RANDOLPH'S TRIBULATIONS.
"Randolph!" hissed Cornelius Jordan in his son's ear, as they met in a
vacant doorway not long after. "You're a fool!--a pig-headed young
fool. There are plenty young duffers around to tend the children and
the wall-flowers, and yet you have done nothing else the whole
evening. Dancing three times running with a little girl, and then
towing round a curiosity, just as if you wanted to tell your mother's
guests that you didn't mind any of them, and would as soon dance with
a stitcher. What do you mean, sir?" and he shook the young man's arm
to rouse him.
The young man moved his eyes lazily round to the other's face and
said, "Yes, sir;" whereat the other stamped his foot.
"Well for me, father, is it not, that I'm too big to whip, or I'd
catch it now?"
"You'll catch worse than whipping if you don't mind. You'll ruin your
prospects for life! If I'd whipped you better when it was in my power,
you'd be more sensible now."
"Don't blame yourself, sir; you did your best in that way. I believe I
got more lickings than the five other boys on our street all put
together. You have nothing to reproach yourself with on that score.
You made me squirm, and perhaps it did good, relieving _your_ feelings
if it lacerated mine, but it's over now--forgotten and forgiven, I
suppose, as it has left no marks or effects behind it; for I fancy the
other fellows' fathers have more influence with them than we can
flatter ourselves you have with me."
"You can come to my study to-morrow morning when I am shaving if you
want me to hear the rest of your discourse upon the evil of harshness
in bringing up a supersensitive boy; though my own belief is that it
was your mother who spoiled you. Meanwhile, use your common sense for
once, if you have any; hear me out, and then do as I say.
"You think yourself talented, and for myself I should be pleased to
think so too, but you hate work, and will not drudge at the routine of
our profession, without which success cannot come. You think you have
a turn for politics, and could make your mark that way; and for
myself, I am bound to say I think you might become a good speaker with
practice; but success in politics wants either industry and
application at the beginning, qualities which you do not possess or
will not exercise, or else a connection with some influential
interest. This last you have not either, but with very moderate
assiduity any young man, who is also my son, may at this moment
acquire and retain it for life. Mlle. Rouget is of an age to
marry--just the right age for you. Her granduncle is archbishop, her
uncle a cabinet minister. She is an only child, and her father is
seignior of La Hache. I have been able to be useful to the old man,
and he will consider your pretensions favourably if you will only
declare yourself. In fact, I have in a manner declared on your
behalf, and a very moderate degree of attention on your part, in
confirmation, is all that is necessary. You see she is French, and
well reared--willing to let her parents bestow her hand where they see
fit. So you will not be compelled to such lavish demonstrations as I
have seen you make elsewhere, where nothing was to be got by it; only
of course, it will be good taste to discontinue the attentions in
other quarters while you are a pretender to mademoiselle's hand!
"Why, man! with the church and the government at your back there is
not a constituency in the country you may not aspire to represent; and
with experience and my advice--which is worth more, my son, than you
in your sapiency can very well make out--there is no position whatever
which you may not rise to. Now don't be pig-headed! I see the
obstinate look gathering; but do not let us have a public row for the
entertainment of our friends. Go and dance with Mdlle. Rouget, and be
civil to her; and take in her or her mother to supper. That will not
compromise you either way, and it will save me for the present from
the false position in which my zeal for your prospects, and your own
indifference to them, seem like to land me."
Jordan and his son were scarcely good friends, though both were
inclined to do their family duty. Like the positive poles of two
magnets, they never met without repelling each other. Jordan was
naturally diplomatic, with a pronounced turn for management, which
generally ended in his getting his own way, and therefore made him
disinclined to yield. In town he was liked for his pleasant ways, and
generally he was yielded to; but at home, his consort, whom the rest
of the world found charming, had, for him, what charming women so
often possess for the enlivenment of their nearest and dearest, and
without which, perhaps, they would soon cease to be charming at all, a
will of her own. She had an inconvenient turn for epigram, and with a
verb, or even with a laugh, could prick a bubble or a wind-bag in its
weakest place, bringing the poor high-flyer flapping to the ground;
and Jordan, doubtless, like other Benedicts, though moderate in his
flights abroad, would at times adventure to soar a little by his own
fireside. Amelia permitted no soaring there except her own--is not
home the woman's kingdom?--and perhaps it was thus that her boy
learned a disregard for paternal advice and reproof which could not
but irritate a man accustomed to guide and control in the outer world.
