THE SERVANTS' BALL.

269

the conversation myself, certainly, for his replies, though couched in terms of the deepest respect, and accompanied by a chivalrous deference for my sex, to which I was totally unaccustomed from the partners of a London ball-room, consisted for the most part of little more than 'Yes, Miss,' and 'No, Miss,' with an additional smooth of the smoothest, shiniest head I ever beheld. When I had exhausted the meets of the hounds for the ensuing week, with a few general observations on the pursuit of hunting, and the merits of that noble animal, the horse, I began to get high and dry for further topics, and was not sorry when three fiddles and a flute struck up their inspiriting tones, and away we all went, 'cross hands,' 'down the middle and up again,' to the lively and by this time tolerably familiar air of Sir Roger de Coverley.'

I am bound to confess that, as far as the servants were concerned, everything went on with the utmost propriety and respect. Sir Guy, indeed, pulled his partner about with an unnecessary degree of vigor, which at times almost degenerated into a romp, and squeezed my hands in the Poussette,' with an energy of affection which I could well have dispensed with; but every one else was a very pattern of politeness and decorum. In fact, the thing was almost getting stupid, when my little second-horse rider and myself, returning breathless from our rapid excursion down some two-and-thirty couple, were

'brought up,' startled and dismayed by a piercing scream from at least that number of female voices, all raised at the same instant.

'Fire! fire!' exclaimed the tall housemaid at my elbow.

'Save me! save me!' shrieked the fat housekeeper, plumping into Frank Lovell's arms, and well nigh bringing him to the ground, in which case she must have crushed him.

'Murder! murder!' shouted my idiot of a maid, Gertrude, rushing frantically for the door-way, followed by Sir Guy, who was swearing, I am sorry to say, most fearfully.

Stand still, fools! I heard Lady Scapegrace exclaim in her deep tones, and let nobody open the door!'

By this time there was a rush of all the women towards the door; and as the centre of the room was cleared, I saw what had happened. The muslin transparency had caught fire—a large fragment of it was even now blazing on the floor, and the consequences amongst all those light floating dresses and terrified women might have been indeed awful. For an instant everybody seemed paralyzed-everybody but Cousin John; during that instant he had flung off his coat, and kneeling upon it, extinguished the flames; they were still blazing over his head: with a desperate bound he tore down the ill-fated transparency; regardless of singed hair and blistered

COUSIN JOHN AGAIN.

271

hands, he clasped and pressed it and stamped upon it, and smothered it. Ere one could have counted fifty, the danger was over, and not a vestige of the fire remained. How handsome he looked, with his brave face lighted up, and his eyes sparkling with excitement! Nobody could say John wanted expression of countenance now. The next moment he was quietly apologizing in his usual tone to Lady Scapegrace for 'spoiling her beautiful transparency,' and parrying her thanks and encomiums on his courage and presence of mind, with an assurance that he only pulled it down because he happened to be directly under it;' but he could not help turning to me and saying,—

'Kate, I hope you were not much frightened.'

The words were not much, but they were uttered in the old kind voice; they rung in my ears all the evening, and I went to bed happier than I ever thought I could have been after such a day.

272

SUNDAY AT SCAMPERLEY.

CHAPTER XXI.

THE Sunday at Scamperley, I am sorry to say, was hardly observed with that degree of respect and strictness which is due to the one sacred day of the week. Very few people went to morning service, as indeed the late hours over-night kept most of us in our rooms till eleven or twelve o'clock, when we dawdled down to a breakfast that seemed to lengthen itself out till luncheon-time. To be sure, when the latter meal had been discussed, and we had marked our reverence for the day by a conversation in which we expressed our disapproval of the personal appearance, faults and foibles, and general character of our friends, some of us would declare an intention of attending afternoon church — on which subject much discussion would arise, and the probability of the weather holding up would be volubly commented on; the church being situated about a quarter of a mile from the house, and the way to it through the park being so completely sheltered by evergreens, that to have got wet, save in a downright pour of rain, was next to impossible. At last we would get under way, the ladies mincing

along with their magnificently-covered prayer-books, affecting an air of unwilling decorum; the dandies carrying cloaks, shawls, and umbrellas for their respective goddesses, and following them, so to speak, under protest, as if there was something to be ashamed of in the whole proceeding. Lady Scapegrace always went early, and quite by herself: she sat apart, too, from her guests and relatives. Not so, Sir Guy. It was his great delight to create as much noise and confusion as possible, that on his entrance the respectable yeomen and humble parishioners might be dazzled with his glory, anë whisper one to another, 'that be Sir Guy,' as h marched to the front of his family pew in a blaze of wondrous apparel. It was natural that he should create a sensation, with his red face and gaudycoloured clothes, and huge dyed whiskers, and the eternal flower in his mouth, which was always on duty save when relieved by a cigar or a toothpick. Pew it could scarcely with propriety be called, inasmuch as it was more like a box at the opera than a seat in a place of worship. We entered by a staircase outside the church, with a private door of our own; passing through which, we found ourselves in a very comfortable chamber, with a good many chairs and sofas, a handsome book-case, and a blazing fire. This again led to a smaller apartment, into which Sir Guy would swagger with much unnecessary noise and bustle. Throwing up a large

T