The Marquis and I arrived not too early; Mrs. Gurrage and her bevy of nieces and friends were already in the dressing-room.  They seemed to be plainish, buxom girls, several of the bony, passe description.  They looked at me with eyes of deep interest.  My dress, as I said before, was perfection.  Mrs. Gurrage wore what she told me were the “family jewels.”  Her short neck and undulating chest were covered with pearls, diamonds, sapphires, and rubies, all jumbled together, necklace after necklace.  On top of her head, in front of an imitation lace cap, a park paling of diamonds sat up triumphantly; one almost saw its reflection in her shining forehead below.  In spite of this splendor, my future mother-in-law had an unimportant, plebeian appearance, and as we walked down the corridor I wished I was not so tall, that I might hide behind her.

Augustus was waiting among the other men of their party, with an enormous bouquet.  Not one of those dainty posies with dropping sprays one sees in the Paris shops, but a good lump of flowers, arranged like a cauliflower, evidently the work of the Tilchester florist.  How I should like to have thrown it at his head!

He gave me his arm, and in this fashion we entered the ballroom.  A bride of the Saturday weddings in the Bois de Boulogne could not have looked more foolish than I felt.  A valse was being played; the room was full of light and color, all the officers of the Yeomanry in their pretty uniforms (Augustus puffed with pride in his), and a general air of gayety and animation that would have made my pulse skip a month ago.  We passed on to the other end of the room in this ridiculous procession.  I am quite as tall as Augustus, and I felt I was towering over him, my head was so high in the air—­not with exaltation, but with a vague sense of defiance.

There were several nice-looking people standing around when at last we arrived on the dais.  Mrs. Gurrage greeted most of them gushingly and introduced me.

“My future daughter-in-law, Miss Athelstan.”

It may have been fancy, but I thought I caught flashes of surprise in their eyes.  One lady—­Lady Tilchester—­the great magnate in the neighborhood, spoke to me.  She had gracious, beautiful manners, and although she could not know anything about me or my history, there seemed to be sympathy in her big, brown eyes.

“This is your first ball Mrs. Gurrage tells me,” she said, kindly.  “I hope you will enjoy it.  I must introduce some of my party to you.  Ah, they are dancing now; I must find them presently.”

During this Augustus fidgeted.  He kept touching my arm, half in an outburst of affection and half to keep my attention from wandering from him.  He blustered politenesses to Lady Tilchester, who smiled vacantly while she was attending to something else.  Then my fiance suggested that we should dance.  I agreed; it would be an opportunity to get rid of my cauliflower bouquet, which I flung viciously into a chair, and off we started.