A boy! and his own. It would have been too humiliating to stoop to
management there, especially with mischief-loving Amelia looking on;
so he fell into a habit of commanding, and beating the boy when he
transgressed.
The stick, however, is a sceptre little suited to the nineteenth
century or the Western Continent. For the subjects of the Khedive it
is manifestly just the thing. The people understand it, and the more
vigorously it is applied the happier are the results--for the State at
least. But then His Highness is generous even to prodigality in
administering the State medicine, without stint or exception, and on
every occasion. It is _Thorough_ which succeeds in Government. James
II. was perfectly correct when he said that it was yielding which cost
King Charles his head. It _was_ yielding, yielding after having
attempted "thorough" without the strength or the daring to work it
out. When the bad rider, inexpert with spur, whip, and bridle, strokes
the steed's neck and says "poor fellow," softly and soothingly, depend
upon it the horse understands the situation as well as his so-called
master, and goes his own way. Conciliation, reparation--what you
will--to noisy discontent, is a mistake of the same kind; the rider
may borrow a handsome name for it from the doctrinaire, but he will
not persuade the steed that anything but weakness or fright has wrung
from him his pretty behaviour. So much we may gather from recent
British history.
But the teller of this story may well leave British history to run its
own course, and he craves pardon for his trespass. What he would
testify against, in his small way, is historical inconsistency and
hysterical interference, however well meant, with the sequence of
events. See how a ship has to tack and turn when the wind changes, if
she would continue her voyage; if the ship of state is merely to turn
her helm and scud before an altered wind of popular feeling, without
regard to whence she comes or whither she is bound, sooner or later
she will find herself among the breakers, and on a lee shore.
Jordan had attempted the _fortiter in re_ with his son, but not
consistently, and especially not persistently. Indeed, like many
another, he would have let the brat alone during his growing years,
merely sending him out of the room when he was noisy, or tossing him
silver in moments of paternal pride, for his thoughts were kept busy
on other things; but the whelp acquired a trick of ensconsing himself
behind his mother's gown and bidding defiance to the rightful lord of
the manor, and then the latent savage, which is said still to survive
in the most cultured, would break out, and nothing but blows and howls
would appease him. On these occasions it was the lad's mother who
brought fuel to inflame the father's wrath. It pleased her so much
that her boy should come to her for protection in his troubles, and
she was so pleasing a person herself--or the world said so, and she
had got to think it--with her vivacity, her brightness, and her
satiric smile, wherewith she could goad old Slow-coach to fury; and he
being man enough, at least, to respect his wife, the fury glanced
harmless past her and fell in stinging whacks on the poor little
adventurer behind her, who had raised the storm. Yet even at his
worst, Jordan could find nothing soul-satisfying in beating a small
boy, and after a clout or two he would desist, with no harm done
except to the young one's personal dignity and the resentment bred
therefrom, and that was an evil not to be measured by the severity of
the assault, but rather inversely. The lighter the correction the
heavier the resentment and offence.
"If you _will_ whip a child," as I once heard an American lecturess
say--she was a superior person who knew all about it, and had left her
own seven lambs at home under the care of a hired help, while she went
out into the world with her evangel of nursery tactics--"If you _will_
whip a child, _be sure you really hurt it!_" There must be tingle
enough to overbear the indignation and resentment which the violence
you are doing to its person will naturally arouse; you must whip
enough to make it forget the outrage in the solid pain which it
suffers. It is only then that you need expect to super-impose your own
will upon that of the patient.
I suppose Jordan had never listened to the American lecturess, if he
had, he did not lay the homily to heart. At any rate, he struck, when
he might have managed quite as well without; and striking, he struck
only enough to arouse in his son feelings of deeper rebellion than
those which he undertook to quell; and thereafter a grudge and a
suspicion came between the old man and the young, which perhaps the
mother without any evil intent, but merely from loving to be first
with her own son, his councillor and his friend, did more to aggravate
than any one else.
