WHEN NANCY DANCED
Mrs. Marvin decided to make the weekly socials very different from what
they had been.
It had been her custom to hire musicians from the city to give a little
recital, and then serve light refreshments, and allow the latter part of
the evening to be spent in indoor games, or dancing.
The social part of the evening was always enjoyed, but many of the
musicians, both vocal and instrumental, had given selections of so
strictly classical character that some of the pupils complained that
they did not care for it.
She determined to ask three pupils to arrange a program for each
evening, each of the three being expected to take part in the
entertainment.
One Monday morning she unfolded her plan, and announced that on Friday
of that week would occur the first social having a pupils' program.
"I have asked Dorothy Dainty to take charge of the little recital, and I
believe we shall enjoy it."
When the eager applause had subsided, Mrs. Marvin continued:
"The girl in charge of the entertainment must not be annoyed with
questions as to the program because I wish the entertainment each week
to be a surprise.
"Dorothy, herself must contribute one or two numbers, and I have
appointed Nancy Ferris, and Patricia Levine to help her."
The pupils were wild with curiosity as to what the numbers were to be,
but while a few hinted that they were eager to know just what they were
to hear and see, they did not ask Dorothy to tell them. They thought it
would be more fun to be surprised.
Dorothy found herself in an awkward place.
She had decided to sing a pretty waltz song, for which Nancy played the
accompaniment. Nancy had at first thought of playing a piano duet with
Dorothy, but Dorothy pointed out that a number of the girls, when it
came their turn to entertain, would surely play, and she urged Nancy to
do a fine solo dance.
"It will be more of a treat," she urged, and Nancy agreed.
Patricia declared that she had studied with a fine vocal instructor
since they had heard her, and she also stated that she would sing a
solo, or nothing.
Patricia, when at Merrivale private school with Dorothy and Nancy, had
done some very funny singing, and Dorothy felt a bit nervous as to what
she would do now, but Patricia insisted that she had rapidly improved,
and there seemed to be no choice but to let her sing.
"Do make her tell you what she's going to sing," Nancy said, one
morning, "because if she has chosen something you wouldn't like to have
her sing, you _might_ be able to coax her to change it."
Dorothy promised to question Patricia, but she laughed at the idea of
being able to make Patricia change her mind after she had decided what
she should do.
"What am I to sing?" said Patricia, when at recess Dorothy questioned
her. "I'm going to sing something from grand opera. It's called:
'I dreampt that I dwelt in marble halls,'
and my teacher coached me on it, and he said I sang it just as it should
be sung."
"If her teacher said that she sang it well, perhaps it will be all
right," Dorothy said, but even as she said it she wondered just what
Patricia would do. Patricia _might_ do anything.
Dorothy took the time to practice when all of the pupils were out of
doors at recess. She did not wish them to hear her song until she should
sing it for them at the social.
Nancy practiced her solo at early morning. Mrs. Marvin had given her
permission to practice in their reception hall when she learned at what
an early hour Nancy was willing to rise in order to do it.
Patricia declared it entirely needless for her to practice, thus making
Dorothy still more uneasy as to her performance.
At last the evening arrived.
Dorothy had told herself that if, after all, Patricia did anything as
"queer" as she had been known to do, worrying beforehand would not mend
matters. She knew if she became nervous regarding Patricia, she could
not do her own solo well. Patricia had asked that her number might be
the last on the program, and Dorothy had agreed.
As Patricia usually wished to be first in anything, and was offended if
not given precedence, it certainly looked as if she were planning to
have her solo the crowning event of the evening.
Soon after seven a buzz of voices told Dorothy that the pupils had
assembled early, and she would have joined them, but Mrs. Marvin had
said that each of the soloists must be announced, and must come onto
the stage, and greet her audience as if she were a professional.
All had been carefully arranged, and Vera Vane was to announce each
performer.
Dorothy had chosen a light-blue dress, her pumps and hose of the same
shade. The dress was charming, because of its lovely coloring, and its
graceful lines.
Very clearly Vera announced:
"The first number to-night will be a waltz song by Dorothy Dainty."
Dorothy's voice had been carefully trained, and very sweetly she sang,
one especial charm being that every word could be clearly heard, which
is more than can be said of many singers who have studied for years.
She had chosen "Asphodel's Song."
How sweet was the voice, how happy her smile as she sang:
"Oh, how lovely are my flowers
In the morning wet with dew,
Ah, they courtesy to the morning
Off'ring gifts of fragrance new.
Then the sound of bird wings whirring
Wake again the drowsy trees,
And the tiny brooks are stirring,
Running onward to the sea.
Oh, how lovely are my flowers
When the twilight shadows creep,
Hosts of fairy folks come trooping,
Where my flowers lie asleep."
Surely no singer was ever more graciously received.
There were to be no encores because of limited time.
Lights were usually out at nine-thirty, but the socials were from eight
to ten. The concert must be brief to allow sufficient time afterward for
games.
"The next number will be a dance by Nancy Ferris."
