In the meanwhile silence had fallen over the beautiful old manorial house.

One by one the guests had departed, leaving that peaceful sense of complete calm and isolation which follows the noisy chatter of any great throng bent chiefly on enjoyment.
The evening had been universally acknowledged to have been brilliantly successful.

True, the much talked of French artiste had not sung the promised ditties, but in the midst of the whirl and excitement of dances, of the inspiring tunes of the string band, the elaborate supper and recherche wines, no one had paid much heed to this change in the programme of entertainments.
And everyone had agreed that never had Lady Blakeney looked more radiantly beautiful than on this night.

She seemed absolutely indefatigable; a perfect hostess, full of charming little attentions towards every one, although more than ordinarily absorbed by her duties towards her many royal guests.
The dramatic incidents which had taken place in the small boudoir had not been much bruited abroad.

It was always considered bad form in those courtly days to discuss men's quarrels before ladies, and in this instance, those who were present when it all occurred instinctively felt that their discretion would be appreciated in high circles, and held their tongues accordingly.
Thus the brilliant evening was brought to a happy conclusion without a single cloud to mar the enjoyment of the guests.