He took his time in returning to Mardenholme; and the tableaux vivants had begun when he pushed his way in among the crowd of young men standing at the back of the picture-gallery, Lady Baker having naturally invited a good many more guests than could find even standing room. Here he stood patiently enough, and saw as much of the living pictures after Frith, Faed, and Millais as he could conveniently behold above the heads of the crowd in front of him. He was not deeply interested in the performance, his mind indeed being rather occupied with tender recollections of the humble tea-party at which he had lately assisted than by the charms of the graceful young lady who danced with Claude Duval, or of the pretty peasant lassie, with her shepherd’s plaid and neatly-snooded hair, or the damsel in white satin, who took a sad farewell of her Black Brunswicker under the glare of the lime-light. He applauded mechanically when other people applauded, and felt that he had done all that society could expect of him. His cousins came out presently among the crowd, and straightway pounced upon him, and reproached him with acrimony. ‘Why, Geoffrey, where have you been hiding yourself?’ asked Belle. ‘I’ve been strolling about the gardens a little,’ replied that arch hypocrite. ‘It’s rather warm in here.’ ‘Rather warm!’ exclaimed Jessie, who was evidently out of temper. ‘It’s insufferably hot, and I’m tired to death. These tableaux are a mistake after a garden-party. Lady Baker always tries to do too much. One feels so dowdy, too, in morning-dress when the lamps are lighted. But, pray, how have you managed to keep out of everybody’s way all the afternoon, Geoffrey? I haven’t set eyes on you since luncheon.’ ‘I hope you haven’t been looking for me all the time,’ said Geoffrey, with unruffled coolness. ‘I’ve been meandering about the grounds, enjoying nature.’ ‘Which I thought was not worth looking at in England,’ remarked Belle. ‘But perhaps, now we have found you,’ with angry emphasis, ‘you’ll be kind enough to get us some refreshment. I daresay you have had something, but I know I am ready to sink.’ ‘Yes, I’ve done pretty well, thanks. I had some bread-and-honey.’ ‘Bread-and-honey!’ cried Jessie. ‘O, that’s to say, something in that way. Your sweets and kickshaws are all the same to me—I never know what to call them. Come along, Belle, we’ll fight our way to the refreshment-room. You sha’n’t sink if I can help it.’