The dinner which was presently served was excellent, and since there were several topics of immediate public interest to be discussed conversation did not flag. Chief amongst these was the betrothal of the Princess Charlotte to the Prince of Orange, for so persistent were the rumours that the Princess had cried off that it was naturally a subject of paramount interest. Various reasons for the rupture were suggested, but Rockhill, who, being one of the Carlton House set, was probably better informed than anyone else present, said that he believed that the rift had arisen from the question of domicile: the Prince expected his bride to live in the Low Countries; the Princess, standing as she did in direct succession to the English throne, was determined to remain in her own country. This resolution, after some discussion, was approved, but it remained for Jenny to say that it seemed strange that the Regent should be willing to send his only child packing to foreign parts.

“Yes, indeed!” agreed Lady Oversley. “It really makes one wonder — But I believe she is excessively like him!” She then realized that her inconsequent tongue had betrayed her, and exclaimed, with even more inconsequence: “Which reminds me, Adam, that you must take your seat! Oversley was saying only the other day — weren’t you, my love? — that he must put you in mind of it.”

“Yes, I must, I suppose,” said Adam. “My uncle was speaking to me about it the other evening. He says he will go with me, and tell me what I must do when I get there — for I’m ashamed to say I don’t know!” He saw that Jenny was at a loss, and he smiled at her, saying: “In the House: I’ve a seat there, and must take an oath, or some such thing. I’m not obliged to make a speech, am I, sir?”

“Oh, no!” Oversley reassured him. “To be sure, Nassington is the man to sponsor you, except that — ”

“But he is not the man!” protested Brough. “Have my father, Lynton!”

The Dowager gave this her support. She distinctly recalled having heard the late Viscount deplore Lord Nassington’s Toryism, and was consequently sure that he would be much disturbed if he knew that his son was to take his seat under the aegis of a Government supporter. She then recounted a slightly muddled anecdote, told her by her father, about a party given by Mrs Crewe at the time of the great Westminster Election, at which the guests had worn blue and buff favours, which had something to do with General Washington. Or was it Mr Fox? Well, at all events, the toast had been True Blue.

“True Blue and Mrs Crewe, ma’am,” corrected Brough, well-versed in the annals of Whiggery. “Often heard m’father tell that tale. The Prince proposed it, and she whipped back with True Blue and all of you! Took very well.”

This naturally brought to mind the Prince’s sad change of front, now that he had become Regent, and the discussion became extremely animated. Adam took no part in it, but there was a decided twinkle in his eye, and when Brough said: “Go with m’father, and take care you sit down on the Opposition bench!” he replied in a soft, apologetic voice: “But I don’t think I wish to sit on the Opposition bench!”

Lord Rockhill laughed, but the other three gentlemen, momentarily stunned by this shocking announcement, recovered only to break into protest, even Mr Oversley being moved to say: “But you can’t! What I mean is, must be trying to hoax us!”

Adam shook his head, which made Brough demand to know why he was a member of Brooks’s. “Oh, that was my father’s doing, before I knew anything about politics!” he replied.

“You know precious little now!” said Oversley severely.

“Almost nothing,” Adam agreed. “Only that I’m not drawn to a set of fellows who have made it their business to snap and snarl round old Douro’s heels!”

“Oh, Wellington!” Oversley said, shrugging. “The belief that his victories have been exaggerated doesn’t comprise the whole of the party’s policy, my dear boy!”

The twinkle in Adam’s eye disappeared, and a rather dangerous sparkle took its place; but before he could speak Rockhill intervened, giving the conversation an adroit turn, guiding it by way of Brooks’s Club to White’s, and disclosing that a Grand Masquerade was to be given by the members of White’s, at Burlington House, in honour of the foreign visitors. The ladies found this a topic of far more interest than politics, and at once besieged Rockhill with questions. As might have been expected, he seemed to be very well-informed, and was able not only to tell them the names of the various princes and generals who were coming in the trains of the Tsar and the King of Prussia, but also to give them a forecast of what the celebrations would be. Besides the reviews, and the formal parties, there would be illuminations, fireworks, and lavish spectacles in the parks.

“That’s true,” corroborated Jenny. “At least, I know they mean to have illuminations at India House, and the Bank, and some other places as well, for my father was telling me about it only yesterday. And a civic banquet at the Guildhall, too, with all of them going to it in procession. He is going to hire a window for us — that is to say, he can very easily do so if we should wish it!” she added, with an involuntary look down the table at Adam.

