“Oh, rats!” said Jos, under cover of the impassioned applause.

“It was nearly as long as Jarndyce v.  Jarndyce,” observed Adams, under the same cover.

“What!” cried James, enchanted.  “Have you been reading that too?”

Adams Swetnam and great-stepuncle James had quite a little chat on the subject of Jarndyce v.  Jarndyce.  Several other people, including the hostess, joined in the conversation, and James was surprised at the renown which Jarndyce v. Jarndyce seemed to enjoy; he was glad to find his view shared on every hand.  He was also glad, and startled, to discover himself a personality in the regions of Hillport.  He went through more formal introductions in ten minutes than he had been through during the whole of his previous life.  It was a hot evening; he wiped his brow.  Then iced champagne was served to him.  Having fluttered round him, in her ample way, and charmingly flattered him, Mrs. Prockter left him, encircled chiefly by young women, in order to convey to later arrivals that they, and they alone, were the authentic objects of her solicitude.  Emanuel Prockter, clad in triumph, approached, and questioned James, as one shrewd man of business may question another, concerning the value in the market of Wilbraham Hall.

Shortly afterwards a remarkable occurrence added zest to the party.  Helen had wandered away with Sarah and Jos Swetnam.  She reentered the drawing-room while James and Emanuel were in discussion, and her attitude towards Emanuel was decidedly not sympathetic.  Then Sarah Swetnam came in alone.  And then Andrew Dean came in alone.

“Oh, here’s Andrew, Helen!” Sarah exclaimed.

Andrew Dean had the air of a formidable personage.  He was a tall, heavy, dark young man, with immense sloping shoulders, a black moustache, and incandescent eyes, which he used as though he were somewhat suspicious of the world in general.  If his dress had been less untidy, he would have made a perfect villain of melodrama.  He smiled the unsure smile of a villain as he awkwardly advanced, with out-stretched hand, to Helen.

Helen put her lips together, kept her hands well out of view, and offered him a bow that could only have been properly appreciated under a microscope.

The episode was quite negative; but it amounted to a scene—­a scene at one of Mrs. Prockter’s parties!  A scene, moreover, that mystified everybody; a scene that implied war and the wounded!

Some discreetly withdrew.  Of these was Emanuel, who had the sensitiveness of an artist.

Andrew Dean presently perceived, after standing for some seconds like an imbecile stork on one leg, that the discretion of the others was worthy to be imitated.  At the door he met Lilian, and they disappeared together arm in arm, as betrothed lovers should.  Three people remained in that quarter of the drawing-room—­Helen, her uncle, and Sarah Swetnam.

“Why, Nell,” said Sarah, aghast, “what’s the matter?”