It was
magnificent in all its details, originality combined with the most perfect
taste. Of course there were not as many jewels as one would see at a great
London function, but the toilettes could not have been surpassed. And as
for the women--stunning! Such beauty and style and breeding. I confess I
didn't expect quite all that. Miss Bascom, Miss Thorndyke, and an exquisite
young thing, Miss Groome--"
"Oh, those are the haute noblesse." Gora's tipper lip curled satirically.
"No doubt they lay claim that their roots mingle with your own."
"Well, we'd be proud of 'em."
"That was the Hofer ball, wasn't it! Do you mean to say that Alexina Groome
was there? Mrs. Groome, who is the most imposing relic of the immortal
eighties, is supposed to know no one of twentieth-century vintage."
"I am sure of it. I danced with her twice and would have jolly well liked
to monopolize her, but she was too plainly bowled over by a fellow--your
name, by Jove--Dwight. Good-looking chap, clean-cut, fine shoulders, danced
like a god--if gods do dance. I'm an awful duffer at it, by the way."
"Mortimer? Is it possible? And he--was he bowled over?"
"Ra--ther! A case, I should say."
"How unfortunate. Of course he hasn't the ghost of a chance. Mrs. Groome
won't have a young man inside her doors whose family doesn't belong root
and branch to her old set. Fine prospect for a poor clerk!"
"Jove! I've a mind to stay and try my luck.
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