Part 16 (2/2)

”I don't think he noticed. Miss Montgomery and Miss Brannan were using all their blandishments to make him think the party as interesting as themselves; and I am positive they were succeeding.”

When they reached the house, the quadrille which had opened the party was finis.h.i.+ng. Don Roberto was making a sweeping bow to Tiny, whose face wore an inscrutable expression. Magdalena was about to step through the window, but Trennahan guided her to the door, and they entered the room without attracting attention. There were some forty people present. With the exception of the Yorbas, everybody had house guests. Mrs. Yorba sat in a corner with a small group of elderly ladies. Mr. Polk stood before the fireplace in the parlour, his legs well apart, staring absently at the young people, who looked gay and content.

”What am I to do?” asked Magdalena, helplessly.

”Nothing, just now, as there are no wall-flowers. In a moment one of these youths will ask you to dance, and of course you will consent. It is my misfortune that I no longer dance. I think your fate approaches.”

A young man with a rather bright face came toward her. His name was Payne. She had met him at the Montgomerys.

”May I have the pleasure of the first waltz, Miss Yorba?” he asked. ”I am told that it will be a unique pleasure,--that you can talk science and waltz in the same breath, as it were.”

He did not speak in sarcasm, merely in facetiousness. He was a type of the fresh young San Franciscan whose ways are not as all ways. Magdalena looked at him in sombre anger and made no reply. He saw that he had made a mistake, and reddened, wondering why on earth she were in society at all, if she could not be like other girls. Magdalena did not appreciate his natural indignation; but she saw that he was miserable, and relented.

”I will waltz with you if you wish,” she said.

Mr. Payne bowed stiffly and offered his arm. They walked the length of the two rooms in utter silence; then the musicians played the opening bars of a waltz. Magdalena remembered that this would be her first waltz with any man, barring the teacher who had solemnly piloted her up and down the parlours in town. She had hoped much from her first dance; and she was to have it with this silly overgrown boy. It was a minor disappointment, but sharp while it lasted.

”Shall we begin?” he asked formally. He was sulky, and eager to have it over. Two or three of his friends had flashed him glances of ironical sympathy, and he was too young to bear ridicule with fort.i.tude.

Ila was floating down the room with Alan Rush, a young South American, as graceful of foot and bearing as herself. Magdalena forgot her partner and gazed at them with genuine delight. She had read of the poetry of motion, and this ill.u.s.tration appealed to the pa.s.sion for beauty which was strong in her nature.

She turned to her partner. ”Do they not dance beautifully?” she exclaimed. That much-enduring youth replied that they did, and asked her again if she were ready. She laid her hand on his shoulder and they started. Magdalena realised at once that her partner was an excellent dancer, and that she was not. She felt that she was heavy, and marvelled at the lightness of Ila and Rose. They seemed barely to touch the floor, and were laughing and chatting as naturally as if they had no feet to guide.

”Could you take a little longer step?” asked Mr. Payne, politely.

”I--I--beg pardon for suggesting it, but it's the fas.h.i.+on just now.

That's right--a little longer. Oh, I--I--am afraid that your feet are too small. Shall we sit down a moment?”

They sat down in the recess, and Payne wiped his brow. ”It is so warm,”

he muttered apologetically.

”Mr. Rush does not look warm,” she said cruelly.

He repressed the obvious reply, but made no other. In a moment he asked her if she cared to finish the waltz.

”No,” she said. ”I do not. You may go and finish it with someone else, if you like.”

He moved off with alacrity, and Magdalena sat alone for some moments feeling very miserable. What was the matter with her? Could she do nothing well? And she should be a wall-flower for the rest of the evening, of course. That wretched man would tell everybody how badly she danced.

But she had forgotten that she was hostess. A moment after the waltz ended, three young men came over to her and begged for the honour of her hand. They were Rollins, the sharp-faced Fort, and Alan Rush. She gave the dance to follow to Rush, and the others, having inscribed her name on their cuffs, moved off. Rush sat down beside her. He had a frank kind face, and the beauty of his figure and the grace of his carriage had given him a reputation for good looks which had reached even Magdalena's ears. He was at that time the most popular young man in San Francisco society. Magdalena decided that she liked him better than anyone she had met except Trennahan. His voice was rich and Southern, although he had no Spanish blood in him.

”I watched you dance,” said Magdalena, abruptly. ”I don't dance well enough for you.”

”Dancing is all a matter of habit,” he said kindly. ”This is my third year. You have no idea how awkward I was when I began. I am sure you will be the best dancer in society next winter--with all those Spanish grandmothers.”

”Do you think so?” She liked him almost as well as Trennahan for the moment.

He did not, for he had noted that she was lacking in natural grace; but he was chivalrous, and he saw that she was discouraged.

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