Doomsday by Warwick Deeping

Even the fastidious Clare allowed that the Fream dance was very well done. The Freams and the Biddulphs were allies, and the shine of the one was the shine of the other. Leslie, that Sun in Taurus, was joyous and emphatic. "Top-hole show. Good floor, good band, rattling good supper, plenty of first-class fizz. And atmosphere, old thing, atmosphere."

He was right. The Hill House dance had an atmosphere. It glowed pleasantly from the first fox-trot, and when it reached the supper- dance it radiated a gentle brilliancy that suffused itself into the champagne. People warmed to each other. "Really, what a charming crowd! And a charming house, and a charming hostess. And--by Jove-- some frock on her." Fream's donkey and coster's cart set the world rolling; the donkey frisked; Fream distributed carrots and cabbages and turnips from which were extracted pretty powder-boxes, and bottles of choice scent, and jade and amber pendants. Even Fream's gold buttons were forgiven him. He wore his sovereigns, and his wife felt more and more regal. The dutiful ass provided a climax. When Mary had served rum-punch to everybody, and they had made a circle about her and sung Auld Lang Syne, the ass made an effort to kneel before her, but becoming unbalanced in its interior, rolled over and lay as though expiring.