“Don’t talk of things you don’t understand,” said Phil, who was too grand to be spoken to familiarly, and whose sense of responsibility was almost too heavy for perfect happiness. “I sha’n’t cheer unless they deserve it. But the rehearsal was awful fun,” he added, unbending. “You’ll say you never saw anything better, if they do half as well to-night.” Tottenham’s was gorgeous to behold when the guests began to arrive. The huge central hall, with galleries all round it, and handsome carpeted stairs leading on every hand up to the galleries, was the scene of the festivity. On ordinary occasions the architectural splendour of this hall was lost, in consequence of the crowd of tables, and goods, and customers which filled it. It had been cleared, however, for the entertainment. Rich shawls in every tint of softened colour were hung about, coloured stuffs draped the galleries, rich carpets covered the floors; no palace could have been more lavish in its decorations, and few palaces could have employed so liberally those rich Oriental fabrics which transcend all others in combinations of colour. Upstairs, in the galleries, were the humbler servants of the establishment, porters, errand boys, and their relatives; down below were “the young ladies” and “the gentlemen” of Tottenham’s occupying the seats behind their patrons in clouds of white muslin and bright ribbons. “Very nice-looking people, indeed,” the Duchess of Middlemarch said, as she came in on Mr. Tottenham’s arm, putting up her eyeglass. Many of the young ladies curtseyed to Her Grace in sign of personal acquaintance, for she was a constant patroness of Tottenham’s. “I hope you haven’t asked any of my sons,” said the great lady, looking round her with momentary nervousness. Mr. Tottenham himself was as pleased as if he had been exhibiting “a bold tenantry their country’s pride” to his friends. “They _are_ nice-looking, though I say it as shouldn’t,” he said, “and many of them as good as they look.” He was so excited that he began to give the Duchess an account of their benefit societies, and saving banks, and charities, to which Her Grace replied with many benevolent signs of interest, though I am afraid she did not care any more about them than Miss Annetta Baker did about the lecture. She surveyed the company, as they arrived, through her double eyeglass, and watched “poor little Mary Horton that was, she who married the shopkeeper,” receiving her guests, with her pretty children at her side. It was very odd altogether, but then, the Hortons were always odd, she said to herself--and graciously bowed her head as Mr. Tottenham paused, and said, “How very admirable!” with every appearance of interest.