The Lowestofts’ ball was a very nice ball, everybody said. There were a
great many people there. Indeed, everybody was there: the stairs were
crowded and all the passages, and the dancers had scarcely room to move.
To make your way up or down was almost as bad as going to Court. The way
in which trains were damaged and trimmings torn off would have tried the
temper of a saint. Nevertheless, the ladies bore it like heroines,
smiling blandly, and protesting that it did not matter, even at the
moment when their most cherished lace was being rent under their eyes.
The mistress of the house stood at the top of the stairs, ready to drop
with exhaustion, but grinning horribly a ghastly smile at everybody who
approached her. A Royal Duke had come in for half-an-hour, and a German
Prince, whom all the Lowestofts and all their friends treated with
supreme contempt when they spoke of him; but yet, _vis-a-vis_ of the
_Morning Post_, were too proud and happy to see at their ball. Edgar
Arden was one of those who traversed the crowd with the least _ennui_;
but he could not refrain from making those remarks upon it which he was
in the habit of making concerning the natural history and habits of the
world of fashion. Edgar remarked that only a very few people looked
really happy; and these were either the men and women who had some
special love affair, innocent or otherwise, on hand, and had been able
to appropriate the individual who interested them with that safety which
belongs to a crowd; or else those upward climbers seeking advancement,
to whom every new invitation into “the best society” was an object of as
much elation as a successful battle. These two classes of persons
rejoiced with a troubled joy; but the rest of the guests were either
indifferent, or bored, or discontented. They had come because everybody
was coming; they had come because they were invited; and it was part of
the routine of life to go. Rage was boiling in their souls over their
torn lace; or, with a sigh from the bottom of their hearts, they were
dreaming of their favourite chair at the club, and all its delights.
They said the same things over and over to the same people, whom,
probably in the morning in the Row, or in the afternoon at half-a-dozen
places, they had met and said the same things to before. Edgar stood for
a long time half-way down the stair, and helped the ladies who were
pushing their way up. He was waiting for Lady Augusta and her party, who
were very late. He was waiting without any excitement, but with a little
alarm, wondering if he could say anything to Gussy in the midst of such
a crowd, or if still a breathing-time would be given to him. He did not
want to elude that moment, but only it was so difficult to do it, so
hard to know what to say. “That young Mr. Arden is very nice. I don’t
think I should ever have got upstairs without him,” said more than one
substantial chaperon. “He is waiting for the Thornleighs,” the daughters
would say. Everybody had decided Edgar’s fate for him. Some people said
it had been all settled before they came up from the country. And there
could not be the least doubt that, if Edgar had let the season pass
without saying anything to Gussy, he would have been concluded by
everybody to have used her very ill.
And a great many speculations passed through Edgar’s mind as he stood
there and waited. Sometimes he witnessed such a meeting as ought to have
been in store for himself. He saw the youth and maiden meet who were to
get to the real climax in their romance by means of the Lowestofts’
ball, and wondered within himself whether the outside world could see
the same glow in his eyes which he could see in those of the other
lover, or whether the same delightful atmosphere of consciousness
enveloped Gussy as that which seemed to enclose the other girl in a rosy
cloud. And he saw other pairs meet, not of youths and maidens; he saw
gleams of strange fire which did not warm but burn; he saw the vacant
looks of the mass, the factitious flutter of delight with which the dull
crowd recognised its acquaintances. Lord Newmarch came up to him when he
had occupied this perch for some time. “What are you doing here, of all
places in the world? Are you going or coming? Oh, I see; you are waiting
for the Thornleighs,” he said; “they are generally in good time for a
ball----”
“I am waiting because it is amusing here,” said Edgar, careful even now
that Gussy at least should not be discussed.
