Lord Hobble was there wearing a magnificent stud; Erasmus Belt, the famous author, whose novel, _Bitten: A Romance_, went into two editions; Sir Septimus Root, the inventor of the fire-proof spat; Captain the Honourable Alfred Nibbs, the popular breeder of blood-tortoises--the whole world and his wife were present. And towering above them all stood Lord Beltravers, of Beltravers Castle, Beltravers. Lord Beltravers stood aloof in a corner of the great ball-room. Above his head was the proud coat-of-arms of the Beltraverses--a headless sardine on a field of tomato. As each new arrival entered Lord Beltravers scanned his or her countenance eagerly, and then turned away with a snarl of disappointment. Would his little country maid never come? She came at last. Attired in a frock which had obviously been created in Little Popley, she looked the picture of girlish innocence as she stood for a moment hesitating in the doorway. Then her eyes brightened as Lord Beltravers came towards her with long swinging strides. "You're here!" he exclaimed. "How good of you to come. I have thought about you ever since this morning. There is a valse beginning. Will you valse it with me?" "Thank you," said Gwendolen shyly. Lord Beltravers, who valsed divinely, put his arm round her waist and led her into the circle of dancers. CHAPTER III AFFIANCED The ball was at its height. Gwendolen, who had been in to supper eight times, placed her hand timidly on the arm of Lord Beltravers, who had just begged a polka of her. "Let us sit this out," she said. "Not here--in the garden." "Yes," said Lord Beltravers gravely. "Let us go. I have something to say to you." Offering her his arm, he led her down the great terrace which ran along the back of the house. "How wonderful to have your ancestors always around you like this!" cooed Gwendolen, as she gazed with reverence at the two statues which fronted them. "Venus," said Lord Beltravers shortly, "and Samson." He led her down the steps and into the ornamental garden, and there they sat down. "Miss French," said Lord Beltravers, "or, if I may call you by that sweet name, Gwendolen, I have brought you here for the purpose of making an offer to you. Perhaps it would have been more in accordance with etiquette had I approached your mother first." "Mother is dead," said the girl simply. "I am sorry," said Lord Beltravers, bending his head in courtly sympathy. "In that case I should have asked your father to hear my suit." "Father is deaf," she replied. "He couldn't have heard it." "Tut, tut," said Lord Beltravers impatiently. "I beg your pardon," he added at once, "I should have controlled myself. That being so," he went on, "I have the honour to make to you, Miss French, an offer of marriage. May I hope?"