The other guests merely formed chorus to the principal singers in the little social opera, but they were wonderfully led by Lady Littletown, whose tongue formed her conductor’s baton, by which she swayed them with a practised ease.
She had a word in season for everyone where it was needful to keep up the balance of the parts, and wonderfully skilful was her way. She gave a great deal of her time to everybody, but little Richard Millet never missed any of her attentions. In a very short time she had quite won his confidence, and knew that Major Malpas was a regular plunger, that Captain Glen was the dearest and best fellow in the world, that he hadn’t any more vice in him than a child, that they were the dearest of friends, and that Marcus had only about two hundred and fifty a year besides his pay.
“I begin to like Hampton Court, Lady Littletown,” said the boy warmly, for the champagne had been frequent.
“I’m sure you’ll love the place when you begin to know us better. Of course you will come to all my ‘at homes?’”
“That I will,” exclaimed the delighted youth. “By the way, Lady Littletown, what lovely girls those Miss Dymcoxes are!”
“Yes, are they not?” replied Lady Littletown; “but oh, fie, fie, fie! This will not do. I will not listen to a single word. I’m not going to lend myself to any match-making. What would Lady Millet say?”
“But, really, Lady Littletown—”
“Oh dear me, no; I will not listen. I know too well, sir, what you officers are—so wicked and reckless, and given to breaking ladies’ hearts. I think I shall absolutely forbid you even approaching them when you come up to the drawing-room. I would not for the world be the means of causing any heart diseases amongst my guests.”
“But surely, Lady Littletown, a fellow may admire at a distance?”
“Oh dear no,” said her ladyship playfully; “I think not. I’m afraid you are a very bad, dangerous man, and I shall have to withdraw my invitation.”