And Cocky, leaving his brother-in-law furious, sneaked off to find the buffets.
It was a very splendid and gorgeous scene in the great house which Wren had designed, and many a famous painter had decorated. Margaret Massarene gazed at it as she sat in solitary state, blazing with diamonds and admirably attired in black velvet and white satin, with that due regard to her age which it had so wounded her to hear suggested. No one noticed her, no one remembered her; but some very stately dowagers near her glanced at her now and then with an expression which made her wish that she were back again in Dakota by her oil-stove and her linen-wringer.
“’Tis a mighty pretty sight,” thought Margaret Massarene as she sat and looked on; “and William’s dancing is a thing I never did think to see in all my days. But these women look as if they’d like to duck me in a pond.”
Carrie Wisbeach, who was genuinely good-natured, observed her neglected and isolated aspect, and called to her side a fresh-colored pleasant-looking person, old, but hale and bright-eyed, who had taken with success the name of Samuel Pepys.
“Daddy, let me take you up to the Massarene woman,” she whispered. “She’s so dreadfully disconsolate, and they give extraordinarily good dinners.”
He looked and made a little wry face.
“They’ve got Von Holstein’s cook,” she added persuasively.
“Really? Richemont?”
“Yes, Richemont; and the best cellar now in London. Come, make yourself pleasant!”
“Ronnie won’t know ’em,” said the gentleman, glancing down the rooms to where Hurstmanceaux stood, looking very handsome but extremely bored, wearing the dress which a Courcy had worn when ambassador for Charles to the French Court.