The rooms at Castle Hill were nearly full, and the ball had just begun, when the Oakenrod party arrived. Sebastian offered his arm to his mother, and she took it, both of them having a very strong sense of the fact that the courtesy was a mere outside show, and that they would rather have been any number of miles apart. Followed by Hugo, they penetrated through the large square hall and the coffee-room, to the drawing-room, which blazed in the full splendour of unlimited wax-lights. In the centre of the room, looking very hot and very uncomfortable, they found Mrs. Spenceley alone. Her lord was nowhere to be seen, though her son was stationed at some little distance from her, helping her in the discharge of her duties with a Thanshopian grace and dignity all his own. Sebastian, when his mother had finished her greetings and congratulations, went up to Mrs. Spenceley, and in his turn paid his _devoirs_. The lady bore upon her face distinct traces of uneasiness of mind. There was something terrible and _bezarre_ in the contrast between her expression and her attire. Helena had considerately tried to arrange her dress for her, with the natural sense of beauty and harmony of colour and material which she so strongly possessed. She had endeavoured to soften down the radiant hues contemplated by Mrs. Spenceley, and had succeeded in inducing her rather to dress herself in a magnificent robe of black satin. Diamonds twinkled upon her spacious bosom, and diamond pins fastened her gorgeous lace cap. Here Helena’s efforts had ceased to produce any effect. At this point Mrs. Spenceley’s own taste in dress asserted itself. She had thrown over her shoulders a floating scarf of crimson gauze, intertwined with lines of orient gold, and over which wandered abnormally large bunches of abnormally large grapes--purple grapes, with leaves of the same phenomenal proportions. This treasure had been put on in order, as she explained to Helena, ‘to cover my shoulders and give me a little colour; for, say what you will, a black satin and a white lace cap is not full enough for a woman of my years.’ In despairing resignation Helena had submitted, and the result was the apparition already described, looking, with the troubled, puzzled expression on her highly coloured face and the restless wandering of her gentle dark eyes, altogether so grotesque, that Sebastian’s quick observation instantly suspected something behind the gay show which surrounded them. ‘I am glad to see you, Mr. Mallory,’ she said, giving him her hand, and with an effort giving her attention to him. ‘I hope you’ll enjoy yourself, I’m sure. We’ve done all we could think of to make people enjoy themselves; but it is _very_ provoking, Spenceley’s not coming at the last minute, isn’t it?’ ‘I thought I missed Mr. Spenceley. Is he engaged?’