"Godmother," Ella repeated, "what do you mean?"
Lady Cheynes smiled.
"Supposing I were to tell you you were to go to the dance at the
Belvoirs' to-night after all?" she said.
Ella's face fell a little.
"Godmother," she replied, "I'm afraid you're teasing me; I _couldn't_ go
now."
"Not if I took you? I was asked of course--they are very old friends,
and I did not answer definitely, not being sure when I was returning
home. Indeed till this morning I thought it was over, that it was last
night."
"But," Ella went on, the corners of her mouth drooping like a little
child's, "I haven't any frock, godmother. That makes it quite
impossible."
"I don't know. Hester tells me there is a very pretty little white
tulle frock almost ready for you. Madelene has been having it made by
Melanie--in case of anything unexpected, I suppose," said Lady Cheynes
quietly.
Ella looked as if she could scarcely believe her ears.
"_Madelene_ has been getting a frock ready for me," she said. "Perhaps,
perhaps, godmother it was for a surprise. Wouldn't she be vexed at my
knowing it? Do you--would you _dare_ to let me wear it? Oh,
godmother," and her eyes sparkled, "how lovely it would be!"
"_Will_ be," said her godmother, smiling more and more. "Listen, Ella,
I've got your father's leave to take you. You are to drive home with me
immediately after luncheon. Hester is putting up the frock and my maid
will set to work and finish it. Now think, have you everything else you
need--gloves--shoes?"
"I have gloves--tan-coloured ones, but they're quite new and nice and
long. They are the last pair of those poor auntie gave me. I have
never needed to wear such long ones here! And shoes--I have no white
ones, godmother."
"You must have white ones," said Lady Cheynes. "Ah well--perhaps we can
get some at Weevilscoombe. I can send a man in to the shoemaker's
there. Or if not--" and the old lady hesitated. "Never mind--we'll
manage somehow. Now, my dear, run up stairs and show Hester all that
you want packed up. You must be quick, for we shall leave immediately
after luncheon."
Scarcely knowing if she were standing on her head or her heels, off flew
Ella. Up stairs in her room she found Hester, who now that the young
lady was in such luck thought it well to sober her down a little by
looking rather grim.
"Oh, Hester," cried Ella, flying at the old servant, seizing her by the
shoulders and whirling her round, "did you ever know anything so lovely?
Have you packed up the frock? Do tell me about it--how did you know
about it? Was it to be a surprise and oh! Hester, what will my sisters
say when they see me there? I'm so awfully afraid they'll be vexed,
even though they won't show it to her ladyship."
Hester stopped short in the packing she was already in the midst of.
"Now, Miss Ella," she said, "that just shows how little you know your
sisters. Vexed indeed--they'll be just as pleased as pleased, Miss St
Quentin especially. If only you knew--No, miss, you can't see the
frock--it's all pinned up neatly, and you must let Jones undo it
herself," and Hester laid a protecting hand on the white puffy-looking
packet she was reserving for the top of the trunk.
"You cross old thing," said Ella. "However I'll forgive you. I'm too
happy to mind. All the same if my sisters did want me to go, why didn't
they ask papa--he gave in the moment godmother tackled him?"
Hester grunted, but said nothing.
"That reminds me," Ella went on, "I must run in to see papa for a
moment, to thank him. You've got all my things in now, Hester. I
haven't time to change this frock, though I should have liked to,"
glancing at her thick grey homespun with contempt; "and besides, my
Sunday frock--fancy me having come back to Sunday frocks like a good
little girl!--is rather the uglier of the two. It is so clumsily made;
I'd have _liked_ to take my dark green cashmere that I brought from
auntie's."
"And catch your death of cold. You forget, Miss Ella, it's a deal
colder here than at Bath, and in a town too it's always warmer."
"Oh, well, I don't care. I shall come back first thing to-morrow
morning; so it won't matter. Oh, Hester, I am so happy--here, catch,
these are my gloves. Yes, I'm sure I've all now."
And with another series of pirouettes Ella took herself off.
She flew to her father's room this time.
"May I come in? Oh, papa, I don't know how to thank you," she cried.
And as her father looked up, she seemed to him a transfigured creature
from the meek, subdued Ella of the night before. There she stood,
radiant and glowing with a delight which one could have fancied
illumined even the dull folds of her grey frock as with sunshine.
A smile broke over Colonel St Quentin's pale worn face.
"My poor little girl," he ejaculated involuntarily, "do you really care
so much about it?"
"Of course I do. Oh! you don't know how happy I am. But oh, papa, you
don't think Madelene will mind, do you?"
Colonel St Quentin's face changed.
"_Madelene_ mind!" he repeated. "My dear Ella, how extraordinarily you
misapprehend your sister." Just, in other words, what Hester had said.
