"Well, I don't care, we shall have the ball. I wonder if Bessie put him up to that. Hateful thing, he never scolded me so before. Her prerogatives, indeed."
As for Grantley Mellen, this untoward intrusion had broken up the happy moment which might have given him an insight into all that his wife felt and suffered. The interview which had promised such gentle confidence only ended in mutual irritation.
CHAPTER XI.
THE BALL.
The evening of the ball arrived; the house was crowded, and for the scores it was impossible to accommodate, Mellen had made arrangements in his usual lavish way, for a conveyance back and forth in a steamer chartered for the occasion.
The old house was a beautiful sight that evening. The long suite of drawing-rooms were flung open, and in the far distance a noble conservatory, half greenness, half crystal, terminated the view like some South Sea island flooded with moonlight.
It was not alone that these noble rooms were shaded with richly-tinted draperies, and filled with costly furniture; any wealthy man's house may offer those things; but Mellen had thrown his fine individual taste into the adornments of his home. Antique and modern statues gleamed out of the general luxuriousness. Pictures that made your breath come unsteadily broke up the walls, and groups of bronze gave you surprises at every turn. The works of art, sometimes arrayed in one long dreary gallery, were here scattered in nooks and corners, completing each room with their beauty.
And all this was kindled up into one brilliant whole. There was no crowding in those rooms. Each rare object had its peculiar light and appropriate space. A master mind had arranged every thing.
In these almost palatial saloons Elizabeth stood by her husband, receiving their guests as they came in.