A TALK AT A DANCE.
Immediately after the Assembly had so narrowly confirmed Mr. Medland's
position, it adjourned for a fortnight in order to allow time for the
reorganisation of the Government, and the preparation of its legislative
projects. The Governor seized the opportunity and started on a shooting
expedition, accompanied by his wife. His absence somewhat diminished the
_éclat_ of Sir John Oakapple's dance, but nevertheless it was agreed to
be a very brilliant affair. Everybody came, for Sir John's position
invited hospitality to all parties alike, and the host, as became a
well-to-do bachelor, provided a sumptuous entertainment. Even Mr.
Medland was there, for it was his daughter's first public appearance,
and he and Sir Robert Perry had interchanged some friendly remarks on
the existing crisis.
"I suppose I mustn't ask who you're going to give us instead of your
deserters," said Sir Robert jokingly.
"Oh," answered Medland, "I'm going to fill up with Labour men. I
haven't quite fixed on the men yet."
"Then you'll be all one colour--all red? But I must congratulate you on
your daughter's _début_. She and Miss Derosne are the _belles_ of the
evening."
Then Sir Robert, in his pretty way, must needs be led up to Daisy
Medland and dance a quadrille with her, apologising politely to Dick
Derosne, who had arranged to sit out the said quadrille with the same
lady, and became a violent anti-Perryite on the spot.
Alicia passed on Mr. Coxon's arm, and stopped for a moment to condole.
"I didn't know Premiers danced," she said, and perhaps her glance
conveyed a shy invitation to Medland.
"If I ask you now, I shall have another secession," he replied, smiling
at Coxon. "Besides, I can't dance."
"You must sit out with me then," she said, growing bolder. "You don't
mind, do you, Mr. Coxon?"
Coxon and Dick were left to console one another, and Alicia sat down
with Medland. At first he was silent, watching his daughter. When the
quadrille ended, he rose and said,
"Come into the garden."
"But my partner for the next won't be able to find me."
"Well, supposing he can't?" said the Premier.
"It makes one very conceited to be a Premier," thought Alicia, but she
went into the garden.
Then began what she declared to herself was the most interesting
conversation to which she had ever listened. From silence, the Premier
passed to a remark here and there, thence to a conversation, thence, as
the evening went on and they strolled further and further away from the
house, into a monologue on his life and aims and hopes. Young man after
young man sought her in vain, or, finding the pair, feared to intrude
and retired in discontent, while Medland strove to draw the picture of
that far-off society whose bringing-near was his goal in public life.
She wondered if he talked to other women like that: and she found
herself hoping that he did not. His gaunt form seemed to fill and his
sunk eyes to spring out to meet the light, as he painted for her the
time when his dreams should have clothed themselves with the reality
which his persuasive imagination almost gave them now.
Then he suddenly turned on himself.
"And I might have done something," he said; "but I've wasted most of my
life."
"Wasted it?" she echoed in a wondering question.
"I don't know why I talk about it to-night, still less why I talk about
it to you. I talked about it last to--to my wife."
"Ah! But your daughter?"
"Daisy!" he laughed tenderly. "Poor little Daisy! I don't bother her
with it all." Then he added, "Really I've no business to bother you
either, Miss Derosne. I break out sometimes. I'm afraid I'm not 'a
silent, strong man.' Does it bore you?"
"You know--you know--" Alicia stammered.
"And now," he said, rising in his excitement, "even now, what have I?
The place--the form--the name of power; and these creatures hold me back
and hang on my flank and--I can do nothing." He sank back on the bench
where she sat.
Alicia put her hand out and drew it back. Then she stretched it out
again, and laid it on his arm.
"I am so sorry," she said, and her voice faltered. "Oh, if I could--but
how absurd!"
Medland turned suddenly and looked her in the face.
"You will help some one," he answered, "some better man. And I--I beg
your pardon. Come."
Alicia asked herself afterwards if she ought to be ashamed of what she
did then. She caught the Premier by the arm, and said,
"But I want to stay with you." And then she sat trembling to hear his
answer.
For a moment he did not answer. He passed his hand over his brow; then
he smiled sadly.
"Nearly twenty years ago a woman said that to me," he said. "But
she--well, it wasn't to talk politics."
"Oh, to call it _talking politics_!" she answered, with a little gasping
laugh.
With another swift turn of his head, he bent his eyes on hers. She
turned her head away, and neither spoke. Alicia played nervously with
one glove which she had stripped off, while Medland gravely watched her
face, beautiful in its pure outline and quivering with unwonted
emotions. With a start he roused himself.
"Come," he said imperiously, offering his arm. She took it, and, without
more words, they turned towards the house.
They had not gone far, when Eleanor Scaife met them. She was walking
quickly, looking round as she went, as though in search. When she saw
them she started, and cried,
"Oh, I want you, Alicia."
Medland immediately drew aside, and with a bow took his way. Alicia,
calming herself with an effort, asked what was the matter.
