Everybody's flowers matched everybody's frock to perfection; those of the h'orphan nieces were just as beautiful as those of the daughters, and it is no wonder that the English nosegay descended upon paterfamilias, bore him into the passage, and if they did not kiss him soundly, why did he come back all rosy and crumpled, smoothing his dishevelled hair, and smiling at Lady Brighthelmston? We speedily named the girls Rose, Mignonette, Violet, and Celandine, each after the colour of her frock.
“But there are only five, and there ought to be six,” whispered Salemina, as if she expected to be heard across the street.
“One—two—three—four—five, you are right,” said Mr. Beresford. “The plainest of the lot must be staying in Wales with a maiden aunt who has a lot of money to leave. The old lady isn't so ill that they can't give the ball, but just ill enough so that she may make her will wrong if left alone; poor girl, to be plain, and then to miss such a ball as this,—hello! the first guest! He is on time to be sure; I hate to be first, don't you?”
The first guest was a strikingly handsome fellow, irreproachably dressed and unmistakably nervous.
“He is afraid he is too early!”
“He is afraid that if he waits he'll be too late!”
“He doesn't want the driver to stop directly in front of the door.”
“He has something beside him on the seat of the hansom.”
“The tissue paper has blown off: it is flowers.”
“It is a piece! Jove, this IS a rum ball!”