The Drag became calm, and after a little while diplomatic relations were fairly established, and away we all went to the Assembly Rooms, Glenville whispering to me and Barton, “I have made up my mind to get rid of that pink muslin to-night or perish in the attempt.”  I had no opportunity at the moment of asking him what he meant, but I was sure he meant mischief.  However, I never gave the matter a second thought, as the business of dancing soon commenced.  Captains O’Brien and Kelly were already waltzing with the two Misses Bankes, and whispering delightful nothings into their curls as we entered.  The artist was floundering in a persevering manner with pretty Miss Bagshaw, and the doctor was standing in the doorway ruminating hopefully on the probable effects of low dresses and cold draughts.  Thornton was soon engrossed in the charms of his lady love, and Barton, Glenville, and I were doing our duty by all the young ladies.  The room was well filled, and, though not well lighted nor well appointed, was large and cheerful enough.  The German Band performed prodigies; the row was simply deafening.  There were a few seats by the walls for those who did not dance, and there was a room for lemonade, cakes, and bad ices for those who liked them, as well as a small room in which the old fogies could play a rubber of whist.

Mrs. Delamere had pinned Mr. Bankes in a corner, and was enlarging to him upon one of her favourite topics.

“The Church of England,” said she, “is undoubtedly in great danger, but why should we regret it?  It has become a thing of the past, and so have chivalry and monasteries.  The mind of the nineteenth century is marching on to its goal.  The intellect of England is asserting itself.  I have ever loved the intellect of England, haven’t you?”

“Oh, quite so—­ah, yes, certainly, of course!” said Mr. Bankes.

“You agree with me,” said Mrs. Delamere; “I was sure you would.  This is most delightful.  I have seldom talked with any true thinker who does not agree with me.”

“I am sure,” said Mr. Bankes gallantly, “no one would venture to cope with such an accomplished disputant.”

“Perhaps not,” she said complacently, “but I should not desire to disagree with anyone upon religious subjects.  The great desideratum—­you see I understand the Latin tongue, Mr. Bankes—­the great desideratum is harmony—­the harmony of the soul!  How are we to arrive at harmony? that is the pressing question.”

* * * * *

“Bagshaw, you are a low cheat, sir:  you are nothing better than a common swindler, sir.  I will not play with you any more.  Do you call yourself a whist player and make signs to your partner.  I should be ashamed to stay in the same room with you.”

Several of the dancers hastened into the card-room.  Mrs. Bagshaw was standing up flushed and excited, and talking loudly and wildly.  She had overset her chair, and flung down her cards upon the table.  Seeing Porkington enter, she cried out, “Look to your wife, sir, look to your wife.  She received signals across the table.  It has nothing to do with the cards.  Look at that man who is called my husband—­that monster—­that bundle of lies and deceit, who has been the ruin of hundreds.”