"I'm afraid"--he heard Miss Bax talking as it were an immense way off as he floated away on the wings of his dream--"that my views would startle Mr Gallup." The motor turned in at the drive gates, they had reached the door. Eloquent was right in the middle of his dream. He followed Lady Campion and Miss Bax across the hall and down a corridor to a room he had never been in when he was a child. Fusby threw open a door and announced loudly, "Sir George and Lady Campion, Miss Bax, Mr Gallup." They were the last of the guests. For a little while he was less conscious of his dream. This light, bright room with white panelled walls and furniture covered with gay chintzes, soft blurred chintz in palest pinks and greens, with pictures in oval frames, and people, ordinary people that he had seen before, all talking and laughing together. This was not the Redmarley that he knew, grave and beautiful and old. This was not the Redmarley of his dream. It came back to him as Mrs Ffolliot gave him her hand in welcome, presenting him to her husband and one or two other people. It left him as she turned away and Grantly came forward and greeted him. Grantly, tall and irreproachably well dressed, cheerful withal and quite at his ease. Sir George had pulled Mary into the very middle of the room and held her at arm's length with laughing comments. How could men find the courage for that sort of thing? He heard him ask what she had done with her sash, and then Mrs Ffolliot said, "I think you know my daughter, Mr Gallup; will you take her in to dinner?" And once more he was well in the middle of his dream, for he found himself in the corridor he knew, side by side with Mary, part of a procession moving towards the dining-room. Her hand was on his arm, but the exquisite moment was a little marred by the discovery that she was quite an inch taller than he.