It might have been a stage direction. “A tucket sounds. Enter the Vicomte, disguised.” To tell the truth, this entry was a daunting business. A dance had just come to an end; and the musicians in the gallery had fallen to tuning their violins. The chairs arrayed along the walls were thinly occupied, and as yet the social temperature scarce rose to thawing-point. In fact, the second-rate people had arrived, and from the far end of the room were nervously watching the door for notables. Consequently my entrance drew a disquieting fire of observation. The mirrors, reflectors, and girandoles had eyes for me; and as I advanced up the perspective of waxed floor, the very boards winked detection. A little Master of Ceremonies, as round as the rosette on his lapel, detached himself from the nearest group, and approached with something of a skater’s motion and an insinuating smile.
“Mr.-a-Ducie, if I heard aright? A stranger, I believe, to our northern capital, and I hope a dancer?” I bowed. “Grant me the pleasure, Mr. Ducie, of finding you a partner.”
“If,” said I, “you would present me to the young lady yonder, beneath the musicians’ gallery——” For I recognised Master Ronald’s flame, the girl in pink of Mr. Robbie’s party, to-night gowned in apple-green.
“Miss McBean—Miss Camilla McBean? With pleasure. Great discrimination you show, sir. Be so good as to follow me.”
I was led forward and presented. Miss McBean responded to my bow with great play of shoulders; and in turn presented me to her mother, a moustachioed lady in stiff black silk, surmounted with a black cap and coquelicot trimmings.
“Any friend of Mr. Robbie’s, I’m sure,” murmured Mrs. McBean, affably inclining. “Look, Camilla dear—Sir William and Lady Frazer—in laylock sarsnet—how well that diamond bandeau becomes her! They are early to-night. As I was saying, Mr.——”
“Ducie.”
“To be sure. As I was saying, any friend of Mr. Robbie—one of my oldest acquaintance. If you can manage now to break him of his bachelor habits? You are making a long stay in Edinburgh?”
“I fear, madam, that I must leave it to-morrow.”
“You have seen all our lions, I suppose? The Castle, now? Ah, the attractions of London!—now don’t shake your head, Mr. Ducie. I hope I know a Londoner when I see one. And yet ’twould surprise you how fast we are advancing in Edinburgh. Camilla dear, that Miss Scrymgeour has edged her China crape with the very ribbon trimmings—black satin with pearl edge—we saw in that new shop in Princes Street yesterday: sixpenny width at the bottom, and three-three-farthings round the bodice. Perhaps you can tell me, Mr. Ducie, if it’s really true that ribbon trimmings are the height in London and Bath this year?”