Their numbers had been completed by some overnight arrivals. The first two were Mr. and Mrs. Lance Gaymer. Joan's only brother had taken upon him the responsibility of matrimony at the early age of twenty-two, and the rather appalling young person who preceded him into the drawing-room, and greeted Joan as "Jowey," was the accessory to the fact. Why or where Lance had married her no one knew. He had sprung her one day, half proudly, half defiantly, upon a family circle at Manors which was for the moment too horror-struck to do anything but gape. Fortunately Uncle Jimmy was not present,—he had departed on his voyage by this time,—and it was left to Joan to welcome the latest addition to the house of Gaymer. This she did very sensibly and prettily, though she wept unrestrainedly upon the sympathetic bosom of Mildred Leroy afterwards.
For Lance's sake Mrs. Gaymer was accepted without demur. Whatever she was or had been,—whether she had manipulated a beer-engine or gesticulated in musical comedy,—there she was, and had to be assimilated. No questions were asked, but she was religiously invited to Manors at intervals, and Joan and Mrs. Leroy, when they went up to town in the season, paid occasional state calls upon Mrs. Lance at her residence in Maida Vale, where they drank tea in company with the alumnæ of the variety stage and the jug-and-bottle department.
Lance himself was understood to be making a living out of journalism. He looked considerably more than twenty-three.
The third arrival was a Mr. Guy Haliburton, proposed for admission by Mr. Lance Gaymer, seconded by Mrs. Lance Gaymer. He was full of deference, and apologised with graceful humility for his presence. He felt himself a horrible intruder, he said, but he had been assured so earnestly by "old Lance" that Mrs. Leroy was in want of another dancing man, that he had ventured to accept his vicarious invitation and come to Manors. He was made welcome.
Mr. Haliburton, on further acquaintance, described himself as an actor, but Hughie, whose judgments of men—as opposed to women—were seldom wrong, put him down unhesitatingly as a gentleman who lived, actor or no, by his wits. He was a striking-looking personage of about thirty. He had curly black hair and dark eyes, with dangerous eyelashes. He was well dressed,—too well dressed for the country,—and one felt instinctively that he was a good card-player, and probably objected to cold baths and early rising.
The Manors party were greeted in the vestibule of the Town Hall by Lady Fludyer, self-appointed Mistress of the Revels. At present she more nearly resembled a well-nourished Niobe.
"My dear," she cried, falling limply upon Mrs. Leroy and kissing her feverishly, "what do you think has happened?"
"Band not come?" hazarded Mrs. Leroy.
"Worse! Not a man—not a subaltern—not a drummerboy can get away from Ipsleigh to-night!" (Ipsleigh was a neighbouring military depôt, and a fountain-head of eligibility in a barren land.) "They have all been called out to some absurd inspection, or route-march, or manœuvres, or something, at twenty-four hours' notice. And they were coming here in swarms! There won't be nearly enough men to go round now. Half the girls will be against the wall all night! Oh, my dear, when I get hold of the General—"
Lady Fludyer's voice rose to a shriek, and she plunged wailing into a dark doorway, like a train entering a tunnel.