Thus it will be seen that the wily Learmont was playing a complicated game of public ambition, while at the same time, he was privately tortured by doubts and fears, concerning the fidelity of his accomplices in crime—the crafty Jacob Gray, and the dissipated and ruffianly Britton.
The fête was to conclude with a ball in a style of unparalleled splendour: one of the largest of the saloons had been fitted up as the ball-room, in a style of costly and rare elegance; the chalked flooring alone costing five hundred pounds in execution, it being designed by some of the first artists of the day.
This room was kept carefully closed, until Learmont himself should perceive that his guests were desirous of some changes of amusement, when upon a signal given by him, the folding doors were to be thrown open.
This signal he did not give until late; and he had been assured of the baronetcy in the following week, before he fancied it time to change the scene.
“Your exceedingly patriotic conduct, sir,” said an eminent political personage present, “has been represented to his majesty, who at once acceded to the proposed baronetcy, which he was gracious enough to say should be but the prelude to much greater things.”
“I trust that my future patriotism will be equally appreciated,” replied Learmont, courteously, and with the smallest dash of satire in his manner; “the next step up the ladder of nobility, I am quite aware is not so easy of access.”
“Real patriotism,” replied the political personage, with, a low bow to Learmont, “will accomplish wonders.”
“Would three more seats in the Commons be of service to the minister?” said Learmont, in a low tone.
“I should say, decidedly,” replied the other in a suppressed voice; “and a-hem, Baron Learmont would sound well.”
“There is nothing like patriotism,” said the squire.