THE BALL.
"There was a sound of revelry by night."
NIGHT had fallen, and the full moon to which Dr. Malone had alluded
was sailing overhead, and flooding Ross with a light that was almost
fierce in its intensity; the island seemed to be set in a silver sea,
over which various heavily laden boats were rowing from the mainland,
conveying company to the ball! Jampans bearing ladies were to be seen
going up towards the mess-house in single file, the guests kept
pouring in, and, despite the paucity of the fair sex, made a goodly
show! We notice Mrs. Creery (as who would not?) in a crimson satin,
with low body, short sleeves, and a black velvet coronet on her head.
Helen Denis in white muslin, with natural flowers; she had been
forbidden by the former lady to even so much as _think_ of her white
silk, but had, nevertheless, cast many yearnings in that direction.
All the same, she looks as well as her best friends could wish, and
a certain nervousness and anticipation gives unwonted brilliancy to
her colour (indeed Miss Caggett has already whispered "paint!"), and
unusual brightness to her eyes.
The world seems a very good place to her this evening. She is little
more than eighteen, and it is her first dance; if she has an _arrière
pensée_, it has to do with Mr. Lisle, who after being so—well, shall
we say "interesting?" and behaving so heroically, has calmly subsided
into his normal state, viz. obscurity. What is the reason of it? Why
will he not even speak to her? Little does she guess at the real motive
of his absence. As little as that, during his long daily excursions by
land and sea, a face, _hers_, forms a constant background to all his
thoughts—try and forget it as he will.
The mess-room looked like a fairy bower, with festoons of trailing
creepers and orchids twined along the walls, with big palms and
ferns, in lavish profusion, in every available nook. It was lit up by
dozens of wall-lamps, the floor was as smooth as glass, and all the
most comfortable chairs in Ross were disposed about the ante-room and
verandahs.
The five-and-forty men were struggling into their gloves, and hanging
round the door, as is their usual behaviour, preliminary to a dance;
and the seventeen ladies were scattered about, as though resolved to
make as much show as possible. Mrs. Creery occupied a conspicuous
position; she stood exactly in the middle of the ball-room, holding
converse with the General, who bowed his head acquiescently from time
to time, but was never so mad as to try and get in a word edgeways.
"Nip" was seated on a sofa, alert and wide awake, plainly looking
upon the whole affair as tomfoolery and nonsense; but he had been to
previous entertainments, and knew that there was such a thing as
_supper_!
Near the door, stood Miss Caggett, the centre of a noisy circle,
dangling her programme, and almost drowning the bass and tenor voices
by which she was encompassed, with her shrill treble, and shrieks of
discordant laughter at Dr. Malone's muttered witticisms. Her dress
was pink tarletan, made with very full skirts, and it fitted her neat
little figure to perfection. Altogether, Miss Caggett was looking her
best, and was serenely confident of herself, and severely critical of
others.
Every one had now arrived, save Mr. Quentin, but he thoroughly
understood the importance of a tardy and solitary _entrée_. At last
his tall figure loomed in the doorway, and he lounged in, with an air
of supreme nonchalance, just as the preliminary bars of the opening
Lancers were being played.
He was not alone, to every one's amazement he was supplemented by Mr.
Lisle—Mr. Lisle in evening dress! There had been grave doubts as to
his possessing that garb; and his absence from one or two dinners, had
been leniently attributed to this deficiency in his wardrobe! People
who looked once at James Quentin, looked twice at Gilbert Lisle;
they could hardly credit the evidence of their senses. Mr. Lisle
in unimpeachable clothes, with a matchless tie, a wide expanse of
shirt-front, and skin-fitting gloves, was a totally different person
to the individual they were accustomed to see, in a rusty old coat,
a flannel shirt, and disreputable wide-awake! How much depends on a
man's tailor! Here was the loafer, transformed into a handsome (if
rather bronzed), distinguished-looking gentleman. He received the fire
of many eyes with the utmost equanimity, as he leant lazily against
the wall, like his neighbours. Miss Caggett, having breathed the words
"Borrowed plumes," and giggled at her own wit, presently beckoned him
to approach, and said pertly,—
"This is, indeed, an unexpected pleasure. I thought you said you were
not coming, Mr. Lisle?"
