The Westhampton Hunt Ball represented all that was select, some of what was superior, and most of what was supercilious in the county of Westhamptonshire. There had been fears, and recent fears at that, that this year’s Ball might possibly be held under a shadow. But happily for the peace of mind of Westhampton, this shadow had been partially lifted from the town. The affair of the “Mutual Bank” frauds that had at one time seriously threatened to involve more than one of the most exclusive County families in an upheaval that would have resulted in their financial ruin, had been brilliantly handled by those in charge of the case and the final crash triumphantly averted—with the sensational arrest of Sir Felix Warburton, one of the Bank’s most important directors. Whereat the more distinguished portion of Westhampton—albeit shocked and startled—breathed freely again and welcomed its Annual Ball with all its accustomed avidity. On the February evening in question the Red Ruritanian Band was in its most scintillating form, and beautiful women piloted by bronzed men—sun-tanned and wind-tanned and released for the time-being from the accustomed lilt of the galloping feet of horses—swept round what was unanimously acclaimed as a perfect floor, on twinkling toes and endeavoured with the assurance of the expert dancer, to do it the strictest justice. Sir Matthew Fullgarney, Lord Lieutenant of the County made his way bustlingly from the refreshment-room specially reserved for the more distinguished guests, and brushed his perfectly-trimmed white moustache with a gesture that betokened complacent satisfaction. Then he courteously waved his hand to the smaller of two men who were at that moment passing him. “Good evening, Major! Wonderfully fine show this evening—what?” The man addressed smiled a reply as he walked by with his companion. “Who’s that Carruthers is trotting round with him to-night, Pauline?” asked Sir Matthew, turning to his charming young wife—“can’t seem to place him at all!” Lady Fullgarney turned interestedly, and threw a quick glance at the two retreating figures. “I don’t think I know,” she answered—with a slow shake of the head—“the man’s a perfect stranger to me—I feel certain.” Sir Matthew growled unintelligibly—he always liked a satisfactory reply to any question that it pleased him in his wisdom to ask. He felt that any failure to supply this satisfaction savoured of disrespect to him. But on this occasion he suffered Lady Fullgarney to lead him back again to the ballroom—to be flattering himself very soon that he was cutting as fine a figure as any man present despite the annoying fact that his question remained unanswered. Meanwhile, the Chief Constable—Major Carruthers—was entertaining the subject of Sir Matthew’s curiosity in the refreshment-room that the Lord Lieutenant had so recently, and it must be admitted—regretfully—left. Sir Matthew had a discerning taste in more than one direction.