‘Then you shall remain at home, and I will remain with you.’
‘Not so, my love: you must go, and Margaret shall accompany you.’
‘But I would rather stay.’
‘Nonsense, Madeline. If you talk like that I shall go, and punish you for your perversity by being more than usually disagreeable.’
So it was settled, the carriage was ordered, and Madeline drove down to Barnes with Miss Forster by her side.
The gathering, as we have said, was always numerous, but this time it seemed of greater importance than ever. The street on the river side was so blocked with carriages that some time elapsed before Forster’s brougham could pull up at the door, and when at length it did, and the ladies passed over the carpeted pavement into the hall, they found themselves in so dense a throng that it was with difficulty they made their way along at all. At length, however, they reached the top of the crowded staircase, at the door of a crowded room. Here Madeline paused; her eyes, lately accustomed to the darkness, were dazzled by the brilliant glare of light which met them, so that at first she could find out nothing very distinctly; in a moment, however, the feeling of confusion passed away, and with one swift glance she took in the scene.
In a suite of lofty rooms running from one to another, like a picture gallery, and almost as thickly covered with works of art, were ladies and gentlemen of all shapes and ages, the majority of the ladies clad in what is now known as the aesthetic, or high-waisted, style, and the greater number of the gentlemen resembling one another in a certain limp and flaccid self-consciousness of attitude. Scattered here and there, as a sort of leaven, were swarthy artists, with beards, spectacled savants and scientists, stout literary ladies, and acidulous lady members of the London School Board. It was, indeed, a scene too familiar to need much describing. The chatter was deafening, reminding an irreverent spectator of the noise in the monkey-house at the Zoological Gardens.
While Madeline and Miss Forster stood hesitating within the threshold of the room, they were espied from a distance by Serena, who immediately made his way over to them, and forthwith, in the manner of one having authority, led them to the lady of the house.
The Countess, who was shining resplendent in a dress composed entirely of Indian shawls folded tight round her lissome figure, welcomed Madeline with effusion, and gave the tip of her fingers to Miss Forster; then after a little desultory prattle, she introduced Madeline to a limp gentleman standing near, and floated away to another part of the room.
‘A charming creature the Countess,’ said the limp gentleman. ‘So far above the vulgar prejudices of our too crowded civilisation, with no creed but Beauty, and no God but Art.’