If Lady Hester's grand company had gone, the business of the evening was by no means over; on the contrary, it was the hour of her night receptions, and now the accustomed guests of those favored precincts came dropping in from theatres, and operas, and late dinners. These men of pleasure looked jaded and tired, as usual; and, except the little tinkling sounds of Jekyl's small treble, no other voice sounded as they walked along the corridors.
When they entered Lady Hester's boudoir, they found that lady recounting to Midchekoff the whole circumstances of the morning's adventure, a recital which she continued without other interruption than a smile or a nod, or a little gesture of the hand to each of the new arrivals as he came in. If the lady's manner was devoid of all ceremony, that of the gentlemen was less ceremonious still; for they stretched themselves on divans, rested their legs upon chairs, and stood back to the fire, with a degree of careless ease that bespoke them thoroughly at home, Jekyl, perhaps, the only one present who mingled with this freedom a certain courteous respect that no familiarity made him ever forget.
“And they are still here?” asked the Prince. “Actually in the house at this moment?”
“At this very moment!” responded she, emphatically.
“The whole thing passes belief,” exclaimed he.
And now the listless loungers drew their chairs closer to hear the story, and laugh, as men do, who are seldom moved to mirth save when ridicule or malice are the provocatives.
“But you haven't heard the worst yet,” said Midchekoff. “Pray tell them of your visitor of this evening.”
And Lady Hester narrated the appearance of Mr. Purvis, who, having secured his entrance by a visit to his sister, had so unceremoniously presented himself in the drawing-room.