Concerning a Supper-Dance.
As the date fixed for the great dance drew near, no other topic of
conversation was of any real interest. Even the two little ladies at
the Parsonage got quite excited over it, and confided to Paddy and
Eileen one afternoon, that they were each having new dresses on
purpose.
“Oh! how splendid!” Paddy cried ecstatically; “do tell us what they are
like.”
“Black silk,” said Miss Jane. “And Honiton lace,” added Miss Mary.
“Lovely!” cried Paddy. “I am certain you will be the belles of the
ball. No one will look at Eileen and me.”
“Nonsense, my dear,” shaking her head; “two old things like Mary and
myself belles of the ball indeed! No, no; you and Eileen will be that,
and we shall rejoice to see it.”
“Now you are sarcastic, auntie,” shaking a threatening finger at her;
“as if any belle of a ball ever had a sallow skin and snub nose like
mine. No, if I am a belle at all it will have to be from a back view
only. I really do think my hair is prettier than Eileen’s, so with the
front of her and the back of me, we ought to carry off the palm.”
“What about Kathleen and Doreen?” put in Eileen, “they have improved
wonderfully.”
“Yes, and their dresses were bought in Paris. It’s not fair,” and Paddy
pulled a face. “We all ought to have started equally with dresses made
in Ireland.”
“My dear, dress makes very little difference,” said little Miss Mary;
“expression and manner are everything, and Kathleen and Doreen, though
charming girls, are both a little stiff at present. I haven’t a doubt
your programmes will be full almost before you are in the ball-room.”
“I guess so,” said Paddy mischievously. “I’ve promised twice the number
of dances there are already, but as I’ve forgotten who they were all
to, it doesn’t matter. I am thinking of arriving with two boards like a
sandwich man, and on one side I shall have in large letters ‘Please
note all previous engagements cancelled,’ and on the other ‘Book early
as a great rush is anticipated.’”
The two little ladies laughed merrily, and then suddenly grew serious
and looked at each other, as if preparing for some pre-arranged
announcement.
“My dears!” began Miss Jane, the spokeswoman, while Miss Mary nodded
her head in solemn agreement.
“Mary and I have each been looking through certain of our old treasures
to see if we could find anything suitable to give you for this happy
occasion, and we have decided upon the two fans our uncle, General
Alvers, gave to us for our first ball in Dublin. They are
old-fashioned, perhaps, but they are very good and we hope you will
value them for our sakes.”
“Yes, that is it, sister,” murmured Miss Mary; “we hope you will value
them for our sakes.”
“How good of you!” cried Paddy and Eileen together, and then Paddy flew
straight at each little lady and hugged them both in turn. When she had
released them, Miss Jane rose and went to a drawer, and took from it
two parcels which she slowly began to unfold. At last, from enough
tissue paper to have kept half a dozen fans in, she drew two beautiful
hand-painted ivory ones, and presented them to the two girls.
“Oh! lovely! lovely!” and Paddy was almost beside herself. “But how can
you bear to part with them!”
“Are you sure you would not rather lend them?” asked Eileen gently.
“No, my dear, Mary and I have thought it over, and we have decided it
is folly to hoard up pretty things that might be giving pleasure to
someone we love. We had our time when we were young, and we were very
happy, and loved pretty things as you do. Now it is your turn, and we
must sit and look on.”
“You seem to have been doing that always,” exclaimed Paddy with a
sudden burst, “just sitting and looking on at other people’s
happiness,” while Eileen slipped a hand into little Miss Mary’s with
her slow sweet smile.
“Oh, no, my dear,” Aunt Jane answered at once, “we had just as gay a
time as you and Eileen when we were your age.”
She paused.
“And then!” said Paddy, with half-veiled eagerness.
The two sisters looked at each other a moment, and then Miss Mary said
a little nervously:
“Not just yet, sister. Some day, if they still care to know we will
tell them, but not just yet.”
Eileen pressed the hand in hers with silent sympathy, while
warm-hearted Paddy took the opportunity to administer two more hugs in
the middle of which Jack entered and claimed that it was his turn next.
“Look what aunties have given us,” cried Paddy, ignoring his request.
