Nothing could exceed the
propriety of the arrangements, for Sir Lucius was an unrivalled hand,
and, though a Newmarket man, gained universal approbation even in
Yorkshire. Lady Aphrodite was all smiles and new liveries, and the Duke
of St. James reined in his charger right often at her splendid equipage.
The day's sport was over, and the evening's sport begun, to a quiet man,
who has no bet more heavy than a dozen pair of gloves, perhaps not the
least amusing. Now came the numerous dinner-parties, none to be compared
to that of the Duke of St. James. Lady Aphrodite was alone wanting, but
she had to head the _menage_ of Sir Lucius. Every one has an appetite
after a race: the Duke of Shropshire attacked the venison as Samson the
Philistines; and the French princes, for once in their life, drank real
champagne.
Yet all faces were not so serene as those of the party of Hauteville.
Many a one felt that strange mixture of fear and exultation which
precedes a battle. To-morrow was the dreaded St. Leger.
'Tis night, and the banquet is over, and all are hastening to the ball.
In spite of the brilliant crowd, the entrance of the Hauteville party
made a sensation.
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