For a moment Ella's face looked grave. If it were the case after all
that Madelene was not to blame? But no--how could it be so? For papa,
had been so easy to persuade--was now so plainly enjoying her delight.
The girl's expression darkened. Madelene, she felt almost inclined to
believe, was worse than she had yet imagined. She must be cleverer and
more cunning, thought Ella, not only to keep her in the position she
did, but to make it seem that she wished it otherwise. But these
reflections of course were not to be expressed. And come what would,
Ella decided triumphantly, her sister could not deprive her of this one
evening's enjoyment.
"I'm glad you don't think Madelene will be vexed," she said quietly.
Colonel St Quentin gave a slight smile. "You must promise me, Ella," he
went on, "to be very nice--biddable and considerate you know, to your--
to Lady Cheynes. It is really very good, very good indeed of her to
take you. Don't tease her to stay late, or anything of that kind. I
suppose it's all right about your dress--she says so. Now, good-bye, my
dear. Enjoy yourself and don't fancy that any one will grudge your
doing so."
"Good-bye, papa," said Ella, stooping to kiss him.
They set off immediately after luncheon. Arrived at Cheynesacre, a
great consultation took place. Jones was fortunately good-natured as
well as skilful--she surveyed the snowy mass which old Hester had packed
up so carefully with grave consideration.
"Yes, my lady," she said, "boolyooners of toole, quite simple, I see.
The bodice is complete, luckily. Well--if Harriet can work with me--
Harriet is a handy girl, I don't see but that it may be ready by eight
o'clock--or even a little sooner."
"Sooner, decidedly," said Lady Cheynes, "we must start at half-past
eight. It's a long drive and of course an early dance. You must have
some white flowers Ella--not a bouquet, but a spray or two on the
bodice. And was there not something else you needed?"
"Shoes, godmother. I have no white ones."
"Oh, to be sure. What do you think, Jones, could we get a decent pair
at Weevilscoombe?"
Jones shook her wise head.
"Then--run down stairs, Ella, and ring for the head-gardener to speak to
me in the conservatory. I will follow you immediately."
Five minutes later, the old lady entered the drawing-room with a small,
carefully enveloped parcel in her hand. There was a look in her face
that Ella had never seen there before--a look which in a younger woman
would have been accentuated by tears in her eyes. But old age weeps
rarely and painfully. Lady Cheynes' bright, dark eyes were undimmed,
yet they had a very tender light in them as she unfolded the packet.
"Look, child," she said. "Here is a pair of slippers which I little
thought would ever have danced again. They belonged to my own child.
You have never heard of her of course. She would have been an old woman
in your eyes, had she been alive still. They were the last white
slippers she ever wore; you see they are perfectly clean, only yellowed
a little with age, in spite of my blue paper!"
Ella took them carefully and admiringly in her hands. They were very
dainty little shoes, and on the front of each sparkled an old-fashioned
buckle.
"How pretty they are!" said the girl. "Are these diamonds, godmother?"
and she touched the buckles.
"No, they would be too valuable in that case to be left stitched on the
slippers," Lady Cheynes replied. "They are only old paste, but very
good old paste. I gave them to Clarice to wear at the fancy dress ball
she got the shoes for, and they were old even then. You see the shoes
have high heels, Ella, which suits them for present fashions rather too
well, in my opinion. That was because they were for a fancy dress.
When Clarice was a girl, high heels were not worn. Now try them on,
child--I only hope they are not too small."
Ella slipped off her own shoe and drew on one of the white ones without
the least difficulty.
"Do they fit you?" asked Lady Cheynes quickly, "Quite; perfectly," said
Ella, proceeding to try the second slipper. "The left foot is perhaps,
yes, just a trifle too large," she went on. "You see they are both
_easy_, and my left foot is a little tiny bit smaller than my right--and
then I have thicker stockings on than in the evening. But I am sure
they will do, godmother, beautifully; and it is so _very_ good of you."
Lady Cheynes stooped to look at the little feet in their motley clothing
of red stockings and white shoes.
"Humph," she said, with a mingling of admiration and contrariety in her
voice, "humph--I thought Clarice's feet the smallest that ever were
seen. You can put a bit of cotton-wool in the toes if you like, Ella."
"Oh, no, thank you, they're not as bad as that," said Ella, jumping up.
"I can dance in them splendidly--I _feel_ I can," and she gave herself a
twirl or two. "Oh, dear godmother," she went on, "I can scarcely
believe that I'm going. I really _can't_." Jones and the handy Harriet
worked their best. Before eight o'clock all was ready, and Ella stood
arrayed for her godmother's inspection.
"Very nice, yes, very nice," said the old lady. "Put out your foot,
Ella--yes, there won't be another pair of shoes and shoe-buckles like
those, there. Now, what have you to put on over you? No! no," as Ella
held up a gauzy mantle or shawl, "that's not half enough. You must have
something over that. My dark-brown fur-lined cloak, Jones, will be the
very thing. You are not used to a long drive in winter such as we shall
have to-night. And it is freezing now, I hear--the roads are getting
slippery. We cannot go fast."