“I should rather think you would!” exclaimed Lydia enviously.

“You would too, wouldn’t your” said Brough, who was seated beside her, “Can’t it be contrived? I shouldn’t go to Bath, if I were you: very dull sort of a place! Full of quizzes and cripples — balls end at eleven — nothing to do all day but drink the waters and parade about the Pump Room — not the style of thing you’ll enjoy!”

“I know I shan’t,” she sighed. “I have to go because of Mama. It is my Duty, so of course I don’t expect to enjoy it”

Jenny, who had quick hearing, had caught some part of this interchange. She said nothing then, but a little later, when the ladies had retired to the drawing-room and the Dowager was enjoying a comfortable gossip with Lady Oversley, she moved to where Lydia and Julia were seated side by side on a sofa, and said abruptly: “I’ve been thinking it over, and I believe I should ask Papa to procure a large window, or perhaps a room with several windows, so that we may invite our particular friends to share it with us. Would you care for it, Julia? And do you suppose that her ladyship might spare you for a visit to us, Lydia, so that you could see the procession, and all the other sights?”

“Oh, Jenny!” Lydia gasped. “If you truly mean it, and Mama won’t let me come, I’ll — I’ll jump on to the first stagecoach, and come without her leave!”

“No, that won’t fit: it wouldn’t be seemly,” said Jenny. “There’s no reason why she shouldn’t be able to spare you, for it won’t be for a few weeks yet, and you’ll have time enough to settle her into her new house. I’ll broach the matter to her now, while my Lady Oversley is here to add her word to mine, which I’ll be bound she will do.”

She gave her little characteristic nod, and crossed the room again. Watching her, Lydia said: “You know, Julia, one can’t but like her, however much one means not to! I quite thought she would be detestable, for I was as mad as fire when I knew what Adam had done, but she’s not! To be sure, I should have known she couldn’t be, because she was your friend.”

“I never knew her,” Julia said, in a low tone. “O God, will this evening never end?”

She got up as she spoke, and took a few hasty steps away before she recollected herself. The Dowager, seeing her standing by the pianoforte, said: “Dear child! Are you going to indulge us with a little music? Such a treat!”

Julia stared at her for a moment as though she scarcely understood; and then, without answering, threw her fan and her reticule aside, and sat down at the instrument. The Dowager, saying how well she remembered how very superior was dear Julia’s performance, resumed her conversation with Lady Oversley.

Amongst a multitude of damsels who numbered pianoforte-playing as one of their laboriously acquired accomplishments, Julia’s performance was indeed superior. She did not always play correctly, but she had, besides a great love of music, real talent, and a touch on the keys which Jenny, who seldom played a wrong note, could never rival.

Lady Oversley felt relieved. She had seen how impetuously Julia had sprung up from the sofa, and she had been seized by apprehension. But she knew that once Julia sat down at the pianoforte the chances were that she would forget herself and her surroundings, and become lost in music; and so she was able to relax her strained attention, and to apply herself to the task of persuading the Dowager to look with a kindly eye upon Jenny’s scheme for Lydia’s entertainment.

Julia was still playing when the gentlemen came into the room. She glanced up, but indifferently, and lowered her eyes again to the keyboard, and kept them so until she had struck the final chord of the sonatina, and Rockhill, moving forward, said: “Ah, that was very well done! Bravo! Now sing!”

She looked at him, faintly smiling. “No, how should I? You know my voice is nothing!”

“A little, sweet voice, charmingly produced. Sing a ballad for me!”

But she sang it for Adam, her eyes meeting his, and holding them. It was a trivial thing, a sentimental air which had been all the rage a year before. She sang it softly, and quite simply, but there was always in her singing a nostalgic sadness that tore at the heart-strings, and made people remember the past, and the might-have-been.  For Adam, to whom she had sung it many times before, the song conjured up every banished memory. He was still standing, his hand resting on the back of a chair, and as he listened, unable to drag his eyes from Julia’s face, it closed on the gilded wood, gripping it so tightly that his fingers whitened. Lydia noticed it, and, looking upward, saw an unguarded expression in his face which frightened her. She glanced instinctively at Jenny. Jenny was sitting very upright, as she always did, with her hands folded in her lap, and her eyes downcast; but as Lydia watched her her eyelids lifted, and she directed a long look at Adam. Then she looked down again, and there was nothing in her face to show whether she had seen the suffering in his.