“Amusing!--the amusement must be in you, so I will stay by you,” said
Lord Newmarch; “probably some of it may come my way. What an odd fellow
you are, to expect to be amused wherever you go, like a bumpkin at a
fair! By the way, that reminds me, Arden, the people have a faculty for
being amused which is wonderful; they are ready for it at all times and
seasons, you know, not like us. It is a faculty which ought to be made
use of for their improvement. I don’t see why they shouldn’t be educated
in spite of themselves. The drama, for instance; now the drama has lost
its hold on _us_--to us the play is a bore. We go to the opera to see
each other, not to hear anything. But the people are all agog for
anything in the shape of a play. What do you think? If the stage has any
vigour left in it, instead of getting up sensation dramas for cads and
shopkeepers----”
“But cads and shopkeepers are part of the people,” said Edgar.
“No; that is not what I mean; I mean the real lower classes--the working
men--our masters that are to be. How could they learn patriotism, not to
say good sense, better than by means of Shakespeare? Poetry of the
highest class is adapted to every capacity. What is secondary may have
to be explained and broken down, but the highest----”
“I think I must ask you to let me pass,” said Edgar, seeing the shadow
of Lady Augusta’s nose (which was prominent) on the wall close to the
door. She was bringing in her daughters against a stream which was
flowing out, and the struggle was very difficult, and demanded the
greatest care.
“Oh, I suppose I am not wanted any longer,” said Newmarch; “but, Arden,
look here, I hope you mean to let me go to you for a day or two in
September--eh? not for the partridges. Wait one moment. I should be glad
of a quiet opportunity to speak to you by yourself----”
“Another time,” said Edgar, extricating himself as best he could from
the crowd.
“Wait one moment! I am free from the 20th of August. I will go to you as
soon as you like--you know why I ask. Arden, remember I count upon your
good offices--and then if my influence can be of any use to you----”
“Yes, precisely,” said Edgar, swinging himself free. Lord Newmarch
looked after him with a little metaphorical lifting up of hands and
eyes. How simple the boy must be!--falling a hopeless victim to Gussy
Thornleigh, his next door neighbour, when he had, so to speak, all
England to choose from; for the suit of Arden of Arden was not one which
was likely to fail, unless he fixed his fancy very high indeed. Lord
Newmarch could not but reflect that in some things Arden had very
greatly the advantage even of himself--there were so many people still
who had a prejudice in favour of grandfathers, and his own grandfather,
though the first Earl, could not, he was aware, bear discussing. Gussy
Thornleigh, he reflected, was a very fortunate woman. She would have
nothing, or next to nothing. Her sister Helena was one who, under more
favourable circumstances, would have attracted Lord Newmarch himself;
but he could not afford to throw himself away upon a girl who had
nothing, and whose connections even were not of a kind to bring
advancement. Nothing could be better than her family, no doubt; but then
she had a quantity of brothers who would have to be pushed on in the
world, and no doubt the sisters’ husbands would be called upon for aid
and influence. Arden was the very sort of man to suffer himself to be so
called on. He would be ready to help them and to get them out of all
their scrapes. It was he who would be looked to when anything was the
matter. In short, he was just the kind of man to marry a girl who was
one of a large family. Lord Newmarch reflected that he himself was not
so. He wanted all his influence, all his money, everything his position
gave him, for himself or, at least, for his brothers. He even paused to
ask himself whether, in case he should marry Clare Arden, he might not
be appealed to as a connexion of the family for appointments, &c., for
some of those Thornleigh boys. But Clare, he reflected, was not a
good-natured fool like Edgar. She was one who knew what was due to a
man’s position, and that there were few who had anything to spare.
Accordingly, he felt easy in his mind respecting that very far off
danger. It was Clare who was the proper match for himself; and with a
little shrug of his shoulders Lord Newmarch watched Edgar make his way
through the crowd to where Lady Augusta, caught in an eddy, with all her
train of girls, was struggling to get in, against the almost
irresistible force of the torrent going out. Certainly, to come up to
town for the purpose of making love to your next neighbour in the
country was a waste of means indeed.
