring all further obligations to his home party, went in search of little Mr. Tivett, so that by impounding that gentleman he should make sure of an introduction to Miss Marchant before the next dance.

He found the agreeable Tivett in an anteroom, an apartment much affected by sitters out, and peculiarly congenial to flirtation, where the good little man had found agreeable occupation in pinning up the lace flounce of a portly matron in yellow satin, not too portly to indulge in round dances, which imparted an alarmingly purple shade to the pearly whiteness of her complexion. "Only mother-of-pearl," as Mr. Tivett said afterwards. "You may be quite happy about your Mechlin, dear lady," said Tivett, after planting the last pin; "nothing but the stitches gone. No harm done to your lovely lace, I assure you."