FIXING UP A PRANCE.
"'Tis over,
The valse, the quadrille, and the song,
The whispered farewell of the lover;
The heartless adieu of the throng,
The heart that was throbbing with pleasure;
The eyelid that longed for repose,
The beaux that were dreaming of treasure.
The girls that were dreaming of beaux."
--Edward Firzgerald.
Before they got to the Tremaines' house, Bertie drove up with Miss Lilla,
who was "quite dry now, thank you; not worth while bringing all the
sleighs up to the door." More than one curious observer noticed the
panting flanks of the horse, who scarcely looked as if he had been
resting in a stable. To be sure, the delinquents _had_ done that last
mile rather fast, to nick in and meet the party before they should make
inconvenient inquiries at Mr. Tremaine's,--Bertie, who was as good a
mimic as his mother, enhancing the fright of his fair companion by an
improvisation of the scene that would probably take place supposing
they were too late to prevent it, and further convulsing her with a
travesty of his brother-in-law in his most imposing attitude of stately
displeasure.
Lilla nearly had a relapse when they met the rest, as Colonel Rolleston's
face was the faithful reproduction of Bertie's five minutes before; but
the ironical silence with which he received her speech, rather diminished
their triumph at having escaped detection. The girls were all to return
to "The Maples," dress there, and go to the dinner and dance at the
barracks, under Mrs. Rolleston's sole chaperonage.
The scrambling toilette was got through with much noise and merriment.
"Oh, has any one seen my 'waist'?" and "Do smooth my waterfall," were
enigmatical exclamations of frequent occurrence. Cecil's dormitory
resembled a milliner's show-room from the variety of dresses spread on
the bed.
These were not of a very extravagant description; papery pink or green
silk seemed most in vogue, completed with rows of beads round the throat;
but when viewed in connexion with the apple-blossom complexions, abundant
hair and dancing eyes of the Canadian belles, the adventitious aids of
dress might well be deemed as superfluous as painting the lily.
Half-a dozen covered sleighs, going and returning, transported the party
to the barracks, where, escorted by their military hosts, they ascended
the staircase, banked with evergreens, and lined by motionless soldiers
to the ante-room, which, of course, looked as unattractive as the cordial
but mistaken exertions of its proprietors could make it--all the
_laissez-aller_ comfort primly tidied away, and such a roasting fire as
speedily drove every one to remote corners of the room.
The _mauvais quart d'heure_ before dinner had the usual sobering effect,
and young people, who later on would be valsing together on the easiest
of terms, now shyly looked over photograph books, and discoursed with an
edifying amount of diffidence and respect. Each one was to go in to
dinner with his companion of the sleigh--an arrangement of questionable
wisdom, and, as Bertie said, "It behoved one to be doubly careful whom
one drove." Captain Delamere was furious, for, when he claimed Lilla, she
calmly replied, "That having taken them both, she of course supposed he
would ask her elder sister, and, therefore, had promised Captain Du
Meresq."
Before Delamere had done anathematizing his folly in giving the saucy
Lilla such a loop-hole to throw him over, the trumpet sounded, folding
doors opened, and fifty people sat down to the cheery repast.
The table was bright with regimental plate, racing cups, and hot-house
flowers. The band commenced playing "Selections," somewhat deafening,
perhaps, but then it was too cold to put them out of doors.
Cecil and Bluebell were neither of them too much gratified at witnessing
the furious flirtation going on at dinner between Captain Du Meresq and
Miss Tremaine; but Cecil, who never looked at them, and therefore, of
course, saw everything, fancied the admiration most on the lady's side,
and even some of her _oeillades_, bravado. To be sure Bertie never did
flirt seriously _en évidence_, if he could help it.
Bluebell, completely out of sorts, was acquiring a painful experience.
Du Meresq's conduct seemed inexplicable and provoking as she pondered
indignantly on her walk at the Humber, and mentally ejaculated with Miss
Squeers, "Is this the hend?"
Jack, temporarily discouraged by her indifference to himself, which came
on rather rapidly at dinner, gave his next neighbour the benefit of his
conversation.
But this unsatisfactory repast to our heroines was not unnecessarily
prolonged, the mess-room having to be cleared for the great business of
the evening, which, let us hope will prove what it is sure to be called
in next day's discussion "a very good ball."
