The great ball in honour of Lord Belpher's coming-of-age was at its

height. The reporter of the Belpher Intelligencer and Farmers'

Guide, who was present in his official capacity, and had been

allowed by butler Keggs to take a peep at the scene through a

side-door, justly observed in his account of the proceedings next

day that the 'tout ensemble was fairylike', and described the

company as 'a galaxy of fair women and brave men'. The floor was

crowded with all that was best and noblest in the county; so that a

half-brick, hurled at any given moment, must infallibly have spilt

blue blood. Peers stepped on the toes of knights; honorables bumped

into the spines of baronets. Probably the only titled person in the

whole of the surrounding country who was not playing his part in

the glittering scene was Lord Marshmoreton; who, on discovering

that his private study had been converted into a cloakroom, had

retired to bed with a pipe and a copy of Roses Red and Roses White,

by Emily Ann Mackintosh (Popgood, Crooly & Co.), which he was to

discover--after he was between the sheets, and it was too late to

repair the error--was not, as he had supposed, a treatise on his

favourite hobby, but a novel of stearine sentimentality dealing

with the adventures of a pure young English girl and an artist

named Claude.

George, from the shaded seclusion of a gallery, looked down upon

the brilliant throng with impatience. It seemed to him that he had

been doing this all his life. The novelty of the experience had

long since ceased to divert him. It was all just like the second

act of an old-fashioned musical comedy (Act Two: The Ballroom,

Grantchester Towers: One Week Later)--a resemblance which was

heightened for him by the fact that the band had more than once

played dead and buried melodies of his own composition, of which he

had wearied a full eighteen months back.

A complete absence of obstacles had attended his intrusion into the

castle. A brief interview with a motherly old lady, whom even

Albert seemed to treat with respect, and who, it appeared was Mrs.

Digby, the house-keeper; followed by an even briefer encounter with

Keggs (fussy and irritable with responsibility, and, even while

talking to George carrying on two other conversations on topics of

the moment), and he was past the censors and free for one night

only to add his presence to the chosen inside the walls of Belpher.

His duties were to stand in this gallery, and with the assistance

of one of the maids to minister to the comfort of such of the

dancers as should use it as a sitting-out place. None had so far

made their appearance, the superior attractions of the main floor

having exercised a great appeal; and for the past hour George had

been alone with the maid and his thoughts. The maid, having asked

George if he knew her cousin Frank, who had been in America nearly

a year, and having received a reply in the negative, seemed to be

disappointed in him, and to lose interest, and had not spoken for

twenty minutes.




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