Fresh announcements were made from time to time, and then a servant approached Clotilde, who immediately began to pair off her guests for the supper.
“Take in Marie, dear Lord Henry,” she said as she came to where they were standing; and soon after, in passing, she said softly to Glen. “I shall reserve myself for you.”
Glen bowed, and waited patiently as the guests went down to the banquet spread in a large marquee set up in the garden, where beneath the red and white striped awnings the brilliant swinging gasaliers turned the glass and lustrous plate upon the long tables into a blaze of scintillations, which illumined with fresh tints the abundant flowers.
Elbraham had given Edgington and Gunter orders to “do the thing handsome,” and they had unmistakably carried out his wishes, even to his own satisfaction; while, to give an additional charm to the supper, the strains of an excellent band, concealed behind a great bank of flowers and plants of the gayest foliage, suddenly began to float through the great marquee.
“It is like a scene in fairyland,” said Clotilde, as Glen took his seat beside her, and after she had glanced down the table to see that the little squat figure of Elbraham was hidden from her gaze by a line of épergnes and jardinières.
“Yes, it is magnificent,” replied Glen gravely and with his eyes fixed upon Marie, seated some little distance below them in company with Lord Henry Moorpark, the former gazing at him in a half-reproachful way.
“I made Elbraham invite you,” whispered Clotilde, sipping the champagne that had just been poured into her glass.
“Indeed!”
“Yes; of course, I shall have all my old friends here as much as I please.”
“I suppose so,” said Glen rather dreamily. “Of course, you are very happy?”