"Why, it's that wretched brother of yours. I really do not know what
Mary will say. I shall be afraid----"
"But what has Dick done?"
"Done? Why he's danced six dances out of eight with that Medland child.
The whole room's talking about them."
"Eight dances? There can't have been eight dances?"
"Don't be silly," said Eleanor sharply. "I suppose you danced? No! I
remember I didn't see you. Where have _you_ been?"
"I--I've been sitting out."
"Not--not--Alicia, with one man? Worse and----"
"Yes."
"Mr. Coxon, then, I hope? At least he's safe."
"No."
"Who then?"
"I don't know why you should ask----"
"Alicia! Was it--?" exclaimed Eleanor, with a gesture towards where she
had found her friend.
"Mr. Medland? Yes," answered Alicia. And, in her effort to exclude
timidity, she infused into her voice a note of defiance.
Eleanor sat down on the nearest seat. Surprise dominated her faculties.
Dick's behaviour was reprehensible, but, given such creatures as young
men, natural. But Alicia? The thing was too surprising to cause
uneasiness.
"Well, you are a queer child! Here's all the room looking for you to
dance with you, and you go and sit in the garden with a politician of
five-and-forty! What in the world were you doing?"
"Talking politics," said Alicia, now quite calmly.
"And you've been here since----?"
"The first quadrille."
"Six mortal dances!" said Eleanor, in an envious tone. Alicia had had a
grand opportunity. "Did you remember to ask him about that description
of the Cabinet meetings in Tomes? You remember we agreed to?"
"I'm afraid I forgot, dear."
"Oh, how stupid of you! If I'd been--but good gracious! I forgot Dick.
Do come, Alicia, and get him away from her. We seem to have nothing but
Medlands to-night!"
The first person they met inside the ball-room was Mr. Coxon. He was
enveloped in gloom. Alicia's conscience smote her.
"Oh!" she cried, "I forgot Mr. Coxon! I must go and scold him for not
coming for me. Nonsense, Eleanor! I can't help about Dick," and, shaking
off Miss Scaife's detaining hand, she went to play the usual imposture.
Eleanor looked round in bewilderment. Seeing Lady Perry, she was struck
with an idea, crossed the room, and joined the ex-Premier's smiling,
pleasant wife. Lady Perry had noticed enough to be _au fait_ with the
situation at a word. She rose and went to where Medland was now leaning
listlessly against the wall. She spoke a word to him; he started,
smiled, and shrugged his shoulders.
"I know you'll forgive me. One can't be too careful," she urged. "No one
can be father and mother both."
Mr. Medland beckoned to his daughter; she came to him, Dick standing a
few feet off.
"Whenever, Daisy," said Medland, "a thing is pleasant, one must not, in
this world, have much of it. Is that the gospel, Lady Perry?"
"You'll make young Mr. Derosne too conceited, my dear," whispered Lady
Perry, very kindly; but she favoured Dick, who knew well that he was a
sinner, with a severe glance.
Thus Eleanor Scaife, having rid her party of the Medlands--for the
moment, as she impatiently added--was at liberty to listen to the
conversation of Mrs. Puttock. Mrs. Puttock was always most civil to any
of the Government House party, and she entertained Eleanor, who
resolutely refused all invitations to dance, with plenty of gossip.
Amidst their talk and the occasional interruptions of men who joined and
left them, the evening wore away, and Eleanor had just signed to Alicia
to make ready to go, when Mrs. Puttock touched on the Premier, who was
visible across the room, chatting merrily with his host, and laughing
heartily at the Chief Justice's stories.
"The Premier seems in good spirits," said Mrs. Puttock, a little acidly.
"Oh, I expect he's only bearing up in public," laughed Eleanor. "But
there certainly is a great change in him since I first recollect him."
"Indeed, Miss Scaife."
"Yes," said Eleanor, rising, for she saw Alicia approaching under
Captain Heseltine's escort. "It was about the Jubilee time. He seemed
then quite overcome with grief at the loss of his wife. Ah, here's
Alicia!"
"Wife!" exclaimed Mrs. Puttock, bestowing on Eleanor a look of deep
significance. "It's my belief he never had a wife."
Eleanor started.
"What do you mean?" she began, but she checked herself when she found
that Alicia was close beside her. She hastily bade Mrs. Puttock
good-night.
"I mean what I say," observed that lady, with an emphatic nod. Eleanor
escaped in bewilderment.
"Who never had a wife?" asked Alicia, with a laugh, as they were putting
on their cloaks.
After a moment's pause, Eleanor answered,
"Sir John Oakapple," and she excused this deviation from truth by the
sage reflection that girls like Alicia must not be told everything.
"We all know that," commented Alicia, contemptuously. "I hoped it was
something interesting."
Eleanor enjoyed a smile in the sheltering gloom of the carriage. She
felt very discreet.