Part 30 (2/2)
Mr. Rutledge released me instantly, bowed and drew back. Mr. Viennet gave me his arm, and in a moment we were on the floor.
n.o.body that dances well but loves it. I danced well, and I loved it. Mr.
Viennet told me he knew _that_, the moment he looked at me, and as he seemed to take a wicked pleasure in saying such things, and making me blush, I soon regained my self-possession, and a certain degree of sauciness wherewith to parry these remarks. The captain was my vis-a-vis, and he whispered as we met:
”Upon my soul, Miss Josephine'll have to look to her laurels; my friend Victor seems mightily _epris._”
”Is the captain asking you to dance?” demanded Mr. Viennet.
”Remember, mademoiselle, you are engaged to me for the next.”
The next dance proved a polka. I had half resolved never to dance anything but quadrilles; I had not thought much about the matter, but I had an indefinite sort of idea that some people condemned polkas and waltzes, and that it would be better not to indulge in them. But I had made no resolution strong enough to resist my partner's persuasions, and that fine floor, and the magic of the music. Before I knew it, I was flying down the room with Mr. Viennet, and having once tasted of that delirious pleasure, there was no putting the cup from my lips. One dance merged into another, polka, redowa, waltz, succeeded each other in intoxicating rapidity; a turn in the hall, or an ice in the library, being the only rest between. It did not take one whit from my pleasure, rather added extremely thereunto, that a face I knew too well, but sterner and colder than I had ever seen it, was watching me with marked disapproval. I avoided meeting his eye as I floated past him; I never laughed so gaily or danced so well as when I knew we were near him; my handsome partner owed half the smiles I gave him, to the fact of that stern face. I had been unnaturally depressed too long not to be unnaturally excited now. I was all my school-days' self again, with an under-current of something stronger and deeper, and more dangerous.
”You don't look like the same girl. How you do love to dance!” said Phil, in a low tone, as he brought up some one else to introduce.
”Victor, my fine fellow, you must come and talk with somebody else. Mrs.
Churchill says you shall not dance with her niece again. Go and make your peace with her.”
”_De tout mon coeur_,” he returned. ”And I will release mademoiselle for this dance; but of course she remembers that she has promised me the next.”
I laughed at this bold invention, as I went off with my new partner; but Mr. Viennet claimed me resolutely at the end of the quadrille, and though there was no lack of partners now, still he continued to be the prominent one, _malgre_ Josephine's black looks, and Aunt Edith's distant coldness. Not all the king's horses, nor all the king's men, could bring me back to where I had stood before I knew my power. I was dizzy with my triumph yet; it was no time to talk to me of moderation. I had just begun to feel that there was no reason why I should not enjoy myself as other girls enjoyed themselves. I did not feel submissive toward those who had kept me down so long. I answered Josephine's sarcasm with a sarcasm as biting. I returned Grace's compliment with interest. To Ellerton Wynkar, who asked me to dance, I regretted, but was engaged for the rest of the evening, and sent him away with a hauteur that paid off all old scores. At supper, I held a miniature court at one end of the room, and not Josephine's self ever swayed a more despotic rule. And when ”the German” began, no one ever led the German but Victor Viennet, and with no one else would he dance, so I was then and there initiated into the intricacies of that genteel game of romps.
As we paused in the first figure, I glanced at my silent mentor. He was just bidding my aunt good night, and left the room without a look toward the dancers. My interest in the game began to flag somewhat after that, but still it was dancing, and I loved that well enough never to tire.
The dance was ended, and the room nearly deserted, before my partner left me. As the door closed on the last guest, Josephine threw herself into an easy-chair, exclaiming:
”I'm tired to death! I thought they would never go.”
”Tired! I could dance till noon,” I cried. ”It's a positive punishment to go to bed. Good night,” and I ran upstairs.
It was one thing to go to bed, and another thing to go to sleep--one thing to shut my eyes, but quite another thing to shut out the pageantry of fancy that the darkness did not quench. Conjecture, hope, antic.i.p.ation, longing, made wild work in my brain that night. Everything was too new, and strange, and dazzling, to yield at once to the control of reason. The curtain had risen upon too brilliant a scene to fade from my imagination, even after it had fallen. New faces, s.n.a.t.c.hes of music, conversations, danced through my mind; but above all other sensations, a new sense of injustice and resentment made itself felt, and defiance took the place of the unquestioning submission I had rendered before.
This was the thorn in my new crown of roses that took away from it its simplicity, its unalloyed beauty, and, perhaps, its innocence.
CHAPTER XXI.
”Who pleasure follows pleasure slays; G.o.d's wrath upon himself he wreaks; But all delights rejoice his days Who takes with thanks, yet never seeks.”
COVENTRY PATMORE.
Two days after this, I was surprised by the appearance on my plate, at breakfast, of two notes. The first proved to be an invitation for a party from a Mrs. Humphrey, cards for which Mrs. and Miss Churchill had received a week ago.
”Well!” exclaimed Josephine, unceremoniously, ”I wonder what inspired Mrs. Humphrey to send you an invitation.”
”It would be difficult to say,” I returned, taking up the second.
”Certainly no suggestion from you.”
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