Elegantly dressed ladies add to the goodly show; and their many-hued robes mingling among the varied uniforms, add brilliant colouring to the scene. Here and there, a few black coats are visible, but civilians are rare on this evening. Walter Reeves, who is fond of pleasant effects, notes all this in his half-careless half-indolent way, as he slowly makes his passage through the throng and advances to the inner room. Mrs Best is seated on a low sofa, looking like a queen in her court, for many and admiring are her courtiers. Red coats and blue coats jostle each other, in the anxiety of the wearers to get speech with the lady of the house. Very pretty and graceful she looks as she sits there, dividing her favours with impartial hand. She has a fair blooming face, bright eyes, and a girlish lively manner. Her dress is of snowy crape, that falls round her like a fleecy cumulous cloud; the pale lavender trimmings that peep forth here and there in fringe and ribbon, are the last faint remains of mourning dedicated to her late husband. To catch the sparkle in her laughing blue eyes, to note her almost flaxen hair and eyebrows, to mark the rounded grace of her youthful figure, one would hardly imagine her to be a mother and a widow. Yet such is the case: she has two visible responsibilities at home in the shape of two little sons, who are at that moment, it is to be hoped, soundly slumbering in their faraway nursery down at Hayes Hill. Laura Best looks like some sunny-hearted merry girl just out of her teens, so innocent and guileless is her countenance, so silvery are her peals of musical laughter. Her sofa is placed in a kind of alcove slightly away from the full glare of the light; on each side fall the soft folds of white lace curtains, for the sofa is placed between two bow-windows. Behind it is a high stand of beautiful plants; many coloured hoyas display their clusters of waxy flowers; delicate white azaleas and rose-tinted and crimson camellias mingle their blooms, and hold their proud heads above their glossy foliage.
Mrs Best smiles to herself as she sees Walter Reeves advancing. A suspicion had been haunting her that as the Greys were not coming, for reasons she knows well, he would frame some apology and decline to put in an appearance. So she holds out her hand to him, playfully chides him for being late, and speedily draws him into conversation--that flows naturally and brilliantly wherever Laura Best chooses to make herself a centre. By-and-by Walter finds himself by that lady's side in the music-room; a small place, draped with rose-coloured curtains and lit with soft wax-candles, and just holding a piano, a harp, and a limited number of performers and listeners. As he takes part in a trio with Mrs Best and Major Dillon, and watches Laura's white dimpled hands running over the ivory notes of the piano, bringing out sweet sounds in her own light rippling manner, he remembers Katie's words about 'hidden claws,' and smiles as he recollects how severe and satirical Miss Grey can sometimes be.