“Their own beautiful fans that they had for their first ball.”
Jack duly admired, and then asked what they were going to give him that
they had worn at their first ball.
“Hadn’t you two sashes!” asked Paddy of the little ladies; “he could
wear one round his waist, and one for a tie, and just think how pleased
he would be, and how he would strut about in the ball-room, like a dog
with two tails.”
“I’ll strut you about in a few minutes,” remarked the maligned one,
“speaking of your elders and betters in that light fashion.”
“Betters!” echoed Paddy scornfully. “Did you say _betters_?”
“I did, Madam. Do you mean to dispute it!”
“It is so utterly silly, it is hardly worth while,” and then she ducked
hastily to avoid the missile aimed at her head, and a second later they
were flying round the room after each other.
Instantly there was a flutter of skirts, and the two little ladies were
collecting breakables, while Miss Jane gasped to Eileen in a
horror-struck voice:
“The fans, my dear! The fans!”
Eileen rescued the two heaps of tissue paper with their precious
contents, and then held the door open for Paddy to fly out. The next
moment they saw her scrambling over the wall between the two gardens,
with Jack at her heels.
Eileen remained with the two little ladies, and presently they all went
down to the beach together. Here they sat and worked, while Eileen read
aloud to them, until they were disturbed by a footstep on the shingle
and looked up to see Lawrence Blake approaching.
Instantly, in spite of herself, a crimson flush dyed Eileen’s cheeks,
and an anxious look passed between the two little ladies.
Lawrence came up with his pleasantest smile, and greeted all alike with
his polished charm, and though the two little ladies had long felt an
instinctive mistrust of him, they could not but be impressed, and
received him graciously. A boat was pulled up on the beach, beside
where they were sitting, and with the same perfect ease, he seated
himself upon it, and drew them into conversation. For one moment they
made an effort to maintain a formal atmosphere; but since it pleased
Lawrence to be gracious, they could no more resist him than anyone
else, and almost before they knew it, they were deep in an eager
discussion on the picture galleries of Europe.
At the most interesting part a maid from the Parsonage came to say they
were wanted, and with real reluctance they rose to go.
Nevertheless, as they walked across the garden their faces grew
serious.
“He talks wonderfully well,” said Miss Mary at last, anxious to know
what was in her sister’s mind.
“Yes; wonderfully. He is no doubt an extremely cultured young man. And
yet—” she paused.
“And yet?” asked Miss Mary.
“I cannot help it,” answered Miss Jane gravely, “but there is something
in his face that makes me distrust him. I—I think I wish he had never
come back to Omeath.”
“I wish so, too, sister,” said Miss Mary, with like gravity. “I wish it
very much;” then they passed into the house.
Meanwhile Eileen sat on, and Lawrence leaned against the boat and
looked into her beautiful eyes. He had a way of doing this that was
vaguely a caress in itself, and that made poor Eileen’s heart flutter
almost fearfully, at the mere thought of all it, perhaps, involved.
When he looked at her like that, it made no difference that he might be
seated some little distance away, and their conversation of the most
matter-of-fact order; the whole atmosphere was electric to her young
ingenuousness. Lawrence might tell himself he meant no harm; and
console himself at occasional uneasy moments with the reflection that
he had uttered no word of love, nor drawn any nearer to her than was
entirely circumspect; yet he, of all others, could not fail to know
just what power of magnetism he was able to throw into a glance, and
what inflection of unnamed tenderness could delicately colour his
voice, though he spoke of only the most commonplace things. Had he not
practiced the fine art half over the world; and quietly walked in to
conquest, over the heads of far better looking and more attractive men.