Nancy had stood in the upper hall, ready, when she heard her name called
to enter. Here and there a tiny spangle caught the light, and the soft
pink of her dress was repeated in her cheeks. She was happy. She was
going to give pleasure.
As she heard her name called, she bounded down the stairway, across the
hall, and up on the stage, looking far smaller than in her usual school
dress. The pupils were spellbound.
Nancy had said nothing of her dancing nor had she spoken of having been
a tiny performer at the theaters.
Now as they saw her whirling on the tips of her toes, dipping, swaying,
doing steps of wondrous grace, they marveled at the skill with which she
did it. At home, at the Stone House, Dorothy had often played for her,
but to-night she seemed to out-do herself.
Nancy swung forward, then with cunning steps retreated, crossed her feet
and did the pretty rocking-step, whirled again, and yet again, did the
pirouette to left, then to right, made a very low courtesy, and ran off
the stage, followed by tremendous clapping.
How they wished that she might have repeated the lovely dance!
Mrs. Marvin closely watched the nimble feet and determined to know
something more about the charming little dancer. And now--Dorothy
wondered _just what_ the next number would be. She took a long breath
when, as Vera announced her, Patricia entered simply attired, wearing a
pretty white dress, with a pale yellow sash, no other color.
It was remarkable to see Patricia without at least six colors.
"Perhaps she'll sing well," Dorothy said to herself, "for the lovely
song that she chose for her number _couldn't_ be twisted into anything
funny."
Was that really so, or was Dorothy trying to think so? Was there
anything that Patricia could not "twist" if she chose?
The charming old song is very sweet when properly sung, and the words
fit the melody.
"I dreampt that I dwelt in marble halls,
With vassals and serfs at my side,
And of all who assembled within those walls,
That I was the joy and the pride.
I had riches too great to count, could boast
Of a high ancestral name,
But I also dreampt, and that charmed me most,
That you loved me just the same."
So runs the first verse, but Patricia had never seen the music. She had
heard the song a number of times, and felt competent to sing it.
Dorothy had asked her to practice it, then had offered to loan her the
music, but Patricia declared that she needed neither practice, nor the
use of the music.
"Are you sure you know the words?" Nancy had asked.
"Of course!" Patricia had said sharply.
Nancy played the prelude, and Patricia sang. Sang with all her might,
one might say, but oh, the words as she sang them!
She had caught them as they sounded, giving never a thought as to
whether they made sense.
"I dre-eampt that I dwe-e-lt in mar-ar-ble halls
With _vessels_ and _safes_ at my side.
And of all who had stumbled within those walls
That I was the _joke_, and the _bride_,
I had _witches_ to _mate_ and count, could boast
Of a high and central name
But I also dreampt, and that jarred me most,
That Jew loved me just the same."
Was it strange that roars of laughter greeted the song? Even Mrs.
Marvin, a model of all that was well-bred, covered her eyes for a moment
with her handkerchief, but when she removed it, the eyes were twinkling
and it was evident that only her self-control kept her from laughing
aloud.
Dorothy's first thought was for Patricia. She knew it must be dreadful
to be laughed at, and she was hoping that Patricia might not be too
badly hurt. She would draw her into the games later in the evening, and
thus cheer her.
It happened that Patricia needed no cheering. She was disgusted, but not
hurt. She believed herself to be a very fine singer, and thought that
the only reason for laughter was that her audience was dull, so dull
indeed that her romantic selection had been mistaken for a comic song.
"The idea of thinking that song funny enough to laugh at! Why it is not
a comic song at all. There's nothing funny about it!" she declared. "It
really doesn't pay to sing for folks here. They can't understand what
you are doing! The next time I sing, I'll sing for my friends in
N'York."
Dorothy was puzzled for a second, then, as she saw that Patricia really
meant what she said, she was thankful that the laughter had not been
understood by the silly little singer.
Patricia had actually thought that they were foolishly amused by the
song.
It had been quite another thing that annoyed Patricia, and that was the
evident pleasure that Nancy's dancing had given, and on the day after
the social, she was vexed to have to hear the other girls talking about
it.
"I'd think you never saw any one dance before," she said, when Betty
Chase said that Nancy's dancing was "simply lovely."
"Well, I never did see a girl dance like that," said Betty.
"Well, she _ought_ to dance. She's had enough training, besides she used
to dance on the stage. Who couldn't dance if they had a chance like
that?"
"A whole lot of people couldn't," said Betty, sharply. "_I_ couldn't for
one, and I guess there are a few others."
"Do you mean me?" Patricia asked, sharply, her eyes flashing.
"I mean any one silly enough to say that Nancy's dancing was anything
but wonderful," Betty said, and she turned to Valerie, leaving Patricia
to talk to herself, or to no one, if she chose.
Patricia had hoped to lessen interest in Nancy, but what she had said
had had an opposite effect.
It had increased their already lively interest to such an extent that
many who had not yet met her were wild to know her, and those who
already were her friends were eager to question her as to her career.
They longed to hear all about her training, her first appearance at the
theater, and countless questions they wanted to ask her. Patricia had
made Nancy more popular than before.