'
At midnight the dowager duchess arrived. She must at least have
been a dowager duchess, and if there is anything greater, within the
bounds of a reasonable imagination, she was that. Long streamers of
black tulle floated from a diamond soup-tureen which surmounted her
hair. Narrow puffings of white traversed her black velvet gown in
all directions, making her look somewhat like a railway map, and a
diamond fan-chain defined, or attempted to define, what was in its
nature neither definable nor confinable, to wit, her waist, or what
had been, in early youth, her waist.
The entire company was stirred by the arrival of the dowager
duchess, and it undoubtedly added new eclat to what was already a
fashionable event; for we counted three gentlemen who wore orders
glittering on ribbons that crossed the white of their immaculate
linen, and there was an Indian potentate with a jewelled turban who
divided attention with the dowager duchess's diamond soup-tureen.
At twelve-thirty Lord Brighthelmston chided Celandine for flirting
too much.
At twelve-forty Lady Brighthelmston reminded Violet (who was a
h'orphan niece) that the beautiful being in the white uniform was
not the eldest son.
At twelve-fifty there arrived an elderly gentleman, before whom the
servants bowed low. Lord Brighthelmston went to fetch Patricia, who
chanced to be sitting out a dance with Terence.
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