DANCING
‘Prescribe us not our duties.’
‘WELL, Phyllis,’ said her father, as he passed through the hall to mount
his horse, ‘how do you like the prospect of Monsieur le Roi’s
instructions?’
‘Not at all, papa,’ answered Phyllis, running out to the hall door to pat
the horse, and give it a piece of bread.
‘Take care you turn out your toes,’ said Mr. Mohun. ‘You must learn to
dance like a dragon before Cousin Rotherwood’s birthday next year.’
‘Papa, how do dragons dance?’
‘That is a question I must decide at my leisure,’ said Mr. Mohun,
mounting. ‘Stand out of the way, Phyl, or you will feel how horses
dance.’
Away he rode, while Phyllis turned with unwilling steps to the nursery,
to be dressed for her first dancing lesson; Marianne Weston was to learn
with her, and this was some consolation, but Phyllis could not share in
the satisfaction Adeline felt in the arrival of Monsieur le Roi. Jane
was also a pupil, but Lily, whose recollections of her own dancing days
were not agreeable, absented herself entirely from the dancing-room, even
though Alethea Weston had come with her sister.
Poor Phyllis danced as awkwardly as was expected, but Adeline seemed
likely to be a pupil in whom a master might rejoice; Marianne was very
attentive and not ungraceful, but Alethea soon saw reason to regret the
arrangement that had been made, for she perceived that Jane considered
the master a fair subject for derision, and her ‘nods and becks, and
wreathed smiles,’ called up corresponding looks in Marianne’s face.
‘Oh Brownie, you are a naughty thing!’ said Emily, as soon as M. le Roi
had departed.
‘He really was irresistible!’ said Jane.
‘I suppose ridicule is one of the disagreeables to which a dancing-master
makes up his mind,’ said Alethea.
‘Yes,’ said Jane, ‘one can have no compunction in quizzing that species.’
‘I do not think I can quite say that, Jane,’ said Miss Weston.
‘This man especially lays himself open to ridicule,’ said Jane; ‘do you
know, Alethea, that he is an Englishman, and his name is King, only he
calls himself Le Roi, and speaks broken English!’
Though Alethea joined in the general laugh, she did not feel quite
satisfied; she feared that if not checked in time, Jane would proceed to
actual impertinence, and that Marianne would be tempted to follow her
example, but she did not like to interfere, and only advised Marianne to
be on her guard, hoping that Emily would also speak seriously to her
sister.
On the next occasion, however, Jane ventured still farther; her grimaces
were almost irresistible, and she had a most comical manner of imitating
the master’s attitudes when his eye was not upon her, and putting on a
demure countenance when he turned towards her, which sorely tried
Marianne.
‘What shall I do, Alethea?’ said the little girl, as the sisters walked
home together; ‘I do not know how to help laughing, if Jane will be so
very funny.’
‘I am afraid we must ask mamma to let us give up the dancing,’ replied
Alethea; ‘the temptation is almost too strong, and I do not think she
would wish to expose you to it.’
‘But, Alethea, why do not you speak to Jane?’ asked Marianne; ‘no one
seems to tell her it is wrong; Miss Mohun was almost laughing.’
‘I do not think Jane would consider that I ought to find fault with her,’
said Alethea.
‘But you would not scold her,’ urged Marianne; ‘only put her in mind that
it is not right, not kind; that Monsieur le Roi is in authority over her
for the time.’
‘I will speak to mamma,’ said Alethea, ‘perhaps it will be better next
time.’
And it was better, for Mr. Mohun happening to be at home, was dragged
into the dancing-room by Emily and Ada. Once, when she thought he was
looking another way, Jane tried to raise a smile, but a stern ‘Jane, what
are you thinking of?’ recalled her to order, and when the lesson was over
her father spoke gravely to her, telling her that he thought few things
more disgusting in a young lady than impertinence towards her teachers;
and then added, ‘Miss Weston, I hope you keep strict watch over these
giddy young things.’
Awed by her father, Jane behaved tolerably well at that time and the
next, and Miss Weston hoped her interference would not be needed, but as
if to make up for this restraint, her conduct a fortnight after was quite
beyond bearing. She used every means to make Marianne laugh, and at last
went so far as to pretend to think that M. le Roi had not understood what
she said in English, and to translate it into French. Poor Marianne
looked imploringly at her sister, and Alethea hoped that Emily would
interpose, but Emily was turning away her head to conceal a laugh, and
Miss Weston was obliged to give Jane a very grave look, which she
perfectly understood, though she pretended not to see it. When the
exercise was over Miss Weston made her a sign to approach, and said,
‘Jane, do you think your papa would have liked—’
‘What do you mean?’ said Jane, ‘I have not been laughing.’
‘You know what I mean,’ said Alethea, ‘and pray do not be displeased if I
ask you not to make it difficult for Marianne to behave properly.’
Jane drew up her head and went back to her place. She played no more
tricks that day, but as soon as the guests were gone, began telling
Lilias how Miss Weston had been meddling and scolding her.
‘And well you must have deserved it,’ said Lily.
‘I do not say that Jenny was right,’ said Emily, ‘but I think Miss Weston
might allow me to correct my own sister in my own house.’
‘You correct Jane!’ cried Lily, and Jane laughed.
