CHAPTER XVII

Mrs. Jessop's drawing-room, ruddy with fire-light, glittering with
delicate wax candle-light; a few women in pale-coloured gauzy dresses,
a few men, sublime in blue coats, gold buttons, yellow waistcoats, and
smiles--this was all I noticed of the scene, which was quite a novel
scene to me.

The doctor's wife had introduced us formally to all her guests, as the
custom then was, especially in these small cosy supper-parties. How
they greeted us I do not now remember; no doubt, with a kind of
well-bred formal surprise; but society was generally formal then. My
chief recollection is of Mrs. Jessop's saying pointedly and aloud,
though with a smile playing under the corners of her good little mouth:

"Mr. Halifax, it is kind of you to come; Lady Caroline Brithwood will
be delighted. She longs to make your acquaintance."

After that everybody began to talk with extraordinary civility to Mr.
Halifax.

For John, he soon took his place among them, with that modest
self-possession which best becomes youth. Society's dangerous waters
accordingly became smooth to him, as to a good swimmer who knows his
own strength, trusts it, and struggles not.

"Mr. Brithwood and Lady Caroline will be late," I overheard the hostess
say. "I think I told you that Miss March--"

But here the door was flung open, and the missing guests announced.
John and I were in the alcove of the window; I heard his breathing
behind me, but I dared not look at or speak to him. In truth, I was
scarcely calmer than he. For though it must be clearly understood I
never was "in love" with any woman, still the reflected glamour of
those Enderley days had fallen on me. It often seems now as if I too
had passed the golden gate, and looked far enough into youth's Eden to
be able ever after to weep with those that wept without the doors.

No--she was not there.

We both sat down. I know not if I was thankful or sorry.

I had seldom seen the 'squire or Lady Caroline. He was a portly young
man, pinched in by tight light-coloured garments. She was a lady
rather past her first youth, but very handsome still, who floated
about, leaving a general impression of pseudo-Greek draperies, gleaming
arms and shoulders, sparkling jewellery, and equally sparkling smiles.
These smiles seemed to fall just as redundantly upon the family
physician, whom by a rare favour--for so, I suppose, it must have
been--she was honouring with a visit, as if worthy Dr