"Jim-cracks!" Leslie repeated. "I could not give them such a name; they are like the steps in the ladder Mr. Herschel is climbing skyward."
Mr. Beresford laughed.
"I confess I am very well content to let the stars take their course without my interference—I mean without my looking into the matter. There is enough to do for me to consider my ways down below without star-gazing. By-the-bye, your star of beauty is not here to-night; has she set behind a cloud? Here come the two Miss Greenwoods, simpering and putting on fashionable airs which don't suit them. Like their gowns, such airs don't fit. Fancy their fat old mother asking me what my intentions were!"
Leslie could not help laughing at his friend's remarks on the various beaux and belles who passed in review before them.
Presently the young man said:
"Look! did you see that?"
"What?" Leslie Travers asked.
"Sir Maxwell was called out to speak to someone by his valet. He is brewing mischief, I'll take my oath. Let us go into the room next the lobby and find out."
"I decline to act spy. You may do so if you like," Leslie said.
And he turned away towards another part of the room, and began to talk for half an hour to a retiring gentle girl, who, when the "contre danse" was formed, had no partner. Leslie led her out to take a place in it, and found himself vis-a-vis with Sir Maxwell Danby and one of the most conspicuously dressed ladies who frequented Lady Miller's reunions at Batheaston.