"You must have plenty of hot-water bottles, my lady," said Jones, as she
returned with the cloak. "And I'll tell Henry to be sure and have them
filled again to come home with."
"We shall not stay so late as all that," the old lady replied.
"However, it will do no harm to speak to Henry. What are you making
such grimaces about, Ella?"
"The cloak, godmother. It is so awfully heavy--I am afraid it will
crush me dreadfully, and see, it quite trails on the floor. Don't you
think, in the warm carriage--if I doubled my shawl?"
"No, nonsense," said Lady Cheynes, decidedly. "That cloak is the proper
thing. You can shake yourself out when you get there. Good tulle is
elastic," and she turned away inexorably.
It was a long drive--longer than Ella had realised. And it was so cold
outside that the carriage windows had to be kept up the whole way, not
admitting a breath of air; and they quickly became so opaque that even
if the night had been brighter and clearer than it was, Ella could have
seen nothing. In spite of her excitement and eager anticipation she
felt herself growing drowsy, and when they at last drew up, though she
had not been actually asleep she had been so near it that all about her
seemed dreamy and unreal. Hardly understanding where she was, she found
herself following her godmother across a great square hall, whose dark
oak panelling was decorated with Christmas evergreens and holly, down a
short passage into a room crowded with ladies' shawls and wraps and
attendant maidens.
"Shake yourself out, Ella," said Lady Cheynes. "Yes, that is right," as
her god-daughter half mechanically obeyed her, under the supervision of
one of the ladies'-maids. "You are not at all crushed. Keep our cloaks
where they will be easily got at, we shall be leaving early," she went
on to the woman, who evidently recognised her. "Now, Ella, my dear.
But for goodness' sake, child, don't look so solemn. No one would
recognise you."
"I--I didn't mean to look solemn, godmother," said the girl, glancing up
in the old lady's face with a little smile of deprecation in her lovely
eyes.
At that instant a young man hastily crossing the hall, just behind them,
caught sight of her. He stopped short and hesitated.
"By Jove!" he ejaculated under his breath, then drew back. He was out
of the range of seeing or being seen by Lady Cheynes.
"Who can she be?" he said to himself.
The old lady moved on calmly till she reached the doorway where Mrs
Belvoir was standing, and the greetings and introduction of Ella took
place.
"We are later than I expected," said Lady Cheynes. "You see it was such
a sudden idea of mine."
"A delightful idea," Mrs Belvoir replied. "Where will you establish
yourself, Lady Cheynes? There are a few seats in the ball-room--or
would you prefer staying here?"
"I will stay here, thank you," Ella's godmother replied, seating herself
beside her hostess. "But this child here," she added in a lower voice,
"I should like her to dance. Her sisters don't know she is coming. It
will be quite a surprise to them to see her."
"They are both dancing," said Mrs Belvoir. "Of course she must dance.
Ah! there is Louis,"--as she caught sight of one of her sons and
beckoned to him. "Louis," and a word or two of whispered explanation
followed, before he was brought up and introduced, nothing loth, to the
lovely stranger.
He did not catch the name clearly; Mrs Belvoir's special care to
introduce the young girl correctly, as "Miss _Ella_ St Quentin," had a
curious result.
"Miss Ellison Winton," young Belvoir repeated to himself; "who in the
world can she be? I have never seen her before, that's certain."
But long ere his fragment of a dance with her came to an end, he found
himself hoping that he should see her again!
"She is quite bewitching," he thought, "and she dances beautifully. I
wish I were not engaged so deep."
"May I introduce a partner or two to you, Miss--Miss Winton?" he said,
and Ella did not notice the mistake, as she acquiesced, and two or three
new men were led up to her.
"Major Frost, Mr Littleton, Sir Philip Cheynes," followed each other in
quick succession, and each in turn was informed privately by young
Belvoir that the young lady was "a Miss Ellison Winton, a perfect
stranger," he added, "staying at some house in the neighbourhood;" and
Ella herself, a little bewildered still, heard the various names but
indistinctly--the "Sir Philip," she caught but not the surname. And it
never occurred to her to associate the bearer of it with her godmother's
grandson, whom she believed to be still in the north.
There was dancing in two rooms; during Ella's next dance, a waltz with
Major Frost, the elder Misses St Quentin were in the other room. The
next, which she danced with Mr Littleton, was a square, and though she
once caught sight of Madelene's head through a doorway, they did not
come more nearly together! which Ella, still more than half afraid of
being seen by her sisters, was not sorry for.
"It must come, sooner or later," she thought; "but I should like to be
beside my godmother when they first see me."