“No names at all;” and then he whispered Mr. Tupman, “Names won’t do—not known—very good names in their way, but not great ones—capital names for a small party, but won’t make an impression in public assemblies—incog. the thing—Gentlemen from London—distinguished foreigners—anything.” The door was thrown open; and Mr. Tracy Tupman and the stranger entered the ball-room.
It was a long room, with crimson-covered benches, and wax candles in glass chandeliers. The musicians were securely confined in an elevated den, and quadrilles were being systematically got through by two or three sets of dancers. Two card-tables were made up in the adjoining card-room, and two pair of old ladies, and a corresponding number of stout gentlemen, were executing whist therein.
The finale concluded, the dancers promenaded the room, and Mr. Tupman and his companion stationed themselves in a corner to observe the company.
“Charming women,” said Mr. Tupman.
“Wait a minute,” said the stranger, “fun presently—nobs not come yet—queer place—Dock-yard people of upper rank don’t know Dock-yard people of lower rank—Dock-yard people of lower rank don’t know small gentry—small gentry don’t know tradespeople—Commissioner don’t know anybody.”
“Who’s that little boy with the light hair and pink eyes, in a fancy dress?” inquired Mr. Tupman.
“Hush, pray—pink eyes—fancy dress—little boy—nonsense—Ensign 97th—Honourable Wilmot Snipe—great family—Snipes—very.”
“Sir Thomas Clubber, Lady Clubber, and the Miss Clubbers!” shouted the man at the door in a stentorian voice. A great sensation was created throughout the room by the entrance of a tall gentleman in a blue coat and bright buttons, a large lady in blue satin, and two young ladies, on a similar scale, in fashionably-made dresses of the same hue.
“Commissioner—head of the yard—great man—remarkably great man,” whispered the stranger in Mr. Tupman’s ear, as the charitable committee ushered Sir Thomas Clubber and family to the top of the room. The Honourable Wilmot Snipe and other distinguished gentlemen crowded to render homage to the Miss Clubbers; and Sir Thomas Clubber stood bolt upright, and looked majestically over his black neckerchief at the assembled company.
“Mr. Smithie, Mrs. Smithie, and the Misses Smithie,” was the next announcement.