In the early days of July, when the weather was very hot, and people were beginning to complain of the Thames, and members were becoming thirsty after grouse, and the remaining days of parliamentary work were being counted up, there came to him news,—­news that was soon known throughout the fashionable world,—­that the Duke of Omnium was going to give a garden party at a certain villa residence on the banks of the Thames above Richmond.  It was to be such a garden party as had never been seen before.  And it would be the more remarkable because the Duke had never been known to do such a thing.  The villa was called The Horns, and had, indeed, been given by the Duke to Lady Glencora on her marriage; but the party was to be the Duke’s party, and The Horns, with all its gardens, conservatories, lawns, shrubberies, paddocks, boat-houses, and boats, was to be made bright and beautiful for the occasion.  Scores of workmen were about the place through the three first weeks of July.  The world at large did not at all know why the Duke was doing so unwonted a thing,—­why he should undertake so new a trouble.  But Lady Glencora knew, and Madame Goesler shrewdly guessed, the riddle.  When Madame Goesler’s unexpected refusal had reached his Grace, he felt that he must either accept the lady’s refusal, or persevere.  After a day’s consideration, he resolved that he would accept it.  The top brick of the chimney was very desirable; but perhaps it might be well that he should endeavour to live without it.  Then, accepting this refusal, he must either stand his ground and bear the blow,—­or he must run away to that villa at Como, or elsewhere.  The running away seemed to him at first to be the better, or at least the more pleasant, course; but at last he determined that he would stand his ground and bear the blow.  Therefore he gave his garden party at The Horns.

Who was to be invited?  Before the first week in July was over, many a bosom in London was fluttering with anxiety on that subject.  The Duke, in giving his short word of instruction to Lady Glencora, made her understand that he would wish her to be particular in her invitations.  Her Royal Highness the Princess, and his Royal Highness the Prince, had both been so gracious as to say that they would honour his fete.  The Duke himself had made out a short list, with not more than a dozen names.  Lady Glencora was employed to select the real crowd,—­the five hundred out of the ten thousand who were to be blessed.  On the Duke’s own private list was the name of Madame Goesler.  Lady Glencora understood it all.  When Madame Goesler got her card, she thought that she understood it too.  And she thought also that the Duke was behaving in a gallant way.