Part 38 (1/2)
”Can you bear it?” he said to her in a laughing whisper as she and her mother emerged from the cloak-room.
”Tell me what to do,” she said, flus.h.i.+ng. ”I will do my best. What a crowd! Must we stay very long?”
”Ah, my dear Mrs. Boyce,” cried Lord Maxwell, meeting them on the steps of the inner quadrangular corridor--”Welcome indeed! Let me take you in.
Marcella! with Aldous's permission!” he stooped his white head gallantly and kissed her on the cheek--”Remember I am an old man; if I choose to pay you compliments, you will have to put up with them!”
Then he offered Mrs. Boyce his arm, a stately figure in his ribbon and cross of the Bath. A delicate red had risen to that lady's thin cheek in spite of her self-possession. ”Poor thing,” said Lord Maxwell to himself as he led her along--”poor thing!--how distinguished and charming still!
One sees to-night what she was like as a girl.”
Aldous and Marcella followed. They had to pa.s.s along the great corridor which ran round the quadrangle of the house. The antique marbles which lined it were to-night masked in flowers, and seats covered in red had been fitted in wherever it was possible, and were now crowded with dancers ”sitting out.” From the ball-room ahead came waves of waltz-music; the ancient house was alive with colour and perfume, with the sounds of laughter and talk, lightly fretting, and breaking the swaying rhythms of the band. Beyond the windows of the corridor, which had been left uncurtained because of the beauty of the night, the stiff Tudor garden with its fountains, which filled up the quadrangle, was gaily illuminated under a bright moon; and amid all the varied colour of lamps, drapery, dresses, faces, the antique heads ranged along the walls of the corridor--here Marcus Aurelius, there Trajan, there Seneca--and the marble sarcophagi which broke the line at intervals, stood in cold, whitish relief.
Marcella pa.s.sed along on Aldous's arm, conscious that people were streaming into the corridor from all the rooms opening upon it, and that every eye was fixed upon her and her mother. ”Look, there she is,” she heard in an excited girl's voice as they pa.s.sed Lord Maxwell's library, now abandoned to the crowd like all the rest. ”Come, quick! There--I told you she was lovely!”
Every now and then some old friend, man or woman, rose smiling from the seats along the side, and Aldous introduced his bride.
”On her dignity!” said an old hunting squire to his daughter when they had pa.s.sed. ”Shy, no doubt--very natural! But nowadays girls, when they're shy, don't giggle and blush as they used to in _my_ young days; they look as if you meant to insult them, and they weren't going to allow it! Oh, very handsome--very handsome--of course. But you can see she's advanced--peculiar--or what d'ye call it?--woman's rights, I suppose, and all that kind of thing? Like to see you go in for it, Nettie, eh!”
”She's _awfully_ handsome,” sighed his pink-cheeked, insignificant little daughter, still craning her neck to look--”very simply dressed too, except for those lovely pearls. She does her hair very oddly, so low down--in those plaits. n.o.body does it like that nowadays.”
”That's because n.o.body has such a head,” said her brother, a young Hussar lieutenant, beside her, in the tone of connoisseurs.h.i.+p. ”By George, she's ripping--she's the best-looking girl I've seen for a good long time. But she's a Tartar, I'll swear--looks it, anyway.”
”Every one says she has the most extraordinary opinions,” said the girl, eagerly. ”She'll manage him, don't you think? I'm sure he's very meek and mild.”
”Don't know that,” said the young man, twisting his moustache with the air of exhaustive information. ”Raeburn's a very good fellow--excellent fellow--see him shooting, you know--that kind of thing. I expect he's got a will when he wants it. The mother's handsome, too, and looks a lady. The father's kept out of the way, I see. Rather a blessing for the Raeburns. Can't be pleasant, you know, to get a man like that in the family. Look after your spoons--that kind of thing.”
Meanwhile Marcella was standing beside Miss Raeburn, at the head of the long ball-room, and doing her best to behave prettily. One after another she bowed to, or shook hands with, half the magnates of the county--the men in pink, the women in the new London dresses, for which this brilliant and long-expected ball had given so welcome an excuse.
