THE BALL.
The evening of the ball arrived; the house was crowded, and for the
scores it was impossible to accommodate, Mellen had made arrangements in
his usual lavish way, for a conveyance back and forth in a steamer
chartered for the occasion.
The old house was a beautiful sight that evening. The long suite of
drawing-rooms were flung open, and in the far distance a noble
conservatory, half greenness, half crystal, terminated the view like
some South Sea island flooded with moonlight.
It was not alone that these noble rooms were shaded with richly-tinted
draperies, and filled with costly furniture; any wealthy man's house may
offer those things; but Mellen had thrown his fine individual taste into
the adornments of his home. Antique and modern statues gleamed out of
the general luxuriousness. Pictures that made your breath come
unsteadily broke up the walls, and groups of bronze gave you surprises
at every turn. The works of art, sometimes arrayed in one long dreary
gallery, were here scattered in nooks and corners, completing each room
with their beauty.
And all this was kindled up into one brilliant whole. There was no
crowding in those rooms. Each rare object had its peculiar light and
appropriate space. A master mind had arranged every thing.
In these almost palatial saloons Elizabeth stood by her husband,
receiving their guests as they came in.
Elsie was in brilliant spirits that night, and her buoyant gayety formed
a singular contrast with the quiet repose of Elizabeth.
Tom Fuller followed the pretty elf about everywhere in spite of her
cruel rebuffs, for he was sadly in her way that night; and when she
refused to dance with him, peremptorily ordering him away to entertain
dowagers, or perform any similar heavy work, he would take the post she
assigned him, and watch her with fascinated eyes as she floated down the
dance or practised her wiles on every man who approached, just as she
had once thought it worth while to entrance him.
On that evening Tom Fuller woke to a consciousness of the truth; he
understood the confusion and bewilderment which had been in his mind for
weeks past; he loved this bright young creature with the whole force of
his rugged nature, and began dimly to comprehend that she cared no more
for him or his sufferings than if his heart had been a football or
shuttlecock.
He captured Elizabeth, and there, in the midst of the lights and gayety,
told her of his wrongs, with such energy that it required her constant
effort to prevent him from attracting general attention.
"I love her," he burst out, "I do love her! She might run my heart
through with a rusty bayonet, if she would only care for me."
The beginning was not at all coherent, but Elizabeth perfectly
understood what he meant. Several times during the past weeks she had
attempted to open his eyes to the truth; but he would neither see nor
hear, and had insisted upon rushing on to his fate like a great
blundering bluebottle into a spider's web.
"Do you think there's any hope, Bessie, do you? I ain't handsome, and I
ain't disgustingly rich; but I'll give her all my heart! I'll work for
her, die for her; I'd lay my own soul down for her to walk over, only to
keep her little feet dry, upon my honor I would."
Elizabeth drew him into a window recess, and tried to soothe his
agitation.
"Poor old Tom!" she whispered; "poor dear old Tom!"
"I know what that means," he said, choking desperately; "you don't think
there is any hope. You know there is not!"
"I have tried to talk to you, Tom, but you wouldn't listen--"
"Yes, I know, I know! It's my own fault--I'll--I'll turn up jolly in a
little while--it's only the f-first that's hard!"
And Tom blew and whistled in his efforts to keep his composure, in a way
that was irresistibly ludicrous. In the midst of his distress the poor
fellow could not help being comical. Even in the suffering which was so
terribly real to him he made Elizabeth smile.
"I'm a great fool!" he exclaimed. "Just pitch in and abuse me like
smoke, Bessie, I think it would do me good."
"Only wait till to-morrow," she said, "I will talk with you then--we
shall be overheard now."
"Oh, I can't help it if the whole world hears," he groaned; "I can't
wait! The way she's going on with those dashing young fellows drives me
mad! Why couldn't I have been a dashing fellow too, instead of such a
great live-oak hulk! I can't stir without stumbling over somebody, and
as for saying those dainty things that they are pouring into her ears,
and be hanged to 'em--I can't do it. No wonder she scorns me!"
Tom dealt his unfortunate forehead a blow that made it scarlet for
several moments, and quieted him down somewhat.
"What would you advise me to do, Bessie?" he asked. "You're so sensible
and so good--just give a fellow a hint."
"Dear Tom, there is nothing for it but to wait--"
"That's pretty advice!" he burst in. "You might as well tell a person in
a blaze of fire to wait! No, I shan't wait--I shan't, I say!"
Tom ran his hands through his hair till it stood up, quivering as if he
had received an electric shock.
"Oh, you needn't look so black at me, Bessie; I know just what a humbug
I am as well as you."
"I wasn't looking black at you; I am very, very sorry, Tom."
"Don't pity me; I shall break right down if you do."
"I must go back, Tom," she said; "I can't stay here any longer."
"I know it; of course you can't. I'll just wait a minute and
then----there, go! What a nuisance I am!"
Elizabeth went back into the ball-room, where she saw Elsie whirling
through a waltz, looking as happy and unconscious as if she had not just
crushed a warm, loving human heart under her pretty foot.
Mrs. Mellen stood a moment arrested; no one seemed to heed her.
She saw Mrs. Harrington forcing Mellen to walk through a quadrille, and
felt certain that he was as restless as herself.
"But it is for Elsie," she thought; "he will not mind so long as it is
for her. None of them will miss me."
Tom Fuller stood in the bay window for some time trying to collect his
scattered faculties. Any thing like rational thought was quite out of
the question with him; he felt as if a great humming-top were spinning
about in his ears, and his heart was in a state of palpitation that
utterly defies description.
Finally he passed through the drawing-rooms where people were busy over
their cards or their small-talk, and entered the ball-room from which he
had rushed in such frenzy.
There was a pause in the music, and Elsie was standing surrounded by a
group of gentlemen, not even seeing Tom as he approached. He managed to
edge himself into the circle at last, and stood watching Elsie very much
like a sheep-dog that wanted dreadfully to worry something, but knew
that he would get himself into difficulty if he even ventured on a bark.
But speak with her, he would; Tom had reached that point where his
feelings must find vent or explode, and scatter mischief all around.
Finally a brilliant idea struck him, and he got near enough to whisper--
"Bessie wants to see you a moment."
Elsie turned away impatiently.
"Now, this moment," added Tom, growing very red at his own fib, but
following it up courageously.
He knew very well that the dandies were quizzing him; he saw that Elsie
was provoked; but though he trembled in every joint, and his face had
heat enough in it to have kept a poor family comfortably warm from the
reflection, he resolutely held out his arm, and the young lady took it,
pouting and flinging back smiles to her forsaken admirers.
"My sister wants me," she said, in explanation to her friends.
"Tiresome, isn't it? for there is no guessing when she will let me come
back."
Tom led his captive away, but he was dreadfully frightened at the
success of his own manoeuvre.
"Where is Bessie?" asked Elsie, impatiently, as they walked down the
ball-room.
"This way," faltered Tom; "we shall find her in a moment."
Elsie never deigned him another word; she was very angry, as she could
be with any thing or anybody that marred her selfish enjoyment, and Tom
walked on towards one of the parlors which he knew was empty, feeling
like a man about to charge a battery single handed, but determined to
persevere nevertheless.