The Duchess of M- occupied the ancestral mansion in London. It was a fine old house standing in its own grounds-one of those relics of old times which are screened by high walls and solid barriers against the notice of the modern plebeian. It was a truly palatial residence. The late Duke, imbued with the laisser aller spirit of the times, had changed the spacious chapel into a magnificent ballroom. It had been originally constructed at the rear of the garden and communicated directly with the main hall by a short marble vestibule. Unusually lofty, it consisted of a nave and side aisles. A fine gallery was allotted to the orchestra. Under it the Duchess stood on a dais to receive her numerous guests on the night of her famous bal costume.
The order had been rigorously imposed. Every guest was to be either in uniform, official or military, or to assume the dress and character of some special personality.
The Duchess of M- was a personage not to be lightly ignored. A peer of the realm had essayed to call on her with his trousers turned up at the heels-a stupid habit among men considered to be 'the correct thing, you know, dear boy.' The stately majordomo had stopped his lordship in the hall with the remark, accompanied by a significant gesture: 'I must trouble your lordship to let your trousers down. Her Grace has given express orders on the subject.'
'Papa, dear, shall we go straight in with the throng and follow up in turn to the Duchess?'
'Yes, certainly, dear child, it will be best, and we will take our turn.'
It was a magnificent sight. The band had only played some introductory morceaux. The presentations were going on.
Sir Edward looked splendid in full uniform (we had had to abandon Charlemagne), the broad red ribbon of the Bath supporting the beautiful star-his breast covered with the medals he had received in the wars.
I wore the costume on which I had already decided. It consisted of the dress actually preserved from the wardrobe of my great- grandmother of pious memory (of whose memoirs you may have heard), such as she had worn at, or about, my own age, with a large 'coal-scuttle' hat and feathers, from beneath which peeped the saucy face and flowed the luxuriant locks of little Eveline-her namesake and her antitype. To give piquancy to the character, I carried a charming little basket filled with capital imitations of four-leaved shamrocks. Her Grace welcomed papa with marked cordiality and received his gallant salute on her gloved hand with evident delight. She smiled, I thought, with interest at myself.
The dancing commenced. The Duchess led the first quadrille with Royalty. The scene broke into a moving mass of charming color and life. The music was delicious.
Papa wandered off among his acquaintances. I sat with Lady Lessleton in one of the spaces between the marble columns which separated the nave of the noble hall from the aisles and bore the roof. Each of these spaces were filled with a very forest of flowering shrubs. Seats had been placed with their backs against these plants.
The tall tropical palms and flowing exotics formed a series of delicate arbors under which the lounges has been arranged to afford rest to the dancers, and also a comfortable nook for the lookers-on. The aisles had been kept free for those who desired to promenade therein. Half hidden among the leaves I reclined lazily watching the fast-gliding couples in a dreamy waltz, having declined the dance myself. Soon my ear caught the sound of voices on the other side of the foliage. Men were standing there to peer over the leafy screen where, here and there, a chance interstice favored their view. I could not help catching their words.
'Who is that girl in the old-fashioned dress with the big bonnet?'
'Don't you know? She's the only daughter of Sir Edward L. This is her first season-she's very young-any amount of dibs. She's a pretty enough girl too.
'Pretty is not the word. She is divinely beautiful. I never saw such a perfect face, such eyes, such hair out of a picture.'
'Well, there's no accounting for taste, Endy, my boy! Don't go and get spoony if you don't intend to go through with it. They tell me she's got a temper. A bit prudish, too, they say.'
'All the better! I hate your namby pamby girls who possess no more spirit than a tame cat.'
'Miss L, the Duchess has sent me to bring you to her. She has taken a great fancy to your costume. She wants to talk to you.'
It was her Grace's private secretary, a young man I had previously met. I rather liked him. He was unaffected and did not try to flirt. I took his offered arm to where the Duchess sat. She pointed with her great fan to a chair by her side and smiled very graciously as I seated myself.
'Well! You are superb! They told me you were beautiful, but there-what am I saying? — the girls were vain enough in my day, but now-they are simply unbearable! I ought not to spoil you, my dear.'
'I am not likely to be spoiled, your Grace. I hope I am not too vain either. I discount most of what I hear. I am so pleased you like my dress. May I offer your Grace one of my four-leaved shamrocks? They bring good luck.'
I rose. I selected a flower from my little basket and presented it to the dear old lady. She was delighted. I saw the keen look of approval with which she watched all my movements.
Her Grace spread her great fan with a sharp snap. She began to talk to me in an undertone behind it. She had been a very handsome woman in her time. Her rather masculine features and high nose still retained much beauty and refinement only marred by a very perceptible moustache, the dark end of which gave a somewhat saturnine expression to her face.
'I have hardly had a word with your father yet, my dear. It has not been possible. However, you must bring him here later on and between the dances, so we can converse. The music deafens me. Sir Edward is looking magnificent tonight. How young he is for his age! How well he has got on in the service! He deserves all his honors and will receive more.'
Down went the big fan with a miniature crash!
'Can you keep a secret? I suppose not. Girls are so altered nowadays! But, however, I will trust you.'
'You may indeed, ma'am. I have only to know that it is your wish, to make anything you tell me sacred.'
'You are a dear, good girl, and I'm sure you are no gossip. What I am going to tell you relates to your father-Sir Edward, my dear. I hear from a very direct source that his name is in the next list of honors for the coming Birthday. He is to be offered a peerage. Do you think he would like it?'
'I really hardly know, your Grace-it comes as a great surprise.'
'Well, you may hint it to him from me. Tell him I should be personally very pleased if it was offered and accepted. I have even suggested to the Duke the title he might assume. What do you think of Lord L of Muddipour?'
The announcement almost took my breath away. Inwardly I knew Sir Edward well enough to be sure he would welcome his new distinction. I assured the Duchess I would do my best to favor her kind desire, and that since it was her wish that he should accept the title, I would answer for him that it would be so.
When I came to think of all the surrounding circumstances: of our wealth-amply sufficient to grace such an advanced position-of our noble and ancient family coming down in an almost unbroken line from the Norman Conquest; of Sir Edward's services, and of the oft- recurring difficulty of rewarding him by promotion over the heads of older officers, I came to the conclusion that he ought not to hesitate on such a matter-nor, in fact, did he.
Muddipour was one of papa's best battles. It seems it was somewhere up on the frontier of British India. There is a big plain and a river with crocodiles in it. It is a very rainy place at certain seasons. When the battle was fought, the whole plain on each side of the river was a mud swamp with rice fields in it. It was a Rajah who had revolted and collected a great following to attack the British. However, we scrambled together some native regiments and a few British troops. The Rajah attempted to cross the plain with all his forces to the attack. His army was nearly all cavalry and they wore great heavy boots. They got as far as the middle of the swamp, having forded the river. There they stuck. Neither horses nor men could advance, or get back. There was a great deal of firing of guns and cannons and things. Then papa sent in his little Goorkhas-hundreds and thousands of them. They had naked legs and rather liked the mud. They caught all the enemy's cavalry and killed them, and their horses too, with their horrid knives. There was of course also a heavy loss on our side. A regiment which had been sent round to outflank the enemy lost its way. The natives did not understand a white flag and would not let the men surrender. They killed nearly all the detachment. It was a complete victory, however, for the Rajah was killed and the remains of his army dispersed. There was, therefore, an end of that war. Papa won immense praise from the government. The Radical papers said it was a butchery. The Irish members rose en masse and attacked the Ministry and poor papa. It all came to nothing, however. Papa got a promotion and a medal. That was just before
