“Oh, Mrs Mountjoy, I am so ashamed of myself!” said Lady Mountjoy, as she waddled into the room two minutes after the guests had been assembled.  She had a way of waddling that was quite her own, and which they who knew her best declared that she had adopted in lieu of other graces of manner.  She puffed a little also, and did contrive to attract peculiar attention.  “But I have to be in my carriage every day at the same hour.  I don’t know what would be thought of us if we were absent.”  Then she turned, with a puff and a waddle, to Miss Abbot.  “Dear Lady Tresham was with us.”  Mrs. Mountjoy murmured something as to her satisfaction at not having delayed the carriage-party, and bethought herself how exactly similar had been the excuse made by Sir Magnus himself.  Then Lady Mountjoy gave another little puff, and assured Florence that she hoped she would find Brussels sufficiently gay,—­“not that we pretend at all to equal Paris.”

“We live at Cheltenham,” said Florence, “and that is not at all like Paris.  Indeed, I never slept but two nights at Paris in my life.”

“Then we shall do very well at Brussels.”  After this she waddled off again, and was stopped in her waddling by Sir Magnus, who sternly desired her to prepare for the august ceremony of going in to dinner.  The one period of real importance at the English Embassy was, no doubt, the daily dinner-hour.

Florence found herself seated between Mr. Anderson, who had taken her in, and M. Grascour, who had performed the same ceremony for her ladyship.  “I am sure you will like this little capital very much,” said M. Grascour.  “It is as much nicer than Paris as it is smaller and less pretentious.”  Florence could only assent.  “You will soon be able to learn something of us; but in Paris you must be to the manner born, or half a lifetime will not suffice.”

“We’ll put you up to the time of day,” said Mr. Anderson, who did not choose, as he said afterward, that this tidbit should be taken out of his mouth.

“I dare say that all that I shall want will come naturally without any putting up.”

“You won’t find it amiss to know a little of what’s what.  You have not got a riding-horse here?”

“Oh no,” said Florence.

“I was going on to say that I can manage to secure one for you.  Billibong has got an excellent horse that carried the Princess of Styria last year.”  Mr. Anderson was supposed to be peculiarly up to everything concerning horses.

“But I have not got a habit.  That is a much more serious affair.”

“Well, yes.  Billibong does not keep habits:  I wish he did.  But we can manage that too.  There does live a habit-maker in Brussels.”

“Ladies’ habits certainly are made in Brussels,” said M. Grascour.  “But if Miss Mountjoy does not choose to trust a Belgian tailor there is the railway open to her.  An English habit can be sent.”

“Dear Lady Centaur had one sent to her only last year, when she was staying here,” said Lady Mountjoy across her neighbor, with two little puffs.