Learmont too was marching among his guests for some time, like a spirit of evil. There was a cloud upon his brow, but he wrestled with the dark spirit that clung to his heart, and soon his countenance became wreathed in smiles, and he had a word of welcome, of gaiety, or of friendship, for every one of his guests. Sometimes he would pause, and cast his eye about him, to note if all had arrived,—a fact he could only judge of by the thronged state of the rooms, for being a masked hall there was no announcement of names. Learmont, however, had provided against the contingency of not knowing those parties to whom he wished to speak privately, by leaving orders in his hall that as their tickets were taken, an accurate account of their costumes should be brought to him.
He had already been told that the minister had arrived, and was enveloped in a purple cloak, embroidered with silver lace, and that Sir Francis Hartleton, likewise in domino, had come with a small party in his company, he having a black velvet cloak, and a hat with white feathers.
The Brereton party Learmont was well aware he would have no difficulty in recognising, for they were too much impressed with their own dignity to hesitate in throwing off all incognita as soon as possible.
The dancing was to commence at eleven o’clock; but before that hour Learmont saw that the principal saloon was uncomfortably crowded, and he immediately ordered the folding doors conducting to the next apartment, which was deliciously cool to be thrown open, and the ball to commence. Directing his eyes to the musicians, and clapping his hands, they struck up a lively measure, when he advanced to the haughty Lady Brereton, the younger, and offering her his hand, begged the honour of opening the ball with her, at the same time slightly removing his mask to assure her who he was, although such a measure was needless, for there was not one of his guests who had ever seen him before, that failed to recognise him. A large space was cleared for the dance, and Learmont led the proud beauty to perform one of those elaborate and tedious minuets now so properly exploded. When it was over, Learmont led the lady to a magnificent seat, and while the band struck up a lively measure, and one of those laughter-provoking dances which a hundred couple might engage in was proceeding, making the very lights dance in the chandeliers, he stooped to the lady’s ear, and whispered,—
“May I presume to hope that my devotion to your beauty will ensure me success in my suit for your hand? My income is immense, and I have nearly half a million of ready money. The other half you see around you in the decorations of this house.”
There was surely some fatality about Learmont’s money, for at that moment a trembling servant stepped up to him, and said,—
“An it please you, sir, there’s a—a row in the hall; and, and—an please you, sir, it’s—him.”
The man tendered to Learmont a dirty scrap of paper, on which he read,—
“The King of the Old Smithy, and friend.”