Lord Selbie?--Lord Selbie? Nell worried her memory in vain. She had read
extracts from the Fashion Gazette so often, the aristocratic names had
passed out of her mind almost before she had pronounced them, and it was
not surprising that she should fail to recall this Lord Selbie's.
She had not much time or opportunity for reflection, for the other
guests were arriving, and the party was almost complete. As she stood a
little apart, she noticed the dresses, and smiled as she felt how
incapable she would be of describing their magnificence to mamma. It was
her first big dinner party, and she was amused and interested in
watching the brilliant groups, and in listening to the small talk.
Lady Wolfer's clear voice could be heard distinctly; but though she
talked and laughed with apparent ease and freedom, Nell fancied that her
ladyship was not quite at her ease, that there was something forced in
her gayety, and that her laugh now and again rang false. Nell saw, too,
that Lady Wolfer's glance wandered from time to time to the door, as if
she were waiting for some one.
The earl came up to Nell.
"Are we all here? It is late," he said, in his grave way, and glancing
at the clock.
Nell looked around and counted.
"One more," she said, in as low a tone. As she spoke, the door opened,
and Sir Archie Walbrooke entered.
Nell heard Lady Wolfer hesitate in the middle of a sentence, and saw her
turn away, with her back to the door.
Sir Archie came across the room in his usual deliberate fashion, as
self-possessed and impassive as if he were quite ignorant that he had
kept a roomful of people waiting.
Lady Wolfer gave him her hand without breaking off her conversation with
the prime minister, who was chatting and laughing with the carelessness
of a boy, and as if he had never even heard of a ministerial crisis.
"Afraid I'm late," said Sir Archie, in slow and even tones. "Cab horse
fell down--nearly always does when I'm behind one. Strange."
"I will hand your excuse to the cook," said Lady Wolfer. "I hope he will
believe it. None of us do, I assure you."
The butler announced dinner, and the party coupled and filed in, the
earl taking a dowager duchess, a good-natured lady with an obvious wig
and cheeks which blushed--with rouge--like unto those of a dairymaid.
Nell fell to the lot of an undersecretary for the colonies, who was so
great a favorite of the prime minister's that no one dreamed of asking
the great man without sending an invitation to his friend, who was
generally known as "Sir Charles." Like most clever men, he was
simplicity itself, and he watched Nell through his pince-nez as she
surveyed the brilliant line of guests round the long, oblong table, with
an interest in her interest.