’No, sir; it is what we call a dance—­that is, ’tis like a ball, you know, on a small scale—­a ball on a spurt, that you never thought of till you had it.  In short, it grew out of a talk at dinner, I believe; and some of the young people present wanted a jig, and didn’t care to play themselves, you know, young ladies being an idle class of society at the best of times.  We’ve a house full of sleeping company, you understand—­been there a week some of ’em—­most of ’em being mistress’s relations.’

‘They probably found it a little dull.’

’Well, yes—­it is rather dull for ’em—­Christmas-time and all.  As soon as it was proposed they were wild for sending post-haste for somebody or other to play to them.’

‘Did they name me particularly?’ said Christopher.

’Yes; “Mr. Christopher Julian,” she says.  “The gent who’s turned music-man?” I said.  “Yes, that’s him,” says she.’

‘There were music-men living nearer to your end of the town than I.’

’Yes, but I know it was you particular:  though I don’t think mistress thought anything about you at first.  Mr. Joyce—­that’s the butler—­said that your name was mentioned to our old party, when he was in the room, by a young lady staying with us, and mistress says then, “The Julians have had a downfall, and the son has taken to music.”  Then when dancing was talked of, they said, “O, let’s have him by all means."’

’Was the young lady who first inquired for my family the same one who said, “Let’s have him by all means?"’

’O no; but it was on account of her asking that the rest said they would like you to play—­at least that’s as I had it from Joyce.’

‘Do you know that lady’s name?’

‘Mrs. Petherwin.’

‘Ah!’

‘Cold, sir?’

‘O no.’

Christopher did not like to question the man any further, though what he had heard added new life to his previous curiosity; and they drove along the way in silence, Faith’s figure, wrapped up to the top of her head, cutting into the sky behind them like a sugar-loaf.  Such gates as crossed the roads had been left open by the forethought of the coachman, and, passing the lodge, they proceeded about half-a-mile along a private drive, then ascended a rise, and came in view of the front of the mansion, punctured with windows that were now mostly lighted up.

‘What is that?’ said Faith, catching a glimpse of something that the carriage-lamp showed on the face of one wall as they passed, a marble bas-relief of some battle-piece, built into the stonework.

’That’s the scene of the death of one of the squire’s forefathers—­Colonel Sir Martin Jones, who was killed at the moment of victory in the battle of Salamanca—­but I haven’t been here long enough to know the rights of it.  When I am in one of my meditations, as I wait here with the carriage sometimes, I think how many more get killed at the moment of victory than at the moment of defeat.  This is the entrance for you, sir.’  And he turned the corner and pulled up before a side door.