and Mr. Tracy Tupman and the stranger entered the ballroom.
It was a long room, with crimson-covered benches, and wax candles in glass chandeliers. The musicians were securely confined in an elevated den, and quadrilles were being systematically got through by two or three sets of dancers. Two card-tables were made up in the adjoining card-room, and two pair of old ladies, and a corresponding number of stout gentlemen, were executing whist therein.
The finale concluded, the dancers promenaded the room, and Mr. Tupman and his companion stationed themselves in a corner to observe the company.
‘Charming women,’ said Mr. Tupman.
‘Wait a minute,’ said the stranger, ‘fun presently—nobs not come yet—queer place—dockyard people of upper rank don’t know dockyard people of lower rank—dockyard people of lower rank don’t know small gentry—small gentry don’t know tradespeople—commissioner don’t know anybody.’
‘Who’s that little boy with the light hair and pink eyes, in a fancy dress?’ inquired Mr. Tupman.
‘Hush, pray—pink eyes—fancy dress—little boy—nonsense—ensign 97th—Honourable Wilmot Snipe—great family—Snipes—very.’
‘Sir Thomas Clubber, Lady Clubber, and the Misses Clubber!’ shouted the man at the door in a stentorian voice. A great sensation was created throughout the room by the entrance of a tall gentleman in a blue coat and bright buttons, a large lady in blue satin, and two young ladies, on a similar scale, in fashionably-made dresses of the same hue.
‘Commissioner—head of the yard—great man—remarkably great man,’ whispered the stranger in Mr. Tupman’s ear, as the charitable committee ushered Sir Thomas Clubber and family to the top of the room. The Honourable Wilmot Snipe, and other distinguished gentlemen crowded to render homage to the Misses Clubber; and Sir Thomas Clubber stood bolt upright, and looked majestically over his black kerchief at the assembled company.
‘Mr. Smithie, Mrs. Smithie, and the Misses Smithie,’ was the next announcement.
‘What’s Mr. Smithie?’ inquired Mr. Tracy Tupman.
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