Randolph went in search of Miss Rouget to secure his dance, but the
young lady's card was filled up. She had kept a vacancy for him some
time, but at length her mother sitting by, displeased at the young
man's neglect, had made her fill it up with some one else, and now
glanced at the offender with a somewhat stony reserve, which softened,
however, when he approached herself, and prayed the honour of leading
her to supper. On glancing round the company she could see no good
reason why her host had not come forward in person to perform the
office. "But then those English," as she told herself, "are so
ignorant of the _convenances_." Again, the young man might be diffident
in pursuit of his matrimonial aspirations, which was to his credit;
and also, she was getting very tired where she sat. Her English was
not fluent, and the French of the others was so indifferent, that few
dared use the little they had, whence she had not been entertained
with much conversation, and the smiling bows had grown monotonous.
Supper was the one recreation open to her, and as she looked, behold,
her husband was leading the way with his hostess. So after all there
was no ground of offence, and her features relaxed into their wonted
graciousness as she joined the procession. The younger people
continued to dance, and Randolph felt a little twinge of jealousy to
see Muriel again dancing with Gerald. He was able to whisper to her in
passing, however, which was something, begging her to linger and let
him take her to supper by-and-by. Madame ceased speaking just then, to
some one on her other side, and claimed his attention by an
observation, so that he failed to catch what Muriel said in reply.
Madame enjoyed her supper, as was fitting. She had earned it by hours
of conscientious _chaperonage_, which had declined even the
allurements of the neighbouring card-room. She was so fortunate too as
to be placed near a gentleman who spoke French well, and now
indemnified herself for the enforced silence under which she had been
yawning so wearily. In the comings and goings, the risings and
sittings down, of some going back to dance and others coming in to
sup, a little circle of her intimates gathered round madame, and
Randolph, no way averse, found himself merely a supernumerary on its
outskirts. It was his opportunity; he availed himself of it, and stole
back to look for Muriel among the dancers. He came upon her as she
rested at the end of a dance, with still that same too constant Gerald
in attendance.
"Now then, Miss Muriel," he cried; "if you are ready we will go at
once. The dowagers are leaving the supper-room, and after this dance
the musicians will take a rest, and there will be a crush of all the
dancers coming in at once. If you are ready we will go."
Muriel looked up.
"Thanks for the information. Miss Muriel is going presently. We will
get in ahead of those who are dancing now," said Gerald with a
suppressed smile.
Randolph drew himself up just a little, and strove to look dignified
while he ignored the last speaker. "Of course there is no need to
hurry if you prefer to rest; but it is so much cooler in the
supper-room; do you not think you will be better to come at once,
Muriel?"
"I was just rising to go with Gerald Herkimer when you spoke."
"But I spoke some time ago--when I passed you with Madame Rouget. You
were dancing at the time."
"That was my dance, Muriel," interjected Gerald; "you promised then to
let me take you to supper."
Randolph drew himself up to his tallest--he was two inches taller than
Gerald--and turned his flushed face with all the dignity he could
muster in it upon his offending friend. "I have only Miss Stanley to
deal with in this matter, and I prefer to settle it with herself."
"Bosh! man. What is the use of your putting on grand airs with me?
Haven't we gone to school together? It isn't a bit of good your trying
to play Don Fandango. If you like, we can go down to your back yard,
take off our coats, and have it out with lists in the old way; but the
people will be sure to laugh, and we shall look rather rumpled when we
get back here. We are getting old for that sort of thing, besides.
Don't you see you have made a mistake somehow, and the young lady is
engaged for supper to me?"
"I don't! and I won't! and I do----"
"Law, now! Mr. Jordan, ain't this just splendid? You are making up a
party for supper, I see, and I am a hungry party that will be most
pleased to join you;" and Randolph felt a fat arm slip through that
arm of his own which he had been offering so pressingly to Muriel.
There was a vision of geranium-coloured poplin flapping against him,
and when he looked round, behold, Miss Betsey had him in possession.
There was nothing for it but to submit and lead the way while the
other two followed; even though a smothered "haw, haw," which he could
hear behind him, filled his heart with fury, and made him long to face
about and brain the offender on the spot. The natural man is a savage
still, especially when his inclination to the fair is crossed;
culture, good-manners, and white kid gloves notwithstanding.