They knew little or nothing of her, except that she was clearly good-looking, that she was that fellow d.i.c.k Boyce's daughter and was reported to be ”odd.” Some, mostly men, who said their conventional few words to her, felt an amused admiration for the skill and rapidity with which she had captured the _parti_ of the county; some, mostly women, were already jealous of her. A few of the older people here and there, both men and women--but after all they shook hands like the rest!--knew perfectly well that the girl must be going through an ordeal, were touched by the signs of thought and storm in the face, and looked back at her with kind eyes.
But of these last Marcella realised nothing. What she was saying to herself was that, if they knew little of her, she knew a great deal of many of them. In their talks over the Stone Parlour fire she and Wharton had gone through most of the properties, large and small, of his division, and indeed of the divisions round, by the help of the knowledge he had gained in his canva.s.s, together with a blue-book--one of the numberless!--recently issued, on the state of the midland labourer. He had abounded in anecdote, sarcasm, reflection, based partly on his own experiences, partly on his endless talks with the working-folk, now in the public-house, now at their own chimney-corner.
Marcella, indeed, had a large unsuspected acquaintance with the county before she met it in the flesh. She knew that a great many of these men who came and spoke to her were doing their best according to their lights, that improvements were going on, that times were mending. But there were abuses enough still, and the abuses were far more vividly present to her than the improvements. In general, the people who thronged these splendid rooms were to her merely the incompetent members of a useless cla.s.s. The nation would do away with them in time!
Meanwhile it might at least be asked of them that they should practise their profession of landowning, such as it was, with greater conscience and intelligence--that they should not s.h.i.+rk its opportunities or idle them away. And she could point out those who did both--scandalously, intolerably. Once or twice she thought pa.s.sionately of Minta Hurd, was.h.i.+ng and mending all day, in her damp cottage; or of the Pattons in ”the parish house,” thankful after sixty years of toil for a hovel where the rain came through the thatch, and where the smoke choked you, unless, with the thermometer below freezing-point, you opened the door to the blast. Why should _these_ people have all the gay clothes, the flowers, the jewels, the delicate food--all the delight and all the leisure? And those, nothing! Her soul rose against what she saw as she stood there, going through her part. Wharton's very words, every inflection of his voice was in her ears, playing chorus to the scene.
But when these first introductions, these little empty talks of three or four phrases apiece, and all of them alike, were nearly done with, Marcella looked eagerly round for Mary Harden. There she was, sitting quietly against the wall in a remote corner, her plain face all smiles, her little feet dancing under the white muslin frock which she had fas.h.i.+oned for herself with so much pain under Marcella's directions.
Miss Raeburn was called away to find an arm-chair for some dowager of importance; Marcella took advantage of the break and of the end of a dance to hurry down the room to Mary. Aldous, who was talking to old Sir Charles Leven, Frank's father, a few steps off, nodded and smiled to her as he saw her move.
”Have you been dancing, Mary?” she said severely.
”I wouldn't for worlds! I never was so much amused in my life. Look at those girls--those sisters--in the huge velvet sleeves, like coloured balloons!--and that old lady in the pink tulle and diamonds.--I do so want to get her her cloak! _And_ those Lancers!--I never could have imagined people danced like that. They didn't dance them--they romped them! It wasn't beautiful--was it?”
”Why do you expect an English crowd to do anything beautiful? If we could do it, we should be too ashamed.”
”But it _is_ beautiful, all the same, you scornful person!” cried Mary, dragging her friend down beside her. ”How pretty the girls are! And as for the diamonds, I never saw anything so wonderful. I wish I could have made Charles come!”
”Wouldn't he?”
”No”--she looked a little troubled--”he couldn't think it would be quite right. But I don't know--a sight like this takes me off my feet, shakes me up, and does _me_ a world of good!”
”You dear, simple thing!” said Marcella, slipping her hand into Mary's as it lay on the bench.