‘I only mean,’ said Emily, ‘that it was not very polite, and papa says
the closest friendship is no reason for dispensing with the rules of
politeness.’
‘Certainly not,’ said Lily, ‘the rules of politeness are rules of love,
and it was in love that Alethea spoke; she sees how sadly we are left to
ourselves, and is kind enough to speak a word in season.’
‘Perhaps,’ said Jane, ‘since it was in love that she spoke, you would
like to have her for our reprover for ever, and I can assure you more
unlikely things have happened. I have heard it from one who can judge.’
‘Let me hear no more of this,’ said Emily, ‘it is preposterous and
ridiculous, and very disrespectful to papa.’
Jane for once, rather shocked at her own words, went back to what had
been said just before.
‘Then, perhaps, you would like to have Eleanor back again?’
‘I am sure you want some one to put you in mind of your duty,’ said Lily.
‘Eleanor and duty!’ cried Emily; ‘you who thought so much of the power of
love!’
‘Of Emily and love, she would say, if it sounded well,’ said Jane.
‘I cannot see what true love you or Jane are showing now,’ said Lily, ‘it
is no kindness to encourage her pertness, or to throw away a friendly
reproof because it offends your pride.’
‘Nobody reproved me,’ replied Emily; ‘besides, I know love will prevail;
for my sake Jane will not expose herself and me to a stranger’s
interference.’
‘If you depend upon that, I wish you joy,’ said Lilias, as she left the
room.
‘What a weathercock Lily is!’ cried Jane, ‘she has fallen in love with
Alethea Weston, and echoes all she says.’
‘Not considering her own inconsistency,’ said Emily.
‘That Alethea Weston,’ exclaimed Jane, in an angry tone;—but Emily,
beginning to recover some sense of propriety, said, ‘Jenny, you know you
were very ill-bred, and you made it difficult for the little ones to
behave well.’
‘Not our own little ones,’ said Jane; ‘honest Phyl did not understand the
joke, and Ada was thinking of her attitudes; one comfort is, that I shall
be confirmed in three weeks’ time, and then people cannot treat me as a
mere child—little as I am.’
‘Oh! Jane,’ said Emily, ‘I do not like to hear you talk of confirmation
in that light way.’
‘No, no,’ said Jane, ‘I do not mean it—of course I do not mean it—don’t
look shocked—it was only by the bye—and another by the bye, Emily, you
know I must have a cap and white ribbons, and I am afraid I must make it
myself.’
‘Ay, that is the worst of having Esther,’ said Emily, ‘she and Hannah
have no notion of anything but the plainest work; I am sure if I had
thought of all the trouble of that kind which having a young girl would
entail, I would never have consented to Esther’s coming.’
‘That was entirely Lily’s scheme,’ said Jane.
‘Yes; it is impossible to resist Lily, she is so eager and anxious, and
it would have vexed her very much if I had opposed her, and that I cannot
bear; besides, Esther is a very nice girl, and will learn.’
‘There is Robert talking to papa on the green,’ said Jane; ‘what a deep
conference; what can it be about?’
If Jane had heard that conversation she might have perceived that she
could not wilfully offend, even in what she thought a trifling matter,
without making it evident, even to others, that there was something very
wrong about her. At that moment the Rector was saying to his uncle, ‘I
am in doubt about Jane, I cannot but fear she is not in a satisfactory
state for confirmation, and I wished to ask you what you think?’
‘Act just as you would with any of the village girls,’ said Mr. Mohun.
‘I should be very sorry to do otherwise,’ said Mr. Devereux; ‘but I
thought you might like, since every one knows that she is a candidate,
that she should not be at home at the time of the confirmation, if it is
necessary to refuse her.’
‘No,’ said Mr. Mohun, ‘I should not wish to shield her from the disgrace.
It may be useful to her, and besides, it will establish your character
for impartiality. I have not been satisfied with all I saw of little
Jane for some time past, and I am afraid that much passes amongst my poor
girls which never comes to my knowledge. Her pertness especially is
probably restrained in my presence.’
‘It is not so much the pertness that I complain of,’ said Mr. Devereux,
‘for that might be merely exuberance of spirits, but there is a sort of
habitual irreverence, which makes one dread to bring her nearer to sacred
tings.’
‘I know what you mean,’ said Mr. Mohun, ‘and I think the pertness is a
branch of it, more noticed because more inconvenient to others.’
‘Yes,’ said Mr. Devereux, ‘I think the fault I speak of is most evident;
when there is occasion to reprove her, I am always baffled by a kind of
levity which makes every warning glance aside.’
‘Then I should decidedly say refuse her,’ said Mr. Mohun. ‘It would be a
warning that she could not disregard, and the best chance of improving
her.’
‘Yet,’ said Mr. Devereux, ‘if she is eager for confirmation, and regards
it in its proper light, it is hard to say whether it is right to deny it
to her; it may give her the depth and earnestness which she needs.’
‘Poor child,’ said Mr. Mohun, ‘she has great disadvantages; I am quite
sure our present system is not fit for her. Things shall be placed on a
different footing, and in another year or two I hope she may be fitter
for confirmation. However, before you finally decide, I should wish to
have some conversation with her, and speak to you again.
‘That is just what I wish,’ said Mr. Devereux.