When Mr. Sim, with his wife and daughter, entered the room, there was a stare of wonderment amongst the company.  No one spoke to them, no one bowed to them.  The spirit of dumbness seemed to have smitten the assembly.  But a general whispering, like the hissing of a congregation of adders, succeeded the silence.  Then, at the head of the room, the voices of women rose sharp, angry, and loud.  Six or eight, who appeared as the representatives of the company, were in earnest and excited conversation with the stewards; and the words—­“low people!”—­“vulgar!” —­“not to be borne!”—­“cheese! faugh!”—­“impertinence!”—­“must be humbled!” —­became audible throughout the room.  One of the stewards, a Mr. Morris of Morris House, approached Mr. Sim, and said—­

“You, sir, are Mr. Sim, I believe, late grocer and cheesemonger in Carlisle?”

“I suppose, sir,” replied the other, “you know that without me telling you; if you do not, you have some right to know me.”

“Well, sir,” continued the steward of the assembly, “I come to inform you that you have made a mistake.  This is not a social dance amongst tradesmen, but an assembly of ladies and gentlemen; therefore, sir, your presence cannot be allowed here.”

Poor Maria became blind, the hundred different head-dresses seemed to float around her.  She clung to her father’s arm for support.  Her mother was in an agony of indignation.

“Sir,” said Mr. Sim, “I don’t know what you call gentlemen; but if it be not genteel to have sold teas and groceries, it is at least more honourable than to use them and never pay for them.  You will remember, sir, there is a considerable sum standing against you in my books; and if the money be not paid to me tonight, you shall have less space to dance in before morning.”

“Insolent barbarian!” exclaimed Squire Morris, stamping his foot upon the floor.

Mrs. Sim screamed; Maria’s head fell upon her father’s shoulder.  A dozen gentlemen approached to the support of the steward; and one of them, waving his hand and addressing Mr. Sim, said, “Away, sir!”

The retired merchant bowed and withdrew, not in confusion, but with a smile of malignant triumph.  He strove to soothe his wife—­for his daughter, when relieved from the presence of the disdainful eyes that gazed on her, bore the insult that had been offered them meekly—­and, after remaining an hour in Keswick, they returned to their villa in the same chaise in which they had arrived.

In the assembly room the dance began, and fairy forms glided through the floor, lightly, silently, as a falling blossom embraceth the earth.  Mr. Morris was leading down a dance, when a noise was heard at the door.  Some person insisted on being admitted, and the door-keepers resisted him.  But the intruder carried with him a small staff, on the one end of which was a brass crown, and on its side the letters G. R. It was a talisman potent as the wand of a magician; the doorkeepers became powerless before it.  The intruder entered the room—­he passed through the mazes of the whirling dance—­he approached Mr. Morris—­he touched him on the shoulder—­he put a piece of paper in his hand—­he whispered in his ear—­