It would be great fun. Decidedly he was
going in for it. He revived the drooping sentiment in its favor, and
then, flown with his success, he went from group to group and couple to
couple, and animated all with his zeal, which came, he hardly knew
whence; what he pretended to the others was that they were rather bound
not to let Mrs. Westangle's scheme fall through. Their doubts vanished
before him, and the terms of the battle were quickly arranged. He said
he had read of one of those mediaeval flower-fights, and he could tell
them how that was done. Where it would not fit into the snow-fight, they
could trust to inspiration; every real battle was the effect of
inspiration.
He came out, and some of the young women and most of the young men, who
had dimly known of him as a sort of celebrity, and suspected him of being
a prig, were reconciled, and accepted him for a nice fellow, and became
of his opinion as to the details of the amusement before them.
It was not very Homeric, when it came off, or very mediaeval, but it was
really lots of fun, or far more fun than one would have thought. The
storming of the castle was very sincere, and the fortress was honestly
defended. Miss Macroyd was made umpire, as she wished, and provided with
a large snowball to sit on at a safe distance; as she was chosen by the
men, the girls wanted to have an umpire of their own, who would be really
fair, and they voted Verrian into the office.
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