Betsey was exuberant. Thanks to Muriel's efforts, she had danced and
eaten ice with Randolph, and Gerald, and a good many more--danced
almost continuously, and quite energetically--having, in her own
words, "a real good time." And now she was a little hungry, but in
overflowing spirits, as she trotted beside her tall cavalier, with her
chin pressed into the dimpling redundancy of her short thick neck,
where every line and crease seemed to vie with the parted lips in
smiling content.
Randolph stalked gloomily by her side, realizing his helplessness, and
resenting the amused glances which met him as he proceeded. But what
could he do? He could only submit, and get through with the interlude
as quickly as possible. He was lucky enough to find a small table
vacant in a retired corner of the supper-room, where he placed himself
and his little companion, ignoring tugs and nods and pointings to more
conspicuous places, where the lights would have shone brighter on her
beauty and her revelry--which were just the things he wished to keep
out of sight. Betsey had the best of everything to eat, however, which
was compensatory, and her companion had at least the satisfaction of
sitting opposite Muriel. He had secured them for the rest of his own
table, and if he was unable to say much to her himself, it was
something to have prevented a _tête-à-tête_ with his rival.
Randolph's disturbed feelings were subsiding into sullen calm. He was
eating his supper. He had filled his companion's glass and his own;
and Betsey, smiling to pledge him, held her foaming goblet in her hand
awaiting his answering glance, when a sombre body--the back and
shoulders of a man's coat--interposed itself between them.
"Jordan! Here you are at last," it said. It was only a man's coat, so
far as Betsey could see, intruding most impertinently between herself
and her _beau_. "I have been looking for you everywhere. Now I have
found you. Madame Rouget has done supper, and is waiting for you to go
back to the dancing-room."
Betsey made a little gulp of indignation; but no one perceived
it, or seemed to heed her. Randolph rose like a truant returning to
school, led away by the man in the coat; and she, poor Betsey! was
left--lamenting? No--finishing her supper. She held her glass across
to Gerald for a little more champagne, and thereby tacitly placed
herself under his protection for the rest of the meal. There was much
natural adaptability to circumstances in Betsey, notwithstanding her
too evident lack of polish. Like the celebrated brook, she went
tranquilly forward, however "men might come, or men might go," in a
consistent following out of what seemed the attainably best for
herself. With opportunity and culture Betsey might have gone far.
Madame Rouget rose at Randolph's approach, and took his arm to leave
the room. She showed no displeasure or cognisance of his desertion,
but there was a distinct refrigeration of the graciousness with which
she had accepted his escort to the supper-table half-an-hour before.
In leaving the room they were stopped for an instant in front of
the little table which Randolph had risen from. Madame lifted her
eye-glass just where geranium-coloured poplin made the feature of the
view, and its wearer in much comfort held a wine-glass to her lips,
smiling across to Gerald Herkimer, a modernized suggestion of one of
Jourdain's carousing beauties, though with the flesh tints far less
delicately rendered. She dropped the eye-glass with a click, and a
French shrug, and that accompanying rise of the eyebrows so infinitely
more expressive of scorn and contempt than any word.
"I am _desolée_, to have take Mistaire Jordain from ze plaisirs of his
soopaire. But ze demoiselle aippears herself to console ver well. Wich
rassure me ver much."
Madame must certainly have been indignant when she used these words,
for, when quite herself, her English was grammatically correct enough
if the vocabulary was restricted and a word was sometimes used in a
wrong sense. It is a woman's right to take offence at the _formam
spretam_ by a suitor, and if the form despised be her daughter's
instead of her own, she can resent it with even better grace.
Not long after, Mr. Jordan senior came upon Mr. Rouget leaving the
card-room, and expressed a hope that he had been able to amuse
himself.
"I have not the good fortunes at cards this evening," that gentleman
replied; "I have won nothing; lost, rather, I fear."
"So sorry; come have a glass of wine, and perhaps the luck may turn."
"_N'importe_, I shall play no more to-night. The fortunes are
not _propices_. My _système_ does not conform to the play of
Mistaire--what you call?--Constantine."
"Considine. Probably not. He generally plays euchre. You were playing
whist. Liable to trump his partner's best card. I know his weakness.
