Where ladies are gathered together, the Queen of the assemblage may be known by her Court of males.  The Queen of the present gathering leaned against a corner of the open window, surrounded by a stalwart Court, in whom a practised eye would have discerned guardsmen, and Ripton, with a sinking of the heart, apprehended lords.  They were fine men, offering inanimate homage.  The trim of their whiskerage, the cut of their coats, the high-bred indolence in their aspect, eclipsed Ripton’s sense of self-esteem.  But they kindly looked over him.  Occasionally one committed a momentary outrage on him with an eye-glass, seeming to cry out in a voice of scathing scorn, “Who’s this?” and Ripton got closer to his hero to justify his humble pretensions to existence and an identity in the shadow of him.  Richard gazed about.  Heroes do not always know what to say or do; and the cold bath before dinner in strange company is one of the instances.  He had recognized his superb Bellona in the lady by the garden window.  For Brayder the men had nods and yokes, the ladies a pretty playfulness.  He was very busy, passing between the groups, chatting, laughing, taking the feminine taps he received, and sometimes returning them in sly whispers.  Adrian sat down and crossed his legs, looking amused and benignant.

“Whose dinner is it?” Ripton heard a mignonne beauty ask of a cavalier.

“Mount’s, I suppose,” was the answer.

“Where is he?  Why don’t he come?”

“An affaire, I fancy.”

“There he is again!  How shamefully he treats Mrs. Mount!”

“She don’t seem to cry over it.”

Mrs. Mount was flashing her teeth and eyes with laughter at one of her Court, who appeared to be Fool.

Dinner was announced.  The ladies proclaimed extravagant appetites.  Brayder posted his three friends.  Ripton found himself under the lee of a dame with a bosom.  On the other aide of him was the mignonne.  Adrian was at the lower end of the table.  Ladies were in profusion, and he had his share.  Brayder drew Richard from seat to seat.  A happy man had established himself next to Mrs. Mount.  Him Brayder hailed to take the head of the table.  The happy man objected, Brayder continued urgent, the lady tenderly insisted, the happy man grimaced, dropped into the post of honour, strove to look placable.  Richard usurped his chair, and was not badly welcomed by his neighbour.

Then the dinner commenced, and had all the attention of the company, till the flying of the first champagne-cork gave the signal, and a hum began to spread.  Sparkling wine, that looseneth the tongue, and displayeth the verity, hath also the quality of colouring it.  The ladies laughed high; Richard only thought them gay and natural.  They flung back in their chairs and laughed to tears; Ripton thought only of the pleasure he had in their society.  The champagne-corks continued a regular file-firing.

“Where have you been lately?  I haven’t seen you in the park,” said Mrs. Mount to Richard.