After an eight-mile drive the Monkswood party found themselves at the scene of action, and amidst a throng of carriages and blaze of lights descended at the entrance. “We shall have to sort ourselves now,” remarked Geoffrey, as he sprang out with the bound of a kangaroo. “You and Alice, Regy--Miss Ferrars and I will follow--lead the way.” On a table in the entrance-hall lay heaps of gilded programmes. Sir Reginald picked up two as he passed, and, handing one to his wife, said carelessly: “You will give me a dance, Alice; won’t you?” “Certainly,” she replied, secretly much surprised at the request. “I have promised Geoffrey the second valse; what will you have?” “The valse after supper, when the room is not so crowded. There seem to be hundreds here,” glancing through the ball-room. “Let me see,” taking her programme and looking at it for an instant; “Number fourteen, ‘Brises des Nuits,’ I’ll take that, thanks,” scribbling his initials and handing back her card. “We had better move on now, the door is no longer blocked.” They at last succeeded in making their way to Lady Rufford, who received them with much _empressement_; and Alice, after exchanging a few words with her hostess, was eagerly engaged for the ensuing lancers by a little Russian prince, who had clamorously begged for an introduction. It is almost needless to describe a large ball in a country house; there is a strong family likeness among them, one is very much like another. A good floor, good supper, Liddell’s band, and flowers in all directions constitute the chief features. The house party, the _élite_ of the county, formed some portion of those present. There were pretty country girls with rather _outré_ dresses; there were stylish young ladies, who went to town every season, and wore unimpeachable frocks, to these a ball was a very ordinary affair; there were young men, bored and _blasé_, lounging against doors and walls, and looking superior to the whole thing; rustic sons of neighbouring squires, uncouth and unpolished, enjoying themselves hugely in elephantine gambols with the partners of their choice. There were the chaperones--already languishing for supper, a large military contingent, and an immense number of outsiders, to whom this ball was the great social event of the year. The rooms were crowded; the reception-room, tea-room, and ball-room were almost impassible, not to speak of the staircase and all the nooks and corners that were crammed. Alice and Reginald were personally but little known, and they overheard various remarks about themselves of a highly laudatory character. For instance, during a pause in a valse Reginald’s lively partner, who was freely discussing the dancers, exclaimed: