The ladies were not playing the harp or the fiddle, as Nero is said to have done during the burning of Rome; but they were enjoying the spectacle as most people enjoy that which greatly interests and excites. Lady Adisham, John Stanburne's august mother-in-law, was not there; she was in close conference with her daughter, in a part of the grounds yet more private and remote. But Lady Brabazon was there, and some other splendidly adorned dames, who were passing an opera-glass from hand to hand.
As the Colonel and his mother approached, they had the pleasure of overhearing the following fragment of conversation.
"Quite a great fire; really magnificent! Don't you think so? We're safe here, I believe."
"Yes; Captain Eureton said we should be safe here."
"I wonder if Mr. Stanburne has insured his house. They say he's not at all rich. Pity his little daughter was burnt—really great pity; nice little girl!"
"Where are we to sleep to-night, do you think?"
"Really don't know. À la belle étoile, I suppose. That horrid man that's ordering the men about won't let us have our boxes. We shall take cold. I have nothing but this shawl."
Just then the Colonel presented himself:
"I am very sorry," he said, with some bitterness, "that my house should be burnt down, if the accident has caused you any inconvenience. Mrs. Stanburne is come to offer you some accommodation at Wenderholme Cottage."
Lady Brabazon was going to make a speech of condolence, but the Colonel prevented it by adding, "Pray excuse me—I ought to be amongst the men;" and bowing very deferentially, he disappeared.