Let me find you some one else."
"I thank you. No. It grows late. I go in search of madame. _M'sieur_
himself does not succeed well in the little plan he did me the honour
to propose--to ally our families. I observe M'sieur Randolphe
withholds the--what you say?--the _petits soins_ which aire of custom
when a gentleman pretends to the hand of a demoiselle. _N'importe_, I
accept the excuses of m'sieur without saying. One knows the authority
of father counts for nothing with you English; but the more should
have been an understanding before to approach me."
"My dear sir," Jordan began deprecatingly; but the other raised his
hand in dignified protest.
"Enough. I make no reproach--_N'importe_. My good brother, the
ministre, has views. We will forget."
"My dear Mr. Rouget--I beg!--I will even admit that you have ground of
offence, but pray take into account the waywardness of a head-strong
youth who resents being dictated to, and fancies he should decide his
own movements. Still, I must say for him, the boy really is steady,
and a good lad; and that, you will allow, is a qualification not
always to be met with among the eligible young men of the present day.
The mortgage upon La Hache would be a nice provision for the young
people, would save you from the possibility of instalments falling due
at inconvenient times, and I think--though perhaps I am too nearly
related to be an impartial judge--the lad has parts, and would not
discredit the Honourable the Minister of Drainage and Irrigation
either in politics or the public service. He has been bred to the law,
as perhaps you know, and passed his examinations with distinction."
M. Rouget bowed his head and allowed the look of displeasure to relax
upon his countenance. He was most willing to push forward the
matrimonial scheme, though naturally, as being the weaker party, it
behoved him to keep that fact to himself, and to be ready, at the
first sign of backwardness on the other side, to feign offended
dignity, that he might be able to withdraw from the fruitless
negotiation with the honours of war.
They were now leaving the supper-room together, and Considine
approached just as the Frenchman walked forward alone in search of his
ladies.
"At last," thought Considine, "I shall catch Jordan alone, and get
over that talk I have been so long wanting to have with him;" and he
pressed his breast pocket to make sure of the documents he had carried
about so long, in hopes of catching the busy man in a moment of
leisure. Jordan noticed the movement, and was defensively on the alert
at once.
"Considine, old fellow! Not dancing?"
"My dancing days are over. But I say, Jordan, I wish you would give me
just a few minutes quiet----"
"Over? What an idea! The springiest man of our set! Without the first
sign of either gout or rheumatism! And you would give up dancing, and
ticket yourself a fogy before your time? No! no! Couldn't think of it.
Yonder are a score of ladies, all your friends, sitting down after
supper, and waiting to be asked to dance. Every woman likes to be
danced with after supper, if only to show the world that men don't
look upon her as too old. Come along! Let me find you a partner,
though you know every one here."
"But I never valse."
"It is Lancers this time. I am going to dance myself. Mrs. Martindale.
A very old friend. Knew her before either of us were married. We
always have a dance when we meet. Come along!--Miss Stanley! Here is a
gentleman so desirous of dancing with you, and too modest to ask. Pray
take pity on him."
Miss Matilda looked up in a little surprise, but smiled on seeing
Considine.
"You are a sad wag, Mr. Jordan. It seems scarcely fair that we
grown-up people should crowd out the young ones. However, as Mr.
Considine is so kind----" and she rose, and taking his arm they joined
the dancers.
Age is not a question to be decided by almanacs or the comparison of
dates. How many generations of roses have bloomed and disappeared
since the aloe was sown, a hundred years ago, which now is only
opening its flower. The willow has fallen into battered decrepitude,
while the oak, its slow-growing contemporary hard by, has barely
reached his prime. Life should not be measured by the tale of years,
but by itself--by the measure of oil unburnt, which remains within the
lamp. There be some, who, making bonfire of their store--lighting the
candle at both ends in the gusty weather--have consumed it mostly ere
the seventh lustrum has run out, and go darkling thenceforth with
nothing but a smoky wick and a guttering remnant; and there are others
who have dwelt where the winds were still, and have shaded their lamps
and trimmed them, like prudent virgins, whose light grows clearer as
they pass along, and accompanies them with a tranquil radiance far
down into the valley where the shadows are, and the inevitable end. It
is the excitements and the cares which devour our strength, the
unsatisfied greeds which eat inward, the ill-regulated pleasures which
exhaust. Work never killed a man; or, if it did, he was a weakling, or
he had mistaken his trade.
