So we descended at the Imperial Hotel. We asked for a private room. There was an entrance hall, with a good many people in it. As we passed through we roused rather a sensation. I do not think that the women admired me—they could not possibly like my dress, nobody could, and there was nothing else about me to like—but on some of the men I believe I made an impression, of rather a peculiar kind. Of course I never looked at any of them. A lady never looks at a strange man. I hope I never should forget myself to that extent. But I noticed them all the same; and they all of them looked at me, in some cases in a somewhat singular way. Some of them had ladies with them; and in those cases I was convinced that the ladies—who were a thousand times better dressed than I was, and were so much prettier—did not entirely relish the manner in which their attendant cavaliers were eyeing me. And I suspected that my five men did not altogether like it either; so that it was rather amusing on the whole.
The dinner was not a complete success. I really could not say it was, especially at the beginning. To commence with, Mr Purchase and Mr Carter did not put in an appearance in that private room for two or three minutes after us, and I had a kind of persuasion that they had remained behind to say a few words to two gentlemen who had regarded me with marked attention. When they came Mr Purchase looked red and Mr Carter white. I wondered what had passed, and should have liked to have made inquiries. But at the moment I did not see how I could do so with appropriate delicacy.
There seemed to be a spirit of mischief in that private room which was bent on setting us at cross purposes. They showed a tendency to snap at each other’s noses, which, remembering that I was the only lady present, was not nice manners; though, of course, it had its entertaining side. An imposing personage—a manager, or head waiter, or something—had followed us into the room, and with a tablet in his hand, stood prepared to take our orders, which it seemed that nobody was quite prepared to give. There was a general disinclination to order the various dishes which together go to make a dinner, which was slightly embarrassing, and was the cause of some little discussion. Under the circumstances, I cannot see how the imposing personage was to blame for taking the matter a good deal out of their hands. Even if he did it with a certain air of deference to me, I cannot admit that he ignored them altogether, or that he drew up the plan of a dinner in which they were not suffered to have a voice. Therefore when, having completed the order for the meal, he withdrew, I was astonished to hear the remarks of which he was the subject. Major Tibbet drew himself to his full height—which, after all, is not much—blew his nose—which I do not believe required blowing—and flourished his handkerchief—which was of salmon-coloured silk—in the air.
“Fellow’s too big for his place!”
To my surprise the others followed in a chorus which pointed to their being, for the first time, in agreement with the Major.
“A good deal too big,” declared Mr Rumford; “and he forgets his place.”
“Too much mouth,” was Mr Hammond’s cryptic utterance. “Wants riding on the snaffle.”
Mr Purchase’s comment was easier to understand; and, perhaps, on that very account, more acidulated.
“Some of the jacks-in-office you meet in places of this sort are insufferable.”
Mr Carter echoed him, with an addition of his own.