"You look awfully fetching, Miss Goff," Lord Worthington said, as he
followed them to the carriage. Alice did not deign to reply, but
tossed her head superbly, and secretly considered whether people
would, on comparison, think her overdressed or Lydia underdressed.
Lord Worthington thought they both looked their best, and reflected
for several seconds on the different styles of different women, and
how what would suit one would not do at all for another. It seemed
to him that Miss Carew's presence made him philosophical.
The Agricultural Hall struck Alice at first sight as an immense barn
round which heaps of old packing-cases had been built into
race-course stands, scantily decorated with red cloth and a few
flags. She was conducted to a front seat in one of these balconies,
which overhung the tan-strewn arena. Just below her were the
palisades, ornamented at intervals with evergreens in tubs, and
pressed against from without by a crowd who had paid a shilling
apiece for the privilege of admission. She remarked that it was
little to the credit of the management that these people should be
placed so close beneath her that she could hear their conversation;
but as Lydia did not seem to share her disgust, she turned her
attention to the fashionable part of the audience. On the opposite
side of the arena the balconies seemed like beds of flowers in
bloom, blacknesses formed here and there by the hats and coats of
gentlemen representing the interspaces of clay. In the midst of the
flowers was a gaudy dais, on which a powerfully-built black
gentleman sat in a raised chair, his majestic impassivity
contrasting with the overt astonishment with which a row of savagely
ugly attendant chiefs grinned and gaped on either side of him.
"What a pity we are not nearer the king!" said Alice. "I can hardly
see the dear old fellow."
"You will find these the best seats for seeing the assault. It will
be all right," said Lord Worthington.
Lydia's attention was caught by something guilty in his manner.
Following a furtive glance of his, she saw in the arena, not far
from her, an enclosure about twenty feet square, made with ropes and
stakes. It was unoccupied, and there were a few chairs, a basin, and
a sponge, near it.
"What is that?" she asked.
"That! Oh, that's the ring."
"It is not a ring. It is square."
"They call it the ring. They have succeeded in squaring the circle."
Here there was a piercing bugle-call, and a troop of cavalry trotted
into the arena. Lydia found it pleasant enough to sit lazily
admiring the horses and men, and comparing the members of the
Olympian Club, who appeared when the soldiers retired, to the marble
gods of Athens, and to the Bacchus or David of Michael Angelo. They
fell short of the Greek statues in refinement, and of the Italian in
impressiveness as they vaulted over a wooden horse, and swung upon
horizontal bars, each cheapening the exploits of his forerunner by
out-doing them. Lord Worthington, who soon grew tired of this,
whispered that when all that rubbish was over, a fellow would cut a
sheep in two with a sword, after which there would be some boxing.