Part 12 (1/2)

Eventually came time for the prizes--and then dancing. Dancing Missy liked tremendously. Raymond claimed her for the first waltz. Missy wondered, a little wistfully, whether now he mightn't be regretting that pre-engagement, whether he wouldn't rather dance it with the languis.h.i.+ng-eyed girl he was following about.

But as soon as the violin and piano, back near the library window, began to play, Raymond came straight to Missy and made his charming bow. They danced through the two parlours and then out to the porch and round its full length; the music carried beautifully through the open windows; it was heavenly dancing outdoors like that. Too soon it was over.

”Will you excuse me?” Raymond asked in his polite way. ”Mother wants to see me about something. I hate to run away, but--”

Scarcely had he gone when Mrs. Allen, with Jim in tow, came hurrying up.

”Oh, Missy! I've been looking for you everywhere. Kitty's awfully sick.

She was helping with the refreshments and got hold of some pickles. And on top of all that candy--”

”Oh!” commiserated Missy.

”I've got to get her home at once,” Mrs. Allen went on. ”I hate to take you away just when your good time's beginning, but--”

”Why does she have to go?” Jim broke in. ”I can take you and Kitty home, and then come back, and take her home after the party's over.” He gave a little laugh. ”You see that gives me an excuse to see the party through myself!”

Mrs. Allen eyed Missy a little dubiously.

”Oh, Mrs. Allen, couldn't I?”

”I don't know--I said I'd bring you home myself.”

”Oh, Mrs. Allen! Please!” Missy's eyes pleaded even more than her voice.

”Well, I don't see why not,” decided Kitty's mother, anxious to return to her own daughter. ”Jim will take good care of you, and Mrs. Bonner will send you all home early.”

When Mrs. Allen, accompanied by her nephew, had hurried away, Missy had an impulse to wander alone, for a moment, out into the deliciously alluring night. She loved the night always, but just now it looked indescribably beautiful. The grounds were deserted, but the lanterns, quivering in the breeze, seemed to be huge live glow-worms suspended up there in the dark. It was enchantment. Stepping lightly, holding her breath, sniffing at unseen scents, hearing laughter and dance music from far away as if in another world, she penetrated farther and farther into the shadows. An orange-coloured moon was pus.h.i.+ng its way over the horizon, so close she could surely reach out her hands and touch it!

And then, too near to belong to any other world, and quite distinctly, she heard a voice beyond the rose arbour:

”Oh, yes! Words sound well! But the fact remains you didn't ask me for the first dance.”

Missy knew that drawling yet strangely a.s.sured voice. Almost, with its tones, she could see the languorously uplifted eyes, the provoking little gesture of fan at lips. Before she could move, whether to advance or to flee, Raymond replied:

”I wanted to ask you--you know I wanted to ask you!”

”Oh, yes, you did!” replied the visiting girl ironically.

”I did!” protested Raymond.

”Well, why didn't you then?”

”I'd already asked somebody else. I couldn't!”

And then the visiting girl laughed strangely. Missy knew she knew with whom Raymond had danced that first dance. Why did she laugh? And Raymond--oh, oh! She had seemed to grow rooted to the ground, unable to get away; her heart, her breathing, seemed to petrify too; they hurt her. Why had Raymond danced with her if he didn't want to? And why, why did that girl laugh? She suddenly felt that she must let them know that she heard them, that she must ask why! And, in order not to exclaim the question against her will, she covered her mouth with both hands, and crept silently away from the rose arbour.

Without any definite purpose, borne along by an inner whirlwind of suppressed sobs and utter despair, Missy finally found herself nearer the entrance gate, Fortunately there was n.o.body to see her; everyone--except those two--was back up there in the glare and noise, laughing and dancing. Laughing and dancing--oh, oh! What ages ago it seemed when she too had laughed and danced!

Oh, why hadn't she gone home with Mrs. Allen and Kitty before her silly pleasure had turned to anguish? But, of course, that was what life was: pain crowding elbows with pleasure always--she had read that somewhere.

She was just inevitably living Life.