From our point of vantage we could command a full view of the ball-room. The melody of the waltz, the perfume, and the frou-frou of Parisian and Viennese confections had lulled the little man into a delicious reverie.
“There,” I said, “you see that old chap who looks as if he had stolen the Eastern Hemisphere and put it under his waistcoat—that explains the fizz!”
My friend looked exceedingly puzzled.
“That’s Gootzegog—the chap who supplied the wine. Oh, everybody knows Sir Tumnal runs things a bit above his income. Lady Tintz has social ambitions. What’s the consequence? Bills are paid by invitations to meet all the exclusive and celebrated, instead of by coin of the realm. Gootzegog accepted with pleasure—on the back of a receipted bill for six dozen ‘bottles of the boy.’”
“Really, this is exceedingly unpl——”
“Social sins,” I said. “You’ll know them all by heart by and by. It’s only a question of time. Now, you see that woman hop-waltzing. There, just passed us, high-pitched voice, pearls——”
“Yes, yes, but——”
“That is Mrs. Grinburger, known in Chatham Street as Juliette & Cie., swagger dressmakers, where Lady Tintz can make up her betting-book, and hedge—by patronising the Grinburger.”
“Upon my word!” in astonishment.
“Scandalous having to meet these people. And that thin woman bare-ly clothed—ha! ha! excuse my little quip.”