But all the others were there. Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn was resplendent in a plum-coloured suit, of which the breeches fitted so tightly, and of which the waist was so narrow, that he scarcely dared breathe. Mrs. Poskett and Ruth had put on their best gowns; the Admiral wore his gala uniform with all his medals, and his three-cornered hat. Madame herself was a vision of loveliness. She had discarded her half-mourning for the occasion; but what she wore I cannot tell you, except that it was a soft blue, and that there was graceful lace about her neck and wrists. If you wish to see what she looked like, you have only to examine a Book of the Modes of 1805, and you will find her there. Even Mr. Basil Pringle was brushed. Nanette and Jim—Jim in his best clothes—waited on Madame’s guests. The latter were all on their best behaviour. You never saw anything more elegant than the way Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn stuck out his little finger as he raised his cup to his lips; you never heard prettier protests than when Marjolaine offered Mrs. Poskett a third helping of cake. "I couldn’t! I reely and truly couldn’t!—Well, since you insist!" But do what Madame would she could not put her guests quite at their ease. A sort of blight brooded over their spirits. This was particularly noticeable in their attitude towards Sir Peter. They treated him with unaccustomed aloofness; they kept him at arm’s length; they did not respond to his sallies; with the result that his sallies became more forced as the evening wore on. As a contrast to this gentle gloom, Marjolaine’s high spirits amazed her mother. This child, who only last Saturday was broken-hearted, to-day was laughing and blithe, rallying her guests, prettily playing the hostess, the only life in the party. Madame watched her with puzzled anxiety. Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn, with the calf of his leg well displayed, and his little finger well at right angles to his cup, bowed elegantly. "Ah, Ladies, there is nothing so comforting as a dish of tea after dinner. It is prodigiously soothing!" There seemed no appropriate rejoinder, but Mrs. Poskett exploded with "Nothing can soothe the broken heart." She spoke into her cup, but her eyes wandered towards the Admiral. Sir Peter tried to change the conversation. Also he felt it was time to assert himself. Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn had been monopolising the notice of the ladies far too long. "Hah!" he cried, "I ’ve always said Pomander Walk was a Haven of Content. Look at it!" You remember that the last time he made a similar remark everybody obediently turned at his command. Imagine his feelings, then, when on this occasion nobody paid the slightest attention. On the contrary, they ostentatiously turned to each other and began spirited conversations about nothing in particular. He repeated, "I say, look at it!" but only drew a glare from Brooke-Hoskyn.