Lord Castlemallard was there, of course--and the gay and splendid Lady
Moira--whom I mention because General Chattesworth opened the ball in a
minuet with her ladyship--hobbling with wonderful grace, and beaming
with great ceremonious smiles through his honourable martyrdom. But
there were more than a score of peers there beside, with their peeresses
in tall feathers, diamonds, and monstrous hoops. And the lord lieutenant
was very near coming--and a lord lieutenant in those days, with a
parliament to open, and all the regalia of his office about him, was a
far greater personage than, in our democratic age, the sovereign in
person.
Captain Cluffe had gone down in a chair to Puddock's lodgings, to borrow
a pair of magnificent knee-buckles. Puddock had a second pair, and
Cluffe's own had not, he thought, quite recovered their good looks since
that confounded ducking on the night of the serenade. The gallant
captain, learning that Puddock and Devereux intended walking--it was
only a step across to the barrack-yard--and finding that Puddock could
not at the moment lay his hand upon the buckles, and not wishing to keep
the chair longer--for he knew delay would inflame the fare, and did not
like dispensing his shillings--
'Hey! walk? I like the fancy,' cried the gay captain, sending
half-a-crown down stairs to his 'two-legged ponies,' as people
pleasantly called them.
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