ag at the smaller door--for this was no day on which to mount up
under the portico; nor was that any suitable vehicle to have been
entitled to such honour. Frank felt some excitement a little stronger
than that usual to him at such moments, for he had never yet been in
company with the Duke of Omnium; and he rather puzzled himself to
think on what points he would talk to the man who was the largest
landowner in that county in which he himself had so great an
interest. He, however, made up his mind that he would allow the duke
to choose his own subjects; merely reserving to himself the right of
pointing out how deficient in gorse covers was West Barsetshire--that
being the duke's division.

They were soon divested of their coats and hats, and,
without entering on the magnificence of the great hall, were
conducted through rather a narrow passage into rather a small
drawing-room--small, that is, in proportion to the number of
gentlemen there assembled. There might be about thirty, and Frank was
inclined to think that they were almost crowded. A man came forward
to greet them when their names were announced; but our hero at once
knew that he was not the duke; for this man was fat and short,
whereas the duke was thin and tall.

There was a great hubbub going on; for everybody seemed to be talking
to his neighbour; or, in default of a neighbour, to himself. It
was clear that the exalted rank of their host had put very little
constraint on his guests' tongues, for they chatted away with as much
freedom as farmers at an ordinary.

"Which is the duke?" at last Frank contrived to whisper to his
cousin.

"Oh;--he's not here," said George; "I suppose he'll be in presently.
I believe he never shows till just before dinner."

Frank, of course, had nothing further to say; but he already began to
feel himself a little snubbed: he thought that the duke, duke though
he was, when he asked people to dinner should be there to tell them
that he was glad to see them.

More people flashed into the room, and Frank found himself rather
closely wedged in with a stout clergyman of his acquaintance. He was
not badly off, for Mr Athill was a friend of his own, who had held a
living near Greshamsbury. Lately, however, at the lamented decease
of Dr Stanhope--who had died of apoplexy at his villa in Italy--Mr
Athill had been presented with the better preferment of Eiderdown,
and had, therefore, removed to another part of the county. He was
som