Yet he remained unattached: a circumstance sufficiently dangerous in
itself. Never in all these years had he gone one inch too far; never
become more than lightly entangled; yet always a conqueror. The
personality that imbued him to his finger-tips, coupled with a certain
indifference, against which women who loved him flung themselves in
vain, yet could not break away, had undoubtedly worked far more harm
and misery than the honest, gay flirtations of many a more censured
man. Yet he had good points and could be lovable. Was it, perhaps, the
age he lived in? the _blasé_, free-thinking, free-living set he had
become identified with, tipping the delicately adjusted balance to the
wrong side. However, that might be, the hour had gone by when anyone
could save Eileen; it must now be either radiant joy or heart-broken
misery. And meanwhile, into her beautiful eyes, noting also the
delicately moulded form and exquisite skin, Lawrence looked that vague
caress, with a willfully blind indifference to the future. He only knew
that she was entrancingly fair to gaze upon; and he had not by any
means suffered from the boredom he had anticipated, before yielding to
his mother’s persuasions.
He chatted on a little while casually now, and then suddenly brought
the colour flaming to her cheeks by saying, with a charming air of
persuasion:
“If I am not too premature, Eileen, will you promise me the first
dance, and the supper-dance on Thursday? I feel it’s rather cheek
asking you so soon; but I shall get so bored doing the host all the
evening; I wanted to make quite sure of the two dances that matter the
most.”
Under the lowered lids her eyes shone. She had so hoped he would ask
her for the supper-dance; the event of the evening at their merry
dances, and yet had hardly dared to hope. Still, with an exquisite
flush, she bantered him a little. “But you may change your mind by
Thursday! It seems a long way off yet, and it would be so awkward for
you if you did.”
He laughed lightly. “I’ll promise to tell you if I do, I’ll go down on
my knees and implore your pity and clemency, and your permission to ask
someone else.”
She laughed with him, and then he added, “Mind, I don’t say I shall be
content with those two only, but I daren’t claim another now. Perhaps,
if my duties as host allow me another opportunity, you will again be
kind?”
She said nothing, but glanced away from him, feeling deliriously happy;
and at the same moment Paddy emerged from the garden, with Jack and Ted
Masterman, one on either side of her.
Lawrence got up at once. “Here comes your sister,” he remarked, “with
her usual train of admirers. If you will not mind making excuses for
me, I will say good-by, as I have to ride on to Carlingford;” and he
hurried away.
“Where’s his august majesty off to, in such a hurry?” asked Paddy, as
she came up. “I was just going to ask him to reserve the supper-dance
for me, as I always like a supper-partner who thinks it is too much
trouble to talk, and so leaves more time for eating.”
“He had to ride on to Carlingford,” said Eileen, rising, “so he asked
me to excuse him to you. How do you do, Mr Masterman? I am glad to hear
you are going to remain for the ball after all.”
“Thank you,” Ted answered heartily. “I wouldn’t have missed it for
anything, if I could possibly help it.”
“Mr Masterman has just saved my life, or at any rate my beauty,”
remarked Paddy. “What do you think I ought to do?”
“How?” questioned Eileen.
“Well, you see, I caught my foot on the top of the wall, when I
somewhat hastily left the Parsonage just now, and he happened to be on
the other side, in just the right spot to catch me.”
“I expect the poor chap was nearly crushed to death,” remarked Jack.
“He’ll go home with a nice opinion of wild Irish girls.”
“I shall, indeed,” was the fervent rejoinder, looking hard at Paddy;
but as usual she was already attending to something quite different,
and the remark, with its double meaning was entirely lost upon her.
Later on, they all four strolled down to the water after dinner, and
Jack managed to detain Eileen a little behind the others.
He was a trifle awkward and shy as if he had something on his mind, and
at last, without much preliminary, he blurted out, “You’ll give me the
supper-dance, won’t you, Eileen? I wanted to ask you before, but I
thought you’d think I was so silly to be asking so soon.”
“Oh! I’m sorry, Jack,” with genuine regret for his sake; “I’ve promised
it.”
“You’ve promised it!” he echoed in astonishment.
“Yes, this afternoon.”
“To whom?” looking hard into her face.
“To Lawrence Blake,” and she did not meet his eyes.
Jack stood still suddenly, without quite knowing it, and stared across
to the mountains. It seemed to him all in a moment as if some grim
phantom had suddenly risen, and menaced him for the first time in his
life, with a vision of striving and failure.
He ground his teeth together angrily.
“Curse Lawrence Blake,” he muttered, and kicking some pebbles angrily
into the lake, strode forward.