"Only look!" cried Amelia Jordan, touching her neighbour, Martha
Herkimer, with her fan, "I think I may flatter myself that my juvenile
party is a success, when the contagious gaiety has caught even that
superannuated couple. I should feel flattered, but I confess I am not
fond of frisky grey beards. There is a time for everything, even for
sitting still and watching the young ones. I wonder at Considine; and
really Matilda might have had more sense than yield to his absurdity."
"Do you mean the gineral and Matildy Stanley? Well now, 'pears to me,
they're about the likeliest couple on the floor. If they're old it's
their own business, their bones will ache the worse and the sooner;
but as far as looks go, I will say there ain't man or boy of them all
looks as spry as the gineral. And, as for Matildy, she looks well. I
always liked Matildy, and I admire her."
"Oh, certainly, my dear, I quite agree with you. I am fond of
Matilda--good simple soul--I cannot think how she missed getting
married. So many worse, have established themselves well, since she
was young. But really you know it is just a little ridiculous, at her
time of life, to see her disporting herself. Why, there are her niece
and your own boy in the same set!"
"So are Mr. Jordan and Mrs. Martindale."
"Oh, yes, but that is nothing. Jordan must make himself useful in his
own house; and every one knows Louisa is a fool, who would like to be
thought gay, giddy, and dangerous. I would bet a box of gloves, now,
she thinks she is breaking my heart with jealousy. Just look how she
wriggles about, and how the chandelier so nearly over her head brings
out the crowsfeet and wrinkles round her eyes. I would not, for fifty
dollars, walk down the centre of the room when that thing is lighted,
if anybody were looking.
"You don't see no crowsfeet around Matildy's eyes, I guess. She's a
fine woman, is Matildy Stanley. I wonder where the man's eyes have
been that she should have stayed Matildy Stanley so long. See how she
walks! As upright as a broomstick, and as springy as a cane."
"Men like other things along with looks," said Amelia bridling.
"Though really Matilda looks quite nice--considering. One can scarcely
claim to be in one's first youth now-a-days, and we all came out the
same year, so our ages cannot be very far apart, Louisa Martindale,
Matilda, and I; and Louisa and I have grown up children."
"You don't say that Mrs. Martindale is one age with Matildy? She looks
nigh on twenty years older. _You're_ different," she added quickly, as
the gathering of a look on her friend's face, which did not betoken
satisfaction, became apparent.
"Perhaps Louisa does wear a little badly," she answered, in returning
good humour. "That light betrays everything. Louisa has so much
vivacity, and perhaps she is just the least bit in the world affected,
I believe it must be that has made her go off so. So much simpering
and smiling, when one doesn't feel so very pleased, and makes believe
a good deal, must naturally wear creases in the face. Do you not think
so? Matilda, on the other hand, as you know, is so calm and tranquil;
her face has not half the tear and wear of Louisa's, and therefore it
lasts ever so much better. But, somehow, Louisa, I should say, has got
more good out of her life. She has got more bad, too, I grant, for she
has been in the thick of everything; but I think I prefer that.
Matilda seemed never just to hit it off with the men. I do not
recollect her ever receiving any marked attentions, and she did not
betray any strong preferences to her. There are no little vignettes,
that I ever heard of, to illustrate her biography. You know what I
mean. _Passages_, people call them, which most of us like to bring out
of our memories and look at, when we feel low and a little
sentimental; just as we open the old box where our bridal wreath is
laid away, and wonder as we wrap the thing up again in its tissue
papers, if the gingerbread has really been worth all the gilding we
overlaid it with."
Martha sniffed. It did not become an honest married woman to talk that
way, she thought; but she said nothing, and the sniff proved enough to
modulate Amelia's tone down to the narrational key again.
