full dress, resplendent
figures in brilliant velvet, gold lace, and embroidery, with swords by
their sides, cocked hats, edged with gold or silver lace, under their
arms, and gemmed shoe buckles. The order of creation was not yet
reversed; the male creature was quite as gorgeous in colour and ornament
as the female, who sat in her brocade, powder and patches, fan in hand,
to receive the homage of his snuff-box.

Sir Amyas went the round, giving and returning greetings, which were
bestowed on him with an ardour sufficient to prove that he was a general
favourite. His mother, exquisitely dressed in a rich rose-coloured
velvet train, over a creamy satin petticoat, both exquisitely
embroidered, sailed up with a cordial greeting to her good cousin, and
wanted to set him down to loo or ombre; but the veteran knew too well
what the play in her house was, and saw, moreover, Lady Aresfield
sitting like a harpy before the green baize field of her spoils. While
he was refusing, Sir Amyas returned to him, saying, "Sir, here is a
gentleman whom I think you must have known in Flanders;" and the Major
found himself shaking hands with an old comrade. Save for his heavy
heart, he would been extremely happy in the ensuing conversation.

In the meantime Lady Belamour, turning towards a stout, clumsy, short
girl, her intensely red cheeks and huge black eyes staring out of her
powder, while the extreme costliness of her crimson satin dress, and
profusion of her rubies were ridiculous on the unformed person of a
creature scarcely fifteen. If she had been any one else she would have
been a hideous spectacle in the eyes of the exquisitely tasteful Lady
Belamour, who, detecting the expression in her son's eye, whispered
behind her fan, "We will soon set all that right;" then aloud, "My son
cannot recover from his surprise. He did not imagine that we could steal
you for an evening from Queen's Square to procure him this delight."
Then as Sir Amyas bowed, "The Yellow Room is cleared for dancing. Lady
Belle will favour you, Amyas."

"You must excuse me, madam," he said; "I have not yet the free use of my
arm, and could not acquit myself properly in a minuet."

"I hate minuets," returned Lady Belle; "the very notion gives me the
spleen."

"Ah, pretty heretic!" said my Lady, making a playful gesture with her
fan at the peony-coloured cheek. "I meant this wounded knight to have
converted you, but he must amuse you otherwise. What, my Lord I thou