"Did I?" pausing before her. "Very likely; but, unfortunately, I am the
victim of constitutional vacillation."
"In plain English, you often change your mind?"
"_Never_ about Miss Caggett," bowing deeply, and presently retiring to
the doorway.
Lookers-on chuckled, and considered that "Lizzie," as they called her
among themselves, had got the worst of _that_! Mrs. Creery, who had
been gazing at this late arrival with haughty amazement, now no longer
able to restrain herself, advanced upon him, as if marching to slow
music, and said,—
"I've just had a letter about _you_, Mr. Lisle."
Mr. Lisle coloured—that is to say, his tan became of a still deeper
shade of brown, and his dark eyes, as they met hers, had an anxious,
uneasy expression.
"Oh, yes!" triumphantly, "I know _all_ about you, and who you are, and
I shall certainly make it my business to inform every one, and——"
"Do not for goodness' sake, Mrs. Creery!" he interrupted eagerly. "Do
me the greatest of favours, and keep what you know to yourself."
Mrs. Creery reared back her diademed head, like a cobra about to
strike, and was on the point of making some withering reply, when the
General accosted her with his elbow crooked in her direction, and said,
"I believe this is our dance," and thus with a nod to her companion,
implying that she had by no means done with him, she was led away to
open the ball.
Meanwhile Helen had overheard Mrs. Graham whisper across her to Mrs.
Home,—
"What do you think? When Mrs. Creery came back from us, she found her
letters at home, and she has heard something _dreadful_ about Mr.
Lisle!"
Helen was conscious of a thrill of dismay as she listened. She was so
perplexed, and so preoccupied, that she scarcely knew what she was
saying, when Mr. Quentin came and led her away to dance. During the
Lancers she was visibly _distrait_, and her attention was wandering
from the figures and her partner, but she was soon brought to her
senses by Mr. Quentin saying rather abruptly,—
"I've just heard a most awful piece of news!"—her heart bounded. "Only
fancy their sending _me_ to the Nicobars!"
Helen breathed more freely as she stammered out,—
"The Nicobars?"
"Yes, the order came this evening by the _Scotia_—sharp work—and I
sail in her for Camorta to-morrow at cock-crow."
"And must you go really?"
"Yes, of course I must. Isn't it hard lines? Some bother about the new
barracks. The Nicobars are a ghastly hole, a poisonous place. I shall
be away two months—that is, if I ever come _back_," he added in a
lachrymose voice.
"And what about Mr. Lisle?"
"Oh, he is such a beggar for seeing new regions—he is coming too."
"I'm sorry you are going to the Nicobars, they have such a bad name for
fever and malaria."
"I believe you! I hear the malaria there rises like pea-soup!"
"Mr. Lisle is foolish to go; you should not let him."
"Oh! he may as well be there as here! He is as hard as nails, and it
would be deadly for me without a companion. He promised to come, and I
shan't let him off, though I must confess, what he _says_, he sticks
to."
Miss Denis thought Mr. Quentin's arrangement savoured of abominable
selfishness, and between this news, and the sword of Damocles that
was swinging over Mr. Lisle's head, her brain was busy. Dancing went
on merrily, but she did not enjoy herself nearly as much as she
anticipated. After all, this apple of delight, her first ball, had
turned to dust and ashes in her mouth. And why?
Mr. Lisle leant against a doorway, and looked on very gravely:
doubtless he knew the fate that was in store for him. He remained
at his post for the best part of an hour, and had any one taken the
trouble to watch him, they would have noticed that his eyes followed
Helen and Jim Quentin more closely than any other couple. As they
stopped beside him once, she said,—
"I did not know that you were coming to-night, Mr. Lisle."
