motte had insisted that Lord Alfred should sit next to himself at
the big table, and having had the objectionable bar removed, and his
own chair shoved one step nearer to the centre, had carried his point.
With the anxiety natural to such an occasion, he glanced repeatedly
round the hall, and of course became aware that many were absent. 'How
is it that there are so many places empty?' he said to his faithful
Achates.

'Don't know,' said Achates, shaking his head, steadfastly refusing to
look round upon the hall.

Melmotte waited awhile, then looked round again, and asked the
question in another shape: 'Hasn't there been some mistake about the
numbers? There's room for ever so many more.'

'Don't know,' said Lord Alfred, who was unhappy in his mind, and
repenting himself that he had ever seen Mr Melmotte.

'What the deuce do you mean?' whispered Melmotte. 'You've been at it
from the beginning and ought to know. When I wanted to ask Brehgert,
you swore that you couldn't squeeze a place.'

'Can't say anything about it,' said Lord Alfred, with his eyes fixed
upon his plate.

'I'll be d---- if I don't find out,' said Melmotte. 'There's either some
horrible blunder, or else there's been imposition. I don't see quite
clearly. Where's Sir Gregory Gribe?'

'Hasn't come, I suppose.'

'And where's the Lord Mayor?' Melmotte, in spite of royalty, was now
sitting with his face turned round upon the hall. 'I know all their
places, and I know where they were put. Have you seen the Lord Mayor?'

'No; I haven't seen him at all.'

'But he was to come. What's the meaning of it, Alfred?'

'Don't know anything about it.' He shook his head but would not, for
even a moment, look round upon the room.

'And where's Mr Killegrew,--and Sir David Boss?' Mr Killegrew and Sir
David were gentlemen of high standing, and destined for important
offices in the Conservative party. 'There are ever so many people not
here. Why, there's not above half of them down the room. What's up,
Alfred? I must know.'

'I tell you I know nothing. I could not make them come.' Lord Alfred's
answers were made not only with a surly voice, but also with a surly
heart. He was keenly alive to the failure, and alive also to the
feeling that the failure would partly be attached to himself. At the
present moment he was anxious to avoid observation, and it seemed to
him that Melmotte, by the frequency and impetuosity of his questions,
was drawing special attention