Pictures in heavy gilt frames hung on the white walls. Mr. Amberley, something of a connoisseur, glanced up at them as he passed and presently came to a halt under a fine Reynolds. He was still standing thoughtfully surveying the picture when his host came out of the gallery at the end of the passage.
Fountain was in great spirits tonight; his enjoyment of' the ball was unaffected and immense. He had been circulating freely among his guests, an excellent host, anxious to make the party a success and contributing largely to the general gaiety by his own evident geniality and pleasure.
When he saw Amberley he at once came up to him and clapped him on the shoulder. "This won't do, this won't do, Mephistopheles," he said chaffingly. "Not dancing? Don't tell me you haven't got a partner!"
"I have. I was going in search of her when I stopped to look at your pictures. I envy you your collection."
"Do you?" said Fountain. "Not much in my line, I'm afraid. I've got some jolly fine sporting prints though, if you like them. In my study."
"I prefer this," answered Amberley, still looking up at the Reynolds. "Who was she?"
"My dear fellow, I haven't the foggiest idea! Some great-grandmother, I expect. Got the family beetle brows, hasn't she? Not a bad-looking wench. You ought to get on to my housekeeper. She knows much more about all these hoary ancestors than I do."
Amberley turned away from the portrait and remarked that the ball was a great success.
Fountain looked pleased. "I think it's going quite well, don't you? Awfully silly, really, but I find I'm not too old to enjoy this sort of thing. Once I can get a lot of cheery people round me in a jolly party with a good band and dancing and all the rest of it, I forget all my worries. Daresay you'll laugh, but this is the kind of thing I like. Always did."
Have you many worries?" said Amberley lightly. "It doesn't look like it."