Why this undescriptive phrase should be applied to every well-attended
dance, with a supper, has always perplexed us; for, of course, every one
really judges it by his or her own personal success and enjoyment, not
unfrequently incompatible with that of some one else. Yet it is all
summed up next morning in the summary verdict "good," or "bad." If there
is a deficiency of gentlemen, space, supper, or _ton_, the latter; but
given these indispensables, you may have been jilted for your bosom
friend by your latest conquest, yet you must come up smiling, and endorse
the public panegyric on the hated evening till the subject be superseded.
Bluebell, a few weeks ago, would have looked upon this ball as the acme
of delight. She was in great request, and, indeed, attained that highest
object of young lady ambition, being belle of the evening; but now her
happiness did not depend on the many--dance after dance passed, and the
only partner she cared for had not once engaged her.
Bertie had been sitting out half the evening with Lilla in a
conservatory, and when they did emerge, was seized on by his
brother-in-law with very black looks, and introduced to a somewhat
unappreciated young lady.
Bertie had the happy knack of appearing equally charmed, whether
presented to a beauty or the reverse; but he inscribed himself very low
down on her card, remorselessly ignoring the intervening blanks, and then
approached Cecil, who, in black and amber, was the most striking-looking
girl in the room. Though inferior in beauty to many, her fine figure and
expressive eyes could never pass unnoticed.
"Dear little Cecil, how well she is looking!" thought he, facilely
forgetting his latest flame, and just becoming sensible of her "altered
eye."
"My niece," said Bertie, in a theatrical tone, intended to disguise his
perception of it, "shall we tread a measure? Let me lead you forth into
the mazy dance."
"Excuse me, Bertie," said Cecil, languidly; "I am only going to dance the
two or three round ones I am engaged for, and I know you do not care for
square."
"I should think not," said he angrily, "when you are going to dance round
ones with other fellows."
"You see you asked too late," said she, indifferently.
"Will you go in to supper with me then?"
"That was all arranged and written down ages ago. Let me see, I am
ticketed for the Major again."
"As you have been all day. I never saw such a cut and-dried, monotonous
programme for a party: all done by rule--no freedom of action."
"Really, Bertie, you and Miss Tremaine can't complain."
"That's why you are so cold to me to-night, Cecil," said Du Meresq,
quietly.
"What can it signify to me?" retorted she, freezingly, vexed at having
permitted the adversary, so to speak, to discover the joint in her
harness. Her partner, who had been hovering near, now claimed and bore
her unwillingly away, for next to being friends with Bertie was the
pleasure of "riling" him by smiling icyness. It was the only weapon she
permitted herself, as she would not condescend to any visible sign of
jealousy or pique.
Bertie was simply _gêné_ by her determination to be all or nothing; there
was no satisfying such an unreasonable girl. Like the immortal Lilyvick,
"he loved them all," yet her thoughtful mind and gentle companionship
were becoming more to him than he was himself aware of.
Cecil, valsing round, looked at each turn for his tall figure leaning
against the wall. It was an abstracted attitude, and he seemed graver
than usual.
"Had she made him unhappy?"--she trusted so--would give the world to read
his thoughts.
Some one said, "There is no punishment equal to a granted prayer." Du
Meresq was wrapt in speculation as to whether they had really succeeded
in getting a wild turkey for supper, which the Mess President was in
maddening doubt about the day before.
That blissful moment was at hand, and the room thinned with a celerity
born of _ennui_, I suppose, for very few people are really hungry, yet it
is the invariable signal for as simultaneous a rush as of starving
paupers when the door of a soup kitchen is opened. To be sure, there are
the chaperones, poor things, round whom no "lovers are sighing," and,
perhaps, supper _is_ the liveliest time to them--old gentlemen, too,
might be allowed some indulgence; but what can be said for dancing men,
wasting the precious moments of their partners, while they linger
congregated together among the _débris_ and champagne-corks?
"What a clearance," said Bluebell, subsiding, with a fagged air, on to a
sofa, as her partner bowed himself off with an eye to business.
"Forward the heavy brigade," said Bertie, motioning to his brother-in-law
bearing off Lady Hampshire; "only room for thirty at a time. _We_ must
wait, Miss Leigh."
"I am ready to wait. But what have 'we' got to say to it?" said Bluebell,
with her Canadian directness.
"Don't speak so unkindly," said Bertie, sentimentally, flinging himself
on the sofa by her side. "You don't know all I have suffered this week."
