The function was a superb one.  The house was superb, the rooms of entertainment were in every proportion perfect, and were quite renowned for the beauty of the space they offered; the people themselves were, through centuries of dignified living, so placed that intercourse with their kind was an easy and delightful thing.  They need never doubt either their own effect, or the effect of their hospitalities.  Sir Nigel saw about him all the people who held enviable place in the county.  Some of them he had never known, some of them had long ceased to recall his existence.  There were those among them who lifted lorgnettes or stuck monocles into their eyes as he passed, asking each other in politely subdued tones who the man was who seemed to be in attendance on Miss Vanderpoel.  Nigel knew this and girded at it internally, while he made the most of his suave smile.

The distinguished personage who was the chief guest was to be seen at the upper end of the room talking to a tall man with broad shoulders, who was plainly interesting him for the moment.  As the Stornham party passed on, this person, making his bow, retired, and, as he turned towards them, Sir Nigel recognising him, the agreeable smile was for the moment lost.

“How in the name of Heaven did Mount Dunstan come here?” broke from him with involuntary heat.

“Would it be rash to conclude,” said Betty, as she returned the bow of a very grand old lady in black velvet and an imposing tiara, “that he came in response to invitation?”

The very grand old lady seemed pleased to see her, and, with a royal little sign, called her to her side.  As Betty Vanderpoel was a great success with the Mrs. Weldens and old Dobys of village life, she was also a success among grand old ladies.  When she stood before them there was a delicate submission in her air which was suggestive of obedience to the dignity of their years and state.  Strongly conservative and rather feudal old persons were much pleased by this.  In the present irreverent iconoclasm of modern times, it was most agreeable to talk to a handsome creature who was as beautifully attentive as if she had been a specially perfect young lady-in-waiting.

This one even patted Betty’s hand a little, when she took it.  She was a great county potentate, who was known as Lady Alanby of Dole—­her house being one of the most ancient and interesting in England.

“I am glad to see you here to-night,” she said.  “You are looking very nice.  But you cannot help that.”

Betty asked permission to present her sister and brother-in-law.  Lady Alanby was polite to both of them, but she gave Nigel a rather sharp glance through her gold pince-nez as she greeted him.

“Janey and Mary,” she said to the two girls nearest her, “I daresay you will kindly change your chairs and let Lady Anstruthers and Miss Vanderpoel sit next to me.”

The Ladies Jane and Mary Lithcom, who had been ordered about by her from their infancy, obeyed with polite smiles.  They were not particularly pretty girls, and were of the indigent noble.  Jane, who had almost overlarge blue eyes, sighed as she reseated herself a few chairs lower down.