Egremont arrived early on the evening of the dinner.  Only one guest had preceded him.  With Mrs. Tyrrell and Paula were Mr. Tyrrell and the son of the house, Mr. John, the Jack Tyrrell of sundry convivial clubs in town.  Mr. Tyrrell senior was a high-coloured jovial gentleman of three score, great in finance, practical to the backbone, yet with wit and tact which put him at ease with all manner of men, even with social reformers.  These latter amused him vastly; he failed to see that the world needed any reforming whatever, at all events beyond that which is constitutionally provided for in the proceedings of the British Parliament.  He had great wealth; he fared sumptuously every day; things shone to him in a rosy after-dinner light.  Not a gross or a selfish man, for he was as good-natured as he was contented, and gave very freely of his substance; it was simply his part in the world to enjoy the product of other men’s labour and to set an example of glorious self-satisfaction.  Egremont, in certain moods, had tried to despise Mr. Tyrrell, but he never quite succeeded.  Nor indeed was the man contemptible.  Had you told him with frank conviction that you deemed him a poor sort of phenomenon, he would have shaken the ceiling with laughter and have admired you for your plain-speaking.  For there was a large and generous vigour about him, and adverse criticism could only heighten his satisfaction in his own stability.

Something of the cold dignity in which she had taken refuge at Ullswater was still to be remarked in Paula’s manner as she received Egremont.  She held her charming head erect, and let her eyelids droop a little, and the few words which she addressed to him were rather absently spoken.  With others, as they arrived, she was sportively intimate.  Her bearing had gained a little in maturity during the past half year, but it was still with a blending of naivete and capricious affectation that she wrought her spell.  Her dress was a miracle, and inseparably a part of her; it was impossible to picture her in any serious situation, so entirely was she a child of luxury and frivolous concern.  Exquisite as an artistic product of Society, she affected the imagination not so much by her personal charm as through the perfume of luxury which breathed about her.  Egremont, with his radical tendencies of thought, found himself marvelling as he regarded her; what a life was hers!  Compare it with that of some little work-girl in Lambeth, such as he saw in the street—­what spaces between those two worlds!  Was it possible that this dainty creation, this thing of material omnipotence, would suffer decay of her sweetness and in the end die?  The reason took her side and revolted against law; it would be an outrage if time or mischance laid hold upon her.