On ball nights, the bar-room in question is more especially patronised,
not only by the guests of the House, but outsiders from other hotels,
and "the cottages."
Terpsichore is a thirsty creature--one of the best customers of Bacchus;
and, after dancing, usually sends a crowd of worshippers to the shrine
of the jolly god.
At the Ocean House balls, drink can be had upstairs, champagne and other
light wines, with jellies and ices; but only underground are you
permitted to do your imbibing to the accompaniment of a cigar.
For this reason many of the gentlemen dancers, at intervals, descended
the stairway that led to the drinking-saloon.
Among others was Maynard, smarting under his discomfiture.
"A brandy smash!" he demanded, pausing in front of the bar.
"Of all men, Dick Swinton!" soliloquised he while waiting for the
mixture. "It's true, then, that he's been turned out of his regiment.
No more than he deserved, and I expected. Confound the scamp! I wonder
what's brought him out here? Some card-sharping expedition, I suppose--
a _razzia_ on the pigeon-roosts of America! Apparently under the
patronage of Girdwood _mere_, and evidently in pursuit of Girdwood
_fille_. How has he got introduced to them? I'd bet high they don't
know much about him."
"Brandy smash, mister?"
"Well!" he continued, as if tranquillised by a pull at the iced mixture
and the narcotic smell of the mint. "It's no business of mine; and
after what's passed, I don't intend making it. They can have him at
their own price. _Caveat emptor_. For this little _contretemps_ I
needn't blame him, though I'd give twenty dollars to have an excuse for
tweaking his nose!"
Captain Maynard was anything but a quarrelsome man. He only thought in
this strain, smarting under his humiliation.
"It must have been the doing of the mother, who for a son-in-law prefers
Mr Swinton to me. Ha! ha! ha! If she only knew him as I do?"
Another gulp out of the glass.
"But the girl was a consenting party. Clearly so; else why should she
have hung fire about giving me an answer? Cut out by Dick Swinton! The
devil?"
A third pull at the brandy smash.
"Hang it! It won't do to declare myself defeated. They'd think so, if
I didn't go back to the ball-room! And what am I to do there? I don't
know a single feminine in the room and to wander about like some forlorn
and forsaken spirit would but give them a chance for sneering at me.
The ungrateful wretches! Perhaps I shouldn't be so severe on the little
blonde I might dance with her? But, no! I shall not go near them. I
must trust to the stewards to provide me with something in the shape of
a partner."
He once more raised the glass to his lips, this time to be emptied.
Then, ascending the stairs, he sauntered back to the hall-room.
He was lucky in his intercession with the gentlemen in rosettes. He
chanced upon one to whom his name was not unknown; and through the
intercession of this gentleman found partners in plenty.
He had one for every dance--waltz, quadrille, polka, and schottishe--
some of the "sweetest creatures" on the floor.
In such companionship he should have forgotten Julia Girdwood.
And yet he did not.
Strange she should continue to attract him! There were others fair as
she--perhaps fairer; but throughout the kaleidoscopic changes of that
glittering throng, his eyes were continually searching for the woman who
had given him only chagrin. He saw her dancing with a man he had good
reason to despise--all night long dancing with him, observed by
everybody, and by many admired.
In secret unpleasantness Maynard watched this splendid woman; but it was
the acme of bitterness when he saw her give ear to the whisperings of
Richard Swinton, and lean her cheek upon his shoulder as they whirled
around the room, keeping time to the voluptuous strains of the
Cellarius.
Again occurred to him the same thought: "I'd give twenty dollars to have
an excuse for tweaking his nose!"
He did not know that, at less cost, and without seeking it, he was near
to the opportunity.
Perhaps he would have sought it, but for a circumstance that turned up
just in time to tranquillise him.
He was standing by the entrance, close to a set screen. The Girdwoods
were retiring from the room, Julia leaning on the arm of Swinton. As
she approached the spot he saw that her eyes were upon him. He
endeavoured to read their expression. Was it scornful? Or tender?
He could not tell. Julia Girdwood was a girl who had rare command of
her countenance.
Suddenly, as if impressed by some bold thought, or perhaps a pang of
repentance, she let go the arm of her partner, dropping behind, and
leaving him to proceed with the others. Then swerving a little, so as
to pass close to where Maynard stood, she said, in a hurried
half-whisper:
"Very unkind of you to desert us!"
"Indeed!"
"You should have come back for an explanation," added she,
reproachfully. "I could not help it."
Before he could make reply she was gone; but the accent of reproach left
tingling in his ear was anything but disagreeable.
"A strange girl this!" muttered he, in astonished soliloquy. "Most
certainly an original! After all, perhaps, not so ungrateful. It may
have been due to the mother."