CHAPTER XIII


In their passage to the Hall, the Marquess and Mrs. Million met Vivian
Grey, booted and spurred, and covered with mud.

"Oh! Mrs. Million--Mr. Vivian Grey. How is this, my dear fellow? you
will be too late."

"Immense honour!" said Vivian, bowing to the ground to the lady. "Oh! my
Lord I was late, and made a short cut over Fearnley Bog. It has proved a
very Moscow expedition. However, I am keeping you. I shall be in time
for the guava and liqueurs, and you know that is the only refreshment I
ever take."

"Who is that, Marquess?" asked Mrs. Million.

"That is Mr. Vivian Grey, the most monstrous clever young man, and
nicest fellow I know."

"He does, indeed, seem, a very nice young man," said Mrs. Million.

Some steam process should be invented for arranging guests when they are
above five hundred. In the present instance all went wrong when they
entered the Hall; but, at last, the arrangements, which, of course, were
of the simplest nature, were comprehended, and the guests were seated.
There were three tables, each stretching down the Hall; the dais was
occupied by a military band. The number of guests, the contrast between
the antique chamber and their modern costumes, the music, the various