Volume I Part 18 (1/2)
”Oh, pray don't talk about Persians and the sun,” cried Violet. ”I am not worthy that you should be so concerned about my likes and dislikes.
Please think of me as an untaught inexperienced girl. Two years ago I was a spoiled child. You don't know how my dearest father spoiled me.
It is no wonder I am rude. Remember this, and forgive me if I am too truthful.”
”You are all that is lovely,” he exclaimed pa.s.sionately, stung by her scorn and fired by her beauty, almost beside himself as they stood there in the magical moonlight--for once in his life forgetting to calculate every move on life's chessboard. ”You are too lovely for me.
From the very first, in Switzerland, when I was so happy----no, I will not tell you. I will not lay down my heart to be trampled under your feet.”
”Don't,” cried Violet, transfixing him with the angry fire of her eyes, ”for I'm afraid I should trample on it. I am not one of those gentle creatures who go out of their way to avoid treading on worms--or other reptiles.”
”You are as cruel as you are lovely,” he said, ”and your cruelty is sweeter than another woman's kindness. Violet, I laugh at your dislike.
Yes, such aversion as that is often the beginning of closest liking. I will not be disheartened. I will not be put off by your scornful candour. What if I were to tell you that you are the only woman I ever loved?”
”Pray do not. It would transform pa.s.sive dislike into active hatred. I should be sorry for that, because,” looking at him deliberately, with a slow scorn, ”I think my mother likes you.”
”She has honoured me with her confidence, and I hope I shall not prove unworthy of the trust. I rarely fail to repay any benefit that is bestowed upon me.”
”October nights are treacherous,” said Vixen, drawing her cloak closer around her. ”I think we had better go back to the ball-room.”
She was s.h.i.+vering a little with agitated feeling, in spite of that mantle of scorn in which she had wrapped herself. This was the first man who had ever called her lovely, who had ever talked to her of love with manhood's strong pa.s.sion.
The Captain gave her his arm, and they went back to the glare and heat of the yellow dragons and scarlet griffins. Another Lancer scramble was in full progress, to the old-fas.h.i.+oned jigging tunes, but Mrs. Tempest was sitting among the matrons in a corner by an open window.
”Are we ever going home any more, mamma?” inquired Vixen.
”My dear Violet, I have been waiting for you ever so long.”
”Why should you leave so early?” exclaimed Captain Winstanley. ”There are half-a-dozen more dances, and you are engaged for them all, I believe, Miss Tempest.”
”Then I will show mercy to my partners by going away,” said Violet.
”Are all b.a.l.l.s as long as this? We seem to have been here ages; I expect to find my hair gray to-morrow morning.”
”I really think we had better go,” said Mrs. Tempest, in her undecided way.
She was a person who never quite made up her mind about anything, but balanced every question gently, letting somebody else turn the scale for her--her maid, her governess, her daughter; she was always trying to have her own way, but never quite knew what her own way was, and just managed things skillfully enough to prevent other people having theirs.
”If you are determined, I will see you to your carriage, and then the ball is over for me,” said the Captain gallantly.
He offered Mrs. Tempest his arm, and they went put into the vestibule, where the Captain left them for a few minutes, while he went into the porch to hasten the arrival of the carriage.
”Where were you and Captain Winstanley all that time, Violet?” asked Mrs. Tempest.
”In the garden.”
”How imprudent!”
”Indeed, dear mamma, it wasn't cold.”
”But you were out there so long. What could you find to talk about all that time?”