There was, no doubt, much difficulty about the invitations, and a considerable amount of ill-will was created.  And they who considered themselves entitled to be asked, and were not asked, were full of wrath against their more fortunate friends, instead of being angry with the Duke or with Lady Glencora, who had neglected them.  It was soon known that Lady Glencora was the real dispenser of the favours, and I fancy that her ladyship was tired of her task before it was completed.  The party was to take place on Wednesday, the 27th of July, and before the day had come, men and women had become so hardy in the combat that personal applications were made with unflinching importunity; and letters were written to Lady Glencora putting forward this claim and that claim with a piteous clamour.  “No, that is too bad,” Lady Glencora said to her particular friend, Mrs. Grey, when a letter came from Mrs. Bonteen, stating all that her husband had ever done towards supporting Mr. Palliser in Parliament,—­and all that he ever would do.  “She shan’t have it, even though she could put Plantagenet into a minority to-morrow.”

Mrs. Bonteen did not get a card; and when she heard that Phineas Finn had received one, her wrath against Phineas was very great.  He was “an Irish adventurer,” and she regretted deeply that Mr. Bonteen had ever interested himself in bringing such an upstart forward in the world of politics.  But as Mr. Bonteen never had done anything towards bringing Phineas forward, there was not much cause for regret on this head.  Phineas, however, got his card, and, of course, accepted the invitation.

The grounds were opened at four.  There was to be an early dinner out in tents at five; and after dinner men and women were to walk about, or dance, or make love—­or hay, as suited them.  The haycocks, however, were ready prepared, while it was expected that they should bring the love with them.  Phineas, knowing that he should meet Violet Effingham, took a great deal with him ready made.

For an hour and a half Lady Glencora kept her position in a saloon through which the guests passed to the grounds, and to every comer she imparted the information that the Duke was on the lawn;—­to every comer but one.  To Madame Goesler she said no such word.  “So glad to see you, my dear,” she said, as she pressed her friend’s hand:  “if I am not killed by this work, I’ll make you out again by-and-by.”  Then Madame Goesler passed on, and soon found herself amidst a throng of acquaintance.  After a few minutes she saw the Duke seated in an arm-chair, close to the river-bank, and she bravely went up to him, and thanked him for the invitation.  “The thanks are due to you for gracing our entertainment,” said the Duke, rising to greet her.  There were a dozen people standing round, and so the thing was done without difficulty.  At that moment there came a notice that their royal highnesses were on the ground, and the Duke, of course, went off to meet them.  There was not a word more spoken between the Duke and Madame Goesler on that afternoon.