"Neither did I, till quite late in the afternoon. I suppose there is
not the slightest use in my asking for a dance?"
Now if the young lady had been an experienced campaigner, and had
wished to dance with the gentleman (which she did), she would have
artlessly replied,—
"Oh, yes! I think I can give you number so and so," mentally throwing
over some less popular partner; but Helen looked straight into his face
with grave, truthful eyes, displayed a crowded programme, and shook her
head.
Jim Quentin, who was evidently impatient at this delay, placed his arm
round his partner's waist, and danced her away to the melting strains
of the old "Kate Kearney" waltz.
None gave themselves more thoroughly up to the pleasures of the moment,
or with more _abandon_ than Dr. Malone and Mrs. Creery. They floated
round and round, and to and fro, with cork-like buoyancy, for Mrs.
Creery, though elderly and stout, was light of foot, and a capital
dancer; and her partner whirled her hither and thither like a big red
feather! Every one danced, and the seventeen revolving couples made
quite a respectable appearance in the narrow room. And what a sight
to behold the twenty-eight partnerless men, languishing in doorways,
and clamouring for halves and quarters of dances! Men who, from the
wicked perversity of their nature, were they as one man to ten girls,
would certainly decline to dance at _all_! Mr. Lisle had abandoned his
station at last, and waltzed repeatedly with Mrs. Durand; they seemed
to know each other intimately, and were by far the best waltzers in the
room. There was a finish and ease about their performance that spoke of
balls in the Great Babylon, and though others might pause for breath,
and pant, and puff, these two, like the brook, seemed to "go on for
ever!"
They also put a very liberal interpretation upon the term "sitting
out!" They walked up the hill in the moonlight, and surveyed the
view—undoubtedly other dancers did the same—but not _always_ with
the same companion; to be brief, people were beginning to talk of the
"marked" attention that Mr. Lisle was paying Mrs. Durand—attentions
not lost on Helen, who noticed them, as it were, against her will,
and tried to keep down a storm of angry thoughts in her heart by
asking herself, as she paced the verandah with Dr. Parkes, and dropped
haphazard sentences, "Was it possible that she was jealous, bitterly
jealous, because Mr. Lisle spoke to another woman?—Mr. Lisle, who
avoided her; Mr. Lisle, who had a history; Mr. Lisle, who was going
away?"
She held her head rather higher than usual, pressed her lips very
firmly together, and told herself, "No, she had not _yet_ fallen quite
so low. Mr. Lisle and his friends were nothing to her."
* * * * *
Supper was served early. Mrs. Creery was the hostess, and we know that
she had "Nip" in her mind, when she suggested that at twelve o'clock
they should adjourn for refreshment, and sailed in at the head of the
procession on the General's arm. "Nip," who had been the first to enter
the supper-room, sat close to his doating mistress, devouring tit-bits
of cold roast peacock, and _pâté de foie gras_, with evident relish;
_this_ was a part of the entertainment that he could comprehend. His
mistress was also pleased with the refection, and condescended to pass
a handsome encomium upon the mess-cook, and priced several of the
dishes set before her (with an eye to future entertainments of her
own). She was in capital spirits, and imparted to Dr. Malone, who sat
upon her left, that she had never seen a better ball in Ross in all her
experience; also, amongst many other remarks, that Miss Caggett's dress
was like a dancer's.
"But is not that as it ought to be?" he inquired, with assumed
innocence.
"I mean a columbine!" she replied sternly; "and her face is an inch
deep in powder—she is a _show_! As to Helen Denis——"
"Yes, Mrs. Creery. As to Miss Denis?"
"I'm greatly disappointed in her. She is no candle-light beauty, after
all."
"Ah, well, maybe she will come to _that_ by-and-by. So long as she can
stand the daylight, there is hope for her—eh?"
