Part 25 (1/2)
”Perhaps 'Dorian' will think me a great bother.”
”Let him,” says Clarissa, impatiently: as yet she has not forgiven him that speech (so much mistaken) at the concert.
The 5th has arrived. The day has dawned, lived, grown to its full size, and then sunk, as we all must, into the arms of Death. The night has come, with sound of music and breath of dying flowers, and the drip, drip of the softly-flowing fountains.
The rooms are looking lovely; fair faces smile, and soft eyes gleam; and figures, round and _svelte_ as Venus's own, sway with the music and mingle with the throng.
The ball is at its height, when Clarissa, seeing Dorian, beckons to him with her fan. It is a very slight invitation to her side, but one instantly obeyed.
”Keep one dance for a friend of mine,” she says, earnestly.
”Let me keep one dance for you.”
”That, too, if you wish it; but I have a little friend here to-night, and she knows n.o.body, and, though I know you won't like it” (calling to mind again his supposed disparaging tone at the concert), ”still, for my sake, be kind to her.”
”I shall be nectar to her, if you entreat me in that fas.h.i.+on. Who is she?”
”Well, she is only a governess,” begins Clarissa, beating about the bush: she is quite determined, nevertheless, that Georgie shall not be neglected or left out in the cold at this her first ball.
”A governess!” says Dorian, unthinkingly. ”Oh, Clarissa, don't let me in for that. I don't _mind_ them a bit; but I'm afraid of them. She is safe to ask me if I don't think Murray's Grammar the most artfully compiled book in the world, and I shan't know what to say in reply.”
”You need not be afraid of my governess,” says Clarissa, earnestly: ”she will not trouble you about Murray or his Grammar.”
”Of course, if you say I must dance with her, I must,” says Brans...o...b.., with a heavy sigh.
”I see her now. Come, let me introduce you to her.”
”But not for this dance. I am engaged--I am, I give you my word--to the prettiest girl in the room,--the prettiest child, I should say.”
”You can dance with your child, of course; but at least let me introduce you to my friend.”
With a faint and carefully subdued shrug he submits to the inevitable, and goes where Clarissa leads. He finds himself presently at the other end of the room, near where a little dainty black-robed figure stands, with three men before her, all evidently possessed with an overpowering desire to inscribe their names upon the morsel of tinted and gilded paper she holds in her hand.
Her large blue eyes are almost black with excitement; her lips are parted, and, like Herrick's ”Julia,” are like ”rubies,” soft and rich.
She is glancing up, in a little puzzled fas.h.i.+on, at the tall fair man who is bending over her whilst going through the usual formula, ”May I have the pleasure,” etc.
”Well, where is this dreadful woman?” says Dorian, at this moment, almost impatiently; he is watching Georgie and the fair man, and feels distinctly savage.
”Why, here,” says Clarissa.
”Here? Not the--the girl in black, talking to Bellew!”
”Yes; that is your dreadful woman.”
”Oh, look here, you know, it is too absurd,” says Dorian, with a low laugh. ”I have danced twice with her already, and am engaged to her for this!”
”She is your 'child,' then?” asks Clarissa, opening her eyes.
”Yes; but a governess, my dear Clarissa?”