"But I say, aunt, you advised me this morning——"
"Oh, I never remember anything I say in the morning," said Lady Sophia airily. "You are so stupid, Prelice, you always take one at the foot of the letter. You won't come with me. Oh, very well. Help me into the brougham, you horrid boy. I believe you'll fall in love with Mona, and give me a criminal for a niece."
This was Lady Sophia's parting shot, and when her motor-brougham spun towards the first turning out of the square, Prelice laughed long and loudly. His aunt was nearer the truth than she had been the whole evening, although she was far from suspecting it. It never entered her elderly head that a man of the world, such as her nephew certainly was, would fall in love on the spur of the moment. "And I should not have suspected myself of such lunacy either," thought his lordship as he turned in the direction of Half-Moon Street to procure domino and mask for the ball.
The street before Alexander Mansions was filled with carriages and motors and four-wheelers and hansoms, together with a crowd of onlookers, who passed remarks, complimentary and otherwise, on the many guests of Mrs. Rover. The mansions themselves were palatial and splendid, with a royal flight of broad marble steps to the main entrance. Prelice, shuffling on his domino and assuming his mask, climbed these, to find himself with other revellers in a vast hall, with two staircases ascending on either side at the farther end, and between them two lifts, the cages of which soared and sank with parties of pleasure-seekers. Prelice delivered his rainbow-hued ticket of invitation to a gorgeously uniformed commissionaire, and took his time in climbing the long stairs. Many other people did the same, instead of waiting for the lifts, but, as all were masked and cloaked, the young man could recognise no one.
As Shepworth had stated, Mr. and Mrs. Dolly Rover occupied the whole of the third floor—that is, they tenanted two flats which faced each other, and the outer doors of these, opening on to a spacious landing, had been removed from their hinges. Thus the guests could pass easily from one flat to the other, and the landing between was a nest of greenery and roses, like the hanging gardens of Babylon. The flats themselves had wide corridors, spacious rooms, and lofty ceilings, so they were capable of receiving a large number of guests. On this occasion they were crowded, and it would seem as though Mrs. Rover had invited everyone on her visiting-list. And there may have been others, not set down on that list, since the masks and dominos prevented recognition.
Prelice looked about for his hostess, but found himself received by a tiny, pale-faced man with large, plaintive blue eyes set in a white expanse of absolutely colourless skin. He wore a domino over his smart evening-dress, but no mask, and was so clipped and curled, and brushed and washed, that Prelice easily guessed him to be the poodle mentioned by Lady Sophia. Pushing out a small tightly gloved hand, he murmured a nervous greeting to each new arrival; but after this ceremony was ended no one seemed to take any notice of him.
As all who came were masked, Prelice wondered how Mr. Rover could possibly know whom he was greeting. Of course, there was the rainbow-hued ticket given to the commissionaire below, which would guarantee the respectability of the presenter. But tickets of this sort could be stolen and forged, and as no further supervision was exercised to ensure the identity of the guests, Prelice considered that such a procedure was somewhat rash. His thoughts were confirmed by a dried-up little man who appeared without a mask, and who was rebuked by Mr. Rover for his originality.
"You shouldn't, you know," expostulated the host in a penny whistle kind of voice; "no one is to know anyone until the clock strikes twelve, when we all unmask for supper. Why, even my wife insisted that I should receive in her place. She would be spotted, you know, if she stopped here to shake hands, and she doesn't want to be found out until midnight. The whole fun of a masquerade lies in secrecy, so obey the rules, Haken, and put on your mask."
Prelice started when he heard the name, and twisted his neck to see if the new-comer really was his uncle-by-marriage. It was Simon Haken sure enough, for no one could mistake his looks let alone his celebrated chuckle. The young man laughed, and wondered what Haken—by no means a Society butterfly—was doing at the ball of a lady whom his wife openly disliked. And then he remembered that lying telegram from the city. Mr. Haken had his little secrets it would seem, and was more human, under the rose, than when posing as a money-making machine. His dutiful nephew determined, before the evening was out, to let his sly uncle know that his misdoings were discovered.
Meanwhile the little millionaire was chuckling and masking. "It is a risk, you know, Rover," he observed dryly. "You don't know who is here. Half the swell mobsmen of London may have come after diamonds."