Part 30 (1/2)
Meg danced with Strathay and amused me by her elation. She hadn't really recovered from it to-day.
To-day! Blessed to-day! Lord Strathay's only an Earl; to-day there came to me--Ned! Oh, this has been the gladdest, most provoking day of my life, for I had only a moment with him.
It was Mrs. Baker's ”afternoon,” and we had a good many callers; the fame of my beauty has spread. They gazed furtively at me as they talked and sipped their tea, and it was all very stupid until--oh, I didn't know how perturbed, how unhappy I'd been, until--I glanced up for a word with the General, who came late, and behind her I saw--Him. He came to me as if there were no one else in the room.
Ah, I have been unhappy! I have known that he would try to keep away from me. Useless! Useless to fight with love! It's too strong for us. At sight of him joy like a fire flashed through my veins.
But there were my cousins; there was Meg--she looked at him impatiently, I fancied, as she has sometimes looked at John. Poor John, it didn't need her surveillance to break his feeble hold upon my heart. And there they stayed. They wouldn't go. They stayed, and talked, while I s.h.i.+vered and grew hot with fear and gladness and the excitement of his presence; they talked--of all senseless topics--about the ball.
”Why, Mr. Hynes, we've missed you,” said Ethel carelessly, at sight of him. ”Oh, Meg, tell us about last night, won't you? Helen's said nothing; almost nothing at all.”
”Oh, what is there to tell?”
It made me impatient. How could I chatter nothings when Ned was by my side, smiling down at me so confusedly?
”Most girls would find enough! You should have heard the dowagers cluck, Ethel!” exclaimed the General, her face losing its vexed look at the thought. ”It was bad weather for their broods. You never saw such a scurrying, pin feathers sticking every which way. The proudest hour of Hughy Bellmer's life was when the march started, and he walked beside Helen--same parade as always--through that wide hall between the Astor gallery and the big ball room; committeemen and patronesses at the head and the line tailing. You may believe the plumes drooped and the war paint trickled. Nelly was the only girl looked at. Milly, you should have been there? Headache? You look pale beside Helen.”
”Oh, I don't hope to rival Nelly's colour; she looks like--like somebody's '_Femme Peinte par Elle-meme_.'” said Milly with a laugh that might have been innocent. Since Ned's entrance she had grown white and my cheeks had burned, until there was reason for her jest.
”Is Mr. Bellmer handsome--handsome enough to be Nelly's partner?”
persisted Ethel, impatient for her gossip--to her it's all there is of gayety. ”And is Lord Strathay--nice?”
”Mr. Bellmer's an overgrown cherub with a monocle,” I laughed. Ned shall not think me one of those odious, fortune-hunting girls.
”Hughy's pretty good-looking, Ethie,” said Meg, amiably; ”and the best fellow in the world; but probably not of a calibre to interest a college girl. And Lord Strathay”--the name rolled slowly from her tongue, as if she were loth to let it go--”is a charming fellow. Just succeeded to the t.i.tle. He's travelling with his cousin, the Hon. Stephen Allardyce Poultney. Nelly danced with him. And did she tell you that Mrs. Sloane Schuyler begged to have her presented? Sister to a d.u.c.h.ess, you know.
We'll have Helen in London next. n.o.body there to compare with her. Just what Strathay said, I do a.s.sure you.”
London! Men of t.i.tle, and great ladies and the glitter of a court! Once I may have dreamed of power and place and the rustle of trailing robes, and being admired of all men and hated of all women, but now in my annoyance I longed to cry out: ”Why can't you talk sense? Why babble of such silly things?”
To make matters worse, Uncle came just in time to hear the General's last remark.
”I do not think our Princess would leave us,” he said, ”even if--
'at her feet were laid The sceptres of the earth exposed on heaps To choose where she would reign.'”
It was scarcely to be borne. I knew he was thinking of John, and I caught myself looking down at my hand, praying that Ned might see that I no longer wore the opal ring.
Then came Aunt Frank with a headache, looking ill enough, indeed; and I was glad to jump up and serve her some tea.
”Milly has a headache, too,” I said; and she looked from Milly's vexed, cold face to mine, almost peevishly replying:--
”Nothing ever seems to ail you, child.”
After all the weary waiting, Ned and I exchanged only a word. But the word was a delight and a comfort.