"'Don't think of those noodles,' said the elder Aveling; 'it is not because the game is "too vulgar," but because they have tight boots, and can't run. Come along, it's rare fun!'
"We had tea in the marquee; no end of cake and fruit, and jam and preserves. It looked, and was, a little different to school-fare: no one was stinted, and the good things disappeared like magic; indeed he must have been a clever magician who could have made them vanish as quickly. Two or three of the youngsters had smothered their faces all over with marmalade and jam, and were sights to behold. One cried because he could not eat any more of the nice things.
"'It strikes me very forcibly,' whispered the younger Aveling, 'that that youngster over there will find himself under the necessity of having an additional spoonful of jam with a powder in it to-morrow.'
"After tea, when it was dark, there was a dance on the lawn by torchlight, the torches being held by the servants; the music consisted of a flute, cornet, and violin, but the cornet proved of no use, as some urchin had bunged it up with a cork before the dance commenced. No particular dances were called for; the musicians played just what they chose, the dancers danced whatever they knew best. Some, and these were the majority, knew nothing of dancing whatever, but threw their legs about just as fancy suggested; nevertheless the pleasure derived from this singular and altogether unique method of performing, was as intense as if done in the most scientific and approved manner.
"We had supper in the large dining-hall. Such a spread! It did one's heart good merely to see it. The pyramids of tarts! the mountains of jelly, shaking their sides like so many jolly, fat old men! the chickens, and ducks, and game, each one of which appeared to be saying, 'Yes, come and eat me, I am willing to sacrifice myself for your pleasure!' I need not say what terrific inroads we made into such eatables, how we piled our fair partners' plates with the good things, until we were obliged to help eat them (the good things I mean, not the partners, although some of them looked good enough to eat).
"Squire Aveling sat at the head of the long dining-table, and his fair lady at the bottom, each pressing their guests to make a good supper. No pressing was needed. When all had eaten as much as was possible, and nuts, oranges, and grapes and bon-bons took the places of the already vanished delicacies, Squire Aveling rose from his chair, and with the rap of a knife upon a plate commanded silence. He then, much to my discomfiture, spoke as follows:—
"'With the exception of one, all now present are old friends of my darling Allie, and this is not the first time I have seen you seated at this table, and I hope it will not be the last. ('Hear, hear!') I hope you have all enjoyed yourselves. ('We have!' from all assembled.) I am glad to think so, and so is Mrs Aveling. But there is one here to-day whom most of you have never seen before—Arthur Hall. (Here all eyes were directed to me.) Yesterday, by his bravery and courage, he saved my darling Allie from a great danger, of which you have all heard. I cannot thank him sufficiently for what he has done. I want you all to help me. Now, each of you fill your glass. Now stand up. Let us drink to Arthur Hall with a three times three!'
"I did not know whether I was on my head or my heels; I am sure I blushed, and must have looked anything but heroic. When the cheers were ended, the elder Herbert Aveling whispered that I must make a speech. I stood on my feet, and tried to say something in reply, but what I said I never could remember; all I know is that my health was again drunk in lemonade, which some imbibed so hurriedly that it went down the wrong way, and a chorus of coughing followed, under cover of which I resumed my seat.
"And so the party ended. I assisted several fair ladies to their hats and shawls, and then went back to Ascot House to enact all the scenes over again in my dreams."