Part 38 (2/2)

”Oh, you needn't be so superior!” cried Mary,--”not for another year at least. I don't believe you are much more used to it than I am!”

”If you mean,” said Marcella, ”that I was never at anything so big and splendid as this before, you are quite right.”

And she looked round the room with that curious, cold air of personal detachment from all she saw, which had often struck Mary, and to-night made her indignant.

”Then enjoy it!” she said, laughing and frowning at the same time.

”That's a much more plain duty for _you_ than it was for Charles to stay at home--there! Haven't you been dancing?”

”No, Mr. Raeburn doesn't dance. But he thinks he can get through the next Lancers if I will steer him.”

”Then I shall find a seat where I can look at you,” said Mary, decidedly. ”Ah, there is Mr. Raeburn coming to introduce somebody to you. I knew they wouldn't let you sit here long.”

Aldous brought up a young Guardsman, who boldly asked Miss Boyce for the pleasure of a dance. Marcella consented; and off they swept into a room which was only just beginning to fill for the new dance, and where, therefore, for the moment the young grace of both had free play.

Marcella had been an indefatigable dancer in the old London days at those students' parties, with their dyed gloves and lemonade suppers, which were running in her head now, as she swayed to the rhythm of this perfect band. The mere delight in movement came back to her; and while they danced, she danced with all her heart. Then in the pauses she would lean against the wall beside her partner, and rack her brain to find a word to say to him. As for anything that _he_ said, every word--whether of Ascot, or the last Academy, or the new plays, or the hunting and the elections--sounded to her more vapid than the last.

Meanwhile Aldous stood near Mary Harden and watched the dancing figure.

He had never seen her dance before. Mary shyly stole a look at him from time to time.

”Well,” he said at last, stooping to his neighbour, ”what are you thinking of?”

”I think she is a dream!” said Mary, flus.h.i.+ng with the pleasure of being able to say it. They were great friends, he and she, and to-night somehow she was not a bit afraid of him.

Aldous's eye sparkled a moment; then he looked down at her with a kind smile.

”If you suppose I am going to let you sit here all night, you are very much mistaken. Marcella gave me precise instructions. I am going off this moment to find somebody.”

”Mr. Raeburn--don't!” cried Mary, catching at him. But he was gone, and she was left in trepidation, imagining the sort of formidable young man who was soon to be presented to her, and shaking at the thought of him.

When the dance was over Marcella returned to Miss Raeburn, who was standing at the door into the corridor and had beckoned to her. She went through a number of new introductions, and declared to herself that she was doing all she could. Miss Raeburn was not so well satisfied.

”Why can't she smile and chatter like other girls?” thought Aunt Neta, impatiently. ”It's her 'ideas,' I suppose. What rubbis.h.!.+ There, now--just see the difference!”

For at the moment Lady Winterbourne came up, and instantly Marcella was all smiles and talk, holding her friend by both hands, clinging to her almost.

”Oh, do come here!” she said, leading her into a corner. ”There's such a crowd, and I say all the wrong things. There!” with a sigh of relief.

”Now I feel myself protected.”

”I mustn't keep you,” said Lady Winterbourne, a little taken aback by her effusion. ”Everybody is wanting to talk to you.”

”Oh, I know! There is Miss Raeburn looking at me severely already. But I must do as I like a little.”

”You ought to do as Aldous likes,” said Lady Winterbourne, suddenly, in her deepest and most tragic voice. It seemed to her a moment had come for admonition, and she seized it hastily.

Marcella stared at her in surprise. She knew by now that when Lady Winterbourne looked most forbidding she was in reality most shy. But still she was taken aback.

”Why do you say that, I wonder?” she asked, half reproachfully. ”I have been behaving myself quite nicely--I have indeed; at least, as nicely as I knew how.”

Lady Winterbourne's tragic air yielded to a slow smile.

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