Suddenly above the music rose a voice, commanding, threatening.
"Stop!" cried the Lady Beltravers.
As if by magic the band ceased and all the dancers were still.
"There is an intruder here," said Lady Beltravers in a cold voice. "A milkmaid, a common farmer's daughter. Gwendolen French, leave my house this instant!"
Dazed, hardly knowing what she did, Gwendolen moved forward. In an instant Lord Beltravers was after her.
"No, mother," he said, with the utmost dignity. "Not a common milkmaid, but the future Lady Beltravers."
An indescribable thrill of emotion ran through the crowded ball-room. Lord Hobble's stud fell out; and Lady Susan Golightly hurried across the room and fainted in the arms of Sir James Batt.
"What!" cried the Lady Beltravers. "My son, the last of the Beltraverses, the Beltraverses who came over with Julius Wernher, I should say Cæsar, marry a milkmaid?"
"No, mother. He is marrying what any man would be proud to marry—a simple English girl."
There was a cheer, instantly suppressed, from a Socialist in the band.