Mrs. Creery told Dr. Malone that "she believed he was in love with the
girl, or he would not talk such nonsense!" and finally wound up the
conversation by darkly insinuating something terrible about Mr. Lisle,
adding that he had craved for her forbearance, and implored her to hold
her tongue!
"But I won't," she concluded, rising as she spoke, and dusting the
crumbs off her ample lap. "It is my _duty_ to expose him! We don't want
any wolves in sheep's clothing prowling about the settlement," and with
a nod weighty with warning, she moved away in the direction of the
ball-room.
Miss Caggett had torn her dress badly—her columbine skirts—and
Helen was not sorry to be called aside to render assistance. She was
unutterably weary of Mr. Quentin and his monotonous compliments. His
manner of protecting, and appropriating her, as if she belonged to him,
and they had some secret bond of union, was simply maddening! As she
tacked up Lizzie's rents, in a corner of the ante-room, Lizzie said
suddenly,—
"I suppose you have heard all the fuss about Mr. Lisle? Mrs. Creery is
bubbling over with the news. Don't pretend _I_ told you, but she has
heard all about him at last; very _much_ at last," giggling.
"Yes?" interrogated her companion.
"He was in the army—I always suspected that; he looked as if he had
been drilled. He was turned out, cashiered for something disgraceful
about racing; and as to his flirtations, we can imagine _them_, from
the way he is behaving himself to-night! He has danced every dance with
Mrs. Durand, though I will say this, she asked him; and, of course, it
was because _she_ came back, that he changed his mind about the ball."
"Now your dress will do, I think," said Helen, rising from her knees
with rather a choking sensation in her throat.
"Oh, thanks awfully, you dear girl!" pirouetting as she spoke. "I'll
do as much for you another time; there's a dance beginning, and I must
go!" and she hurried off.
In the doorway Helen came face to face with Mr. Lisle, who was
apparently searching for some one—for her!
She held up her chin, and, with one cool glance, was about to pass by,
when he said, rather eagerly,—
"Miss Denis, I was looking for you. Malone has been sent for to
barracks, and he said that I might ask you to give me his dance—the
next—the last."
Helen fully intended to decline the pleasure, but something in Mr.
Lisle's face compelled her to say "_Yes_," and without a word more,
she placed her hand upon his arm; they walked into the ball-room, and
immediately commenced to waltz; this waltz was "Soldate Lieder." Her
present partner was very superior to Jim Quentin, and she found that
she could go on much longer with him without stopping, keeping up one
even, delightful pace; but at last she was obliged to lean against the
wall—completely out of breath. Her eyes, as she did so, followed Mrs.
Durand enviously, and she exclaimed,—
"I wish I could dance like her." Now, had she breathed this aspiration
to Mr. Quentin or Dr. Malone, they would have assured her that her
dancing was already perfection, but Mr. Lisle frankly replied,—
"Oh, all you want is practice; you must remember that she has been at
it for years. We used to dance together at children's parties,—I won't
say _how_ long ago."
"I know I dance badly," said Helen, colouring; "but the reason of that
is that, although I danced a great deal at school, it was always as
gentleman, because I was tall."
"Ah! I see," and he laughed. "Now I understand why you were so bent on
steering me about just now. Well, you are not likely to dance gentleman
again, I fancy. There!" regretfully, "it's over; shall we go outside?"
Helen nodded her head, and accordingly they went down the steps arm in
arm. She meant to seize this opportunity of giving him a hint of the
mine on which he was standing,—one word of warning with regard to Mrs.
Creery. She had accepted his friendship, and surely this would be the
act of a friend.
Mr. Quentin—sitting in the dusky shades of a secluded corner,
whispering to Lizzie Caggett—saw the pair descending from the
ball-room, pass down the steps, and out into the moonlight, and looked
after them with an expression of annoyance that was quite a revelation
to his sprightly companion.