"You certainly disguised it very well," said the girl, with total
disbelief in her eyes.
"Do you think I felt nothing when I saw you all day with Vavasour,
who every one knows is madly in love with you; and then dancing every
dance--not leaving a corner in your programme for me?"
"You didn't ask me," said Bluebell, less austerely.
"No, for you never so much as looked my way. Besides, Bluebell, I told
you we must be careful. If Colonel Rolleston guessed my feelings for
you--he is so selfish, he forgets he has been young himself--I should be
no longer welcome here."
"Then, I am sure," said Bluebell, the tears rushing to her eyes, "I wish
you had never come. I have been _miserable_ ever since I took that stupid
walk, which you prevented my mentioning; and--and--"
"Let's be miserable again next Sunday, Bluebell," whispered Bertie.
"I shall not go home; or, if I do, I'll stop there. I'll _never_ walk
with you again, Captain Du Meresq."
"'Quoth the raven, "never more!"' I know what it is, you are tired to
death. Sit still on the sofa and I will bring you some supper; sleighing
all day and dancing all night have distorted your mental vision,"--and
Bertie dashed off, passing the young lady he was engaged to on his way to
the supper room, with an inward conviction that their dance must be about
due. Having possessed himself of a modicum of prairie hen, he intercepted
a tumbler of champagne cup just being handed across the table to Captain
Delamere.
"Confound it, that's mine!" said the aggrieved individual.
"I want it for a lady," urged Bertie.
"So do I," said Delamere.
"My dear fellow," said Bertie, chaffingly, nodding towards a gorgeous
American, "it is for Mrs. Commissioner Duloe. She must not be kept
waiting."
"I won't allow my lady to be second to any lady in the room," cried
Delamere who was elevated.
Bertie was in too great a hurry to chaff Delamere any longer, for,
perceiving that his relatives were safely at supper, he resolved to
make the most of the few minutes at his disposal, and, as he would
have expressed it, "lay it on thick."
Bluebell was leaning languidly back on the sofa, watching the forms
of the dancers, ever revolving past the open door to the strains of
a heart-broken valse. (_En passant_, why are the prettiest valses all
plaintive and despairing, quadrilles and lancers cheerful and jiggy,
and galops reckless, not to say tipsy?)
Bertie, with his spoils, was by her side, and, having restored her nerves
with champagne, proceeded to agitate them again with the warmest
protestations of affection. The child with the day's experience before
her, only half-believed him, but the spirit of coquetry woke up, and she
resolved to try and make him care for her as much as he pretended to do.
But Bluebell was trying her 'prentice hand with a veteran in such
warfare.
They were alone in the little room, in one adjoining a few people were
sitting.
"I wish that girl would not watch us so," said Bluebell, indicating one
apparently deep in a photograph book, under cover of which she was
furtively observing them.
"Oh," said Bertie, with a groan, "she's been following me about ever
since I asked her for a dance six off. I hope it is over."
"I dare say she's very angry at being left sitting out," said Bluebell.
"I am sure I should be."
"Ah," said Bertie, "your experience will be all the other way--it's us
poor fellows who will be thrown over, besides, she shouldn't have got
introduced to me. I saw her going on the wrong leg and all out of step,
and Jack Vavasour says she's a regular stick-in-the-mud to talk to."
A stream now issued from the supper room, and Mr. Vavasour, bowing
himself free from a "comfortable" looking matron, hurried up.
"Our dance, Miss Leigh. I thought I should never be in time. She was
twenty minutes at the chicken and lobster-salad, and then went in for
sweets."
"I must go and give my girl a turn, I suppose," whispered Bertie. "She's
guarding the outposts so no chance of giving her the slip. She'd go
raging off to the Colonel. Just like him, letting one in for such a real
bad thing."
A few sleighs were beginning to jingle up, but most of the girls assumed
moccasins, clouds, and furs, and kilting their petticoats as deftly and
mysteriously as only Canadians can, set out in parties, escorted by their
partners, and stepped briskly over the moon lit snow to their respective
dwellings.
Bertie saw his party off in their sleigh, tenderly squeezing Bluebell's
hand, who fell to his share, but did not return with them. Indeed, he was
walking soon in quite an opposite direction, by the side of a shrouded
figure in a rose-coloured cloud, out of which laughed the mischievous
eyes of the second Miss Tremaine.