"When the officers were quartered here, of course it made society
lively; and they paid a great deal of attention to us all,"--with just
a suspicion of bridling, as she said it, as though she had "vignettes"
of her own to remember, if it were worth while to count the scalps won
in such old-world encounters. "Matilda was in the thick of it all, and
got plenty of attention, but it never came to anything; and I am bound
to say she betrayed no anxiety that it should. Her father was an
Englishman, you see, and she has travelled; and she has money, and a
sister; so I suppose it comes natural to them to take things easily
and be comfortable in their own cool-blooded and retired sort of way.
Very nice women, I must admit, and always the same wherever you meet
them; but one cannot make free with them as we do amongst ourselves.
Really it is quite like long ago, to see Matilda dancing out there
with Considine. She is little changed. Fuller in the figure, perhaps,
but that is becoming as one gets up in life. Her hair is in the same
old way she always wore it--in streaming side curls. 'Books of
Beauty,' when I was a little girl, displayed ladies with hair-dressing
like that; but, except Matilda, I never saw a living woman wear it.
Though it becomes her."
"Splendid hair! So long and thick; and not one white thread in it.
Now, what colour was Mrs. Martindale's originally? It's dun-duckety
mud colour now, or what you please," and her eyes involuntarily rested
on Amelia's head-dress, eliciting an angry red spot upon either cheek,
which was answered by a flush of ashamed confusion on her own, at the
inadvertence, and brought the conversation to an abrupt conclusion.
The unconscious subject of her friend's criticism swam here and there
through the figures of her dance in sympathy with the music, borne up
and carried forward, like a well-trimmed yacht, upon the current of
sound. She had danced little, if at all, for years; but it came
naturally to her to dance. There was no heart-heaviness or carking
care, no malice, envy, or uncharitableness--the unadjustable ballast
which makes so many a hull roll heavily. Her health was good, as it
had always been, her nerves as well strung, and her ear as sensitive
to the spirit of sound. She looked well, and she knew it, with the
mature and realized beauty of a summer afternoon--a lady such as the
late King George admired. There was not the dewy promise of morning,
but neither were there evening's pensive shadows pointing backward in
regret--a handsome woman who had shed her girlhood, but showed no
other sign by which to count the years. It was pleasant to be brought
down off the shelf where matrons and old ladies sit and contemplate
the gambols of the young, and made her think of her first ball, and
how nice it had been, but without regret, for it was nice even now;
and there was her own little Muriel whom she had reared, almost grown
up, and marching before her just like another woman in the evolutions
of the dance. And really it was very nice to have a gentleman so
attentive, and all to one's self; like long ago, before her married
friends got their establishments, and put on their absurdly
patronizing airs, which were sometimes so provoking, though always so
ridiculous--"as if one could not have done everything _they_ succeeded
in doing if one had cared to try."
That reflection brought perhaps a trifle more colour in her face, and
made her shake out the ringlets just a little, till she looked at her
partner before her, carefully executing with conscientious precision a
gyration in her honour. She could not but smile as she gave him her
hand to turn round, and the man looked positively grateful as he
received it. Grateful, but was it for the smile or the hand? Yet
surely he gave the hand a little squeeze. The man must be growing
audacious. And yet he was so respectful. But Mr. Considine she knew
was always respectful, and really very nice.
Considine thought it very nice too--did not know, in fact, how long it
was since he had enjoyed anything so much. "Amazing fine woman," is
how some of his compeers would have expressed their feelings; but
Considine did not even pretend to be a _roué_, and he was not a fogy,
though quite old enough to have been one, if that had been a necessary
phase of existence to pass through. He felt happy with a respectful
enjoyment, such as he might have known thirty years earlier, in the
recognized season for such things, and he only regretted that it was
to end so soon. He wondered if he might venture to ask her to dance
again, and that smile we have mentioned, met him, and he thought he
would risk it; but alas, the programme had been arranged to suit the
younger talent, and this proved to be the last square dance. Then he
bethought him of the subscription assemblies, and wondered if Miss
Stanley attended them, and then the evolutions of the next figure
brought him back to the business in hand.
Muriel and her partner watched him carefully solemnizing the rite with
a good deal of amusement. Youth is so graspingly exclusive, and so
intolerant. It engrosses the present and claims the future for itself,
and accords as little place to its quite recent predecessors, the have
beens, as would be given to the ancient kings at Westminster, if they
should leave their vaults in the abbey and walk across the street to
the hall or the palace over the way.