The Way We Live Now by Anthony Trollope

What will they do with him now they’ve caught him! Oh, they’re going to make him dance with the heiress. Poor heiress!’
    â€˜Poor prince!’ said Lady Carbury.
    â€˜Not at all. She’s a nice little girl enough, and he’ll have nothing to trouble him. But how is she, poor thing, to talk to royal blood?’
    Poor thing indeed! The prince was brought into the big room where Marie was still being talked to by Felix Carbury, and was at once made to understand that she was to stand up and dance with royalty. The introduction was managed in a very business-like manner. Miles Gren-dall first came in and found the female victim; the duchess followed with the male victim. Madame Melmotte, who had been on her legs till she was ready to sink, waddled behind, but was not allowed to take any part in the affair. The band were playing a galop, but that was stopped at once, to the great confusion of the dancers. In two minutes Miles Grendall had made up a set He stood up with his aunt, the duchess, as vis-à-vis to Marie and the prince, till, about the middle of the quadrille, Legge Wilson was found and made to take his place. Lord Buntingford had gone away; but then there were still present two daughters of the duchess who were rapidly caught Sir Felix Carbury, being good-looking and having a name, was made to dance with one of them, and Lord Grasslough with the other. There were four other couples, all made up of titled people, as it was intended that this special dance should be chronicled, if not in the
Evening Pulpit
, in some less serious daily journal. A paid reporter was present in the house ready to rush off with the list as soon as the dance should be a realized fact. The prince himself did not quite understand why he was there, but they who marshalled his life for him had so marshalled it for the present moment. He himself probably knew nothing about the lady’s diamonds which had been rescued, or the considerable subscription to St George’s Hospital which had been extracted from Mr Melmotte as a make-weight. Poor Marie felt as though the burden of the hour would be greater than she could bear, and looked as though she would have fled had flight been possible. But the trouble passed quickly, and was not really severe. The prince said a word or two between each figure, and did not seem to expect a reply. He made a few words go a long way, and was well trained in the work of easing the burden of his own greatness for those who were for the moment inflicted with it. When the dance was over he was allowed toescape after the ceremony of a single glass of champagne drank in the presence of the hostess. Considerable skill was shown in keeping the presence of his royal guest a secret from the host himself till the prince was gone. Melmotte would have desired to pour out that glass of wine with his own hands, to solace his tongue by Royal Highnesses, and would probably have been troublesome and disagreeable. Miles Grendall had understood all this and had managed the affair very well. ‘Bless my soul – his Royal Highness come and gone!’ exclaimed Melmotte. ‘You and my father were so fast at your whist that it was impossible to get you away,’ said Miles. Melmotte was not a fool, and understood it all – understood not only that it had been thought better that he should not speak to the prince, but also that it might be better that it should be so. He could not have everything at once. Miles Grendall was very useful to him, and he would not quarrel with Miles, at any rate as yet.
    â€˜Have another rubber, Alfred?’ he said to Miles’s father as the carriages were taking away the guests.
    Lord Alfred had taken sundry glasses of champagne, and for a moment forgot the bills in the safe, and the good things which his boys were receiving. ‘Damn that kind of nonsense,’ he said. ‘Call people by their proper names.’ Then he left the house without a