“Well, I’m sure you ought to be proud of him, Lady Honoria,” said the handsome Guardsman to whom she was talking; “they say at mess that he is one of the cleverest men in England.  I only wish I had a fiftieth part of his brains.”

“Oh, please do not become clever, Lord Atleigh; please don’t, or I shall really give you up.  Cleverness is all very well, but it isn’t everything, you know.  Yes, I will dance if you like, but you must go slowly; to be quite honest, I am afraid of tearing my lace in this crush.  Why, I declare there is Garsington, my brother, you know,” and she pointed to a small red-haired man who was elbowing his way towards them.  “I wonder what he wants; it is not at all in his line to come to balls.  You know him, don’t you? he is always racing horses, like you.”

But the Guardsman had vanished.  For reasons of his own he did not wish to meet Garsington.  Perhaps he too had been a member of a certain club.

“Oh, there you are, Honoria,” said her brother, “I thought that I should be sure to find you somewhere in this beastly squash.  Look here, I have something to tell you.”

“Good news or bad?” said Lady Honoria, playing with her fan.  “If it is bad, keep it, for I am enjoying myself very much, and I don’t want my evening spoilt.”

“Trust you for that, Honoria; but look here, it’s jolly good, about as good as can be for that prig of a husband of yours.  What do you think? that brat of a boy, the son of old Sir Robert Bingham and the cook or some one, you know, is——­”

“Not dead, not dead?” said Honoria in deep agitation.

“Dead as ditch-water,” replied his lordship.  “I heard it at the club.  There was a lawyer fellow there dining with somebody there, and they got talking about Bingham, when the lawyer said, ’Oh, he’s Sir Geoffrey Bingham now.  Old Sir Robert’s heir is dead.  I saw the telegram myself.’”

“Oh, this is almost too good to be true,” said Honoria.  “Why, it means eight thousand a year to us.”

“I told you it was pretty good,” said her brother.  “You ought to stand me a commission out of the swag.  At any rate, let’s go and drink to the news.  Come on, it is time for supper and I am awfully done.  I must screw myself up.”

Lady Honoria took his arm.  As they walked down the wide flower-hung stair they met a very great Person indeed, coming up.

“Ah, Lady Honoria,” said the great Person, “I have something to say that will please you, I think,” and he bent towards her, and spoke very low, then, with a little bow, passed on.

“What is the old boy talking about?” asked her brother.

“Why, what do you think?  We are in luck’s way to-night.  He says that they are offering Geoffrey the Under Secretaryship of the Home Office.”

“He’ll be a bigger prig than ever now,” growled Lord Garsington.  “Yes, it is luck though; let us hope it won’t turn.”

They sat down to supper, and Lord Garsington, who had already been dining, helped himself pretty freely to champagne.  Before them was a silver candelabra and on each of the candles was fixed a little painted paper shade.  One of them got wrong, and a footman tried to reach over Lord Garsington’s head to put it straight.