was a pleasantly warm night, and they had no farther to go than Sir Hugh
Cunyngham's house, which is one of the large garden-surrounded mansions
on the summit of Campden Hill.

When at length they arrived there and had entered by the wooden gate,
the semicircular carriage-drive, lit by two solitary lamps, and the
front of the house itself, half-hidden among the black trees, seemed
somewhat sombre and repellent at this silent hour of the morning; but
they found a more cheerful radiance streaming out from the hall-door,
which had been left open for them; and when they went into the large
dining-room, where the ladies had already assembled, there was no lack
of either light or color there, for all the candles were ablaze, and
the long table was brilliant with silver and Venetian glass and flowers.
And, indeed, this proved to be a very merry and talkative supper-party;
for, as soon as supper was served, the servants were sent off to bed;
Lord Rockminster constituted himself butler, and Percy Lestrange handed
round the pheasants' eggs and asparagus and such things; so that there
was no alien ear in the room. Lionel Moore, being less familiar with the
house, was exempted from these duties; in truth, it was rather the
women-folk who waited upon him--and petted him as he was used to be
petted, wherever that fortunate young man happened to go.

However, it was not supper that was chiefly occupying the attention of
this band of eager chatterers (from whom the silent Lord Rockminster,
walking gravely round the table with a large jug of champagne-cup in his
hand, must honorably be distinguished), it was the contemplated
production of a little musical entertainment called "The Chaplet," by
Dr. Boyce, which they were about to attempt, out-of-doors, on some
afternoon still to be fixed, and before a select concourse of friends.
And the most vivacious of the talkers was the red-headed and merry-eyed