But old Bates's lamentations, echoed though they might be by the household and dependants of Berrington, found no place in the hearts of the merrymakers, who crowded the supper-room and great saloon, which, for the nonce, served as ballroom.
A gay scene, surely.—Fair faces and handsome figures, sparkle of jewels, and sheen of satin and silk, vivid colouring with stately setting, long mirrors reflecting the bright throng of dancers with their powdered wigs and rich clothing.
Sir Stephen himself, growing younger, though perhaps more portly, in prosperity, was life and soul to his entertainment. A gallant figure, too, in coat of mauve velvet with white satin knee-breeches and buckled shoes, broidered waistcoat and fine lace ruffles. It was easy to forget the brand which had marked him, in former days, as one outside the pale of honourable company.
Fair lips were ready to smile now on the owner of Berrington Manor. Roguish eyes looked coy as he bowed before their dainty owners, and tongues which, under other circumstances, might have been caustic, became honeyed in their phrases when addressing him.
As for company, the countryside was there as well as the party from town. Persons of fashion, these latter, at whom the country misses, whose style was as ancient as their lineage, stared agape.
But in the embrasure of a window Gabrielle Conyers looked up reproachfully into the dark, lean face of Michael Berrington.
"You're quite a stranger, sir," said she, with some asperity.
"I have been in town, Mistress Conyers."
"Ah yes! I know what that means." The child assumed an air of worldly wisdom. "Gambling, drinking, duelling, and playing all sorts of foolish pranks to amuse your master."
"My master?"