Meanwhile, Lady Augusta had seized on Edgar’s arm with a sense of relief
which made her heart glow with grateful warmth. It was another evidence
of what a good son he would be, what a help in need. “I am so thankful
to see you,” she cried. “We are a little late, I know; but I never
dreamt that people would be going so soon. There is a great ball in
Eaton Square, I believe, to-night, given by some of those odious
_nouveaux riches_; that is where everybody is flocking to.” This was
said loud enough to catch the ear of the crowd which was going out, and
which had whirled Lady Augusta with it, and disordered the sweep of her
train. She held Edgar fast while she made her way upstairs. She could
not have done it without him, she said, and mourned audibly over her
unfriended condition in the ear of her future son-in-law. “Harry
promised to be looking out for us,” she said; “but I suppose he is
dancing, or something else that amuses him; and Mr. Thornleigh is never
any use to us socially. He is always at the House.”
“Does he go down to Thorne with you?” asked Edgar, meaning nothing in
particular; but at present every word he spoke was marked and noted. No
doubt, he wanted to make sure of being able to communicate with Gussy’s
father at once.
“No, he stays in town,” said Lady Augusta, “for a few weeks longer;” and
then she added, with an attempt at carelessness, “I am the family
business-man, Mr. Arden. We have always one mind about the children and
their concerns. He says it saves him so much trouble, and that without
my help he could never do anything. It is pleasant when one’s husband
thinks so, who, of course, knows one’s weaknesses best of all. Oh, what
a business it is getting upstairs! Gussy, keep close to me, darling.
Ada, I hope you are not feeling faint. Dear, dear, surely there must be
bad management somewhere! I think I never saw such a crush in a private
house.”
Lady Lowestoft was nearer the top of the stair than usual, and took this
criticism, which she had overheard, for a compliment. “A great number of
our friends have been so good as to come to us,” she said. “Dear Lady
Augusta, how late you are! I fear the dear girls will scarcely get any
dancing before supper. Did you meet the Duke as you came in? He is
looking so well. It was very kind of him to come so early. I really must
scold you for being a little late.”
“What a fool that woman is,” Lady Augusta whispered in Edgar’s ear. “She
very nearly compromised herself last season with your cousin Arthur
Arden. He was never out of the house. A man without a penny, and whose
character is so thoroughly well known! And then for one of those silly
women who are really silly, a hundred other women get the blame of it,
which is very hard, I think. Helena is always talking of such things,
and it makes one think.”
Thus Edgar was appropriated for a long time, until he had found a seat
for Lady Augusta, and had placed Ada (who did not dance) by her side.
When he had time to disengage himself, he saw both Gussy and Helena
whirling about among the dancers; for they were popular girls, and
always had partners. Thus the whole evening went past, and he found no
opportunity for any explanation. Had he been able to monopolise Gussy’s
attention, and lead her away to a moderately-quiet corner, no doubt he
would have delivered himself of what he had to say. But then it was not
so very urgent. Had it been very urgent, of course he could have found
the ways and means. He had one dance with her, but nothing could be said
then; and though he proposed a walk into the conservatory, fate, in the
shape of another partner, who carried her off triumphantly, interposed.
And what could a man do more? He had been perfectly willing to make the
full plunge, and in the meantime he watched over the whole family as if
he had been their brother, and put Lady Augusta into her carriage
afterwards, never really leaving them all the evening. If this was not
to _affichér_ himself, it would be hard to tell what more he could do.
He held Gussy’s hand after he put her in, and said something about
calling next day. “Don’t, please,” Gussy had whispered hurriedly; “come
when we are at Thorne. I know we shall all be at sixes and sevens
to-morrow, and no time to talk.” She, too, understood now quite calmly
and frankly that this next visit must be more important than an
afternoon call, and he pressed her hand as he whispered good-bye,
feeling disposed to say to her, “What a dear, kind, reasonable girl you
are; how well we shall understand each other, even though----” But he
did not say this, more especially the “even though----” And he stood on
the pavement and watched them drive away with a sensation of relief. He
had quite made up his mind by this time, and did not intend to defer
the crisis a moment longer than was necessary; but still, on the whole,
he was pleased to feel that, whatever might happen afterwards, he was
going back to Arden a free man.