CHAPTER VIII.
A girl's first ball! What words more full of ecstasy could be breathedin this dull world! A vague, overwhelming vision of delight before shegoes into it--all brightness, and poetry, and music, and flowers, andkind, admiring faces; everything converging towards herself as a centre,not with any selfish sense of exclusive enjoyment, but sweetly,spontaneously, as to the natural queen. A hundred unexpected,inexpressible emotions go to make up this image of paradise. There isthe first glow and triumph of power which is at once a surprise to herand a joy. The feeling that she has come to the kingdom, that sheherself has become the fair woman whose sway she has read of all herlife; the consciousness, at last, that it is real, that womanhood issupreme in her person, and that the world bows down before her in herwhiteness and brightness, in her shamefacedness and innocentconfidence, in her empire of youth. She is the Una whose look can tamethe lion; she is the princess before whose glance the whole worldyields; and yet at the same time, being its queen, is she not theworld's sweet handmaid, to scatter flowers in its path, and dance andsing to make it glad? All these thoughts are in the girl's mind,especially if she be a fanciful girl--though, perhaps, she does not findwords to express any of them; and this it is which throws such a charmto her upon the pleasure-making, which to us looks sometimes so staleand so poor.
And it is only after a long interval--unless her case be anexceptionally hard one--that she gets disenchanted. When she goes intothe fairy palace, she finds it all that she thought; all, with thelively delight of personal enjoyment added, and that flattery ofadmiring looks, of unspoken homage, not to the ideal princess, orrepresentative woman, but to _her_, which is so sweet and so new. ThusNorah Drummond entered the ball-room at Dura House, floating in, as itwere, upon the rays of light that surrounded her--the new woman, thelatest successor of Eve in the garden, unexacting queen of the freshworld she had entered into, fearing no rivals--nay, reigning in thepersons of her rivals as well as in her own. And when she had thus madeher entrance in an abstract triumph, waking suddenly to individualconsciousness, remembering that she was still Norah, and that peoplewere looking at her, wondering at her, admiring her--her, and notanother--she laughed as a child laughs for nothing, for delight, as shestood by her mother's side. It was too beautiful and wonderful to be shyof it.
'Pinch me, mamma, and it will all pass away like the other dreams,' shewhispered, holding fast by her mother's arm. But the curious thing, theamazing thing, was, that it continued, and warmed her and dazzled her,and lighted her up, and did not pass away.
'Norah, come! you are to dance this dance with me,' cried Ned, rushingup. He had seen them come in, though he was at the other end of theroom; he had watched for them since the first note of the music struck;he had neglected the duty to which he had been specially appropriated,the duty of looking after and amusing and taking care of the two fairdaughters of the Marchioness, who was as good as Lady Patroness of MrsBurton's ball. To keep up the proper contrast, I am aware that LadyEdith and Lady Florizel should have been young women of a certain age,uninviting, and highly aristocratic, while Norah Drummond had all thebeauty and sweetness, as well as poverty and lowliness, to recommendher; but this, I am sorry to confess, was not the case. The LadiesMerewether were very pretty girls, as pretty as Norah; they were not'stuck-up,' but as pleasant and as sweet as English girls needbe--indeed, except that they were not Norah, I know no fault they had inNed's eyes. But they were not Norah, and he forsook his post. Nobodynoticed the fact much except Mrs Burton. As for Lady Florizel, she hadthe most unfeigned good-humoured contempt for Ned. He was a mere boy,she said; she had no objection to dance with him, or chatter to him; butshe had in her reach two hundred as good, or better than him, and shepreferred men to boys, she did not hesitate to say. So that when Nedappeared by Norah's side, Lady Florizel, taking her place with herpartner, smiled upon him as he passed, and asked audibly, 'Oh, who wasthat pretty girl with Mr Burton? oh, how pretty she was! Couldn'tanybody tell her?' Lady Florizel was not offended. But Mrs Burton saw,and was wroth.
Many changes had happened in those six years. At the time of the trialand after it there had been many doubts and speculations in Helen'smind as to what she should do. Suspecting her cousin as she did, andwith Robert's judgment against him, as recorded in that last mournfulletter, how was she to go on accepting a shelter from her cousin, livingat his very gates in a sort of dependence upon him? But she had nowhereelse to go, for one thing, and the shade of additional doubt which hadbeen thrown upon Burton by the trial, was not of a kind to impress hermind; nothing had been brought forward against him, no one had saidopenly that he was to blame, and Helen was discouraged when it all endedin nothing as she thought, and had not energy enough to uproot herselffrom the peaceful corner she had taken refuge in. Where could she go?Then she had the Haldanes to keep her to this spot, which now seemed theonly spot in the world where pity and friendship were to be found.Stephen, whom she contemplated with a certain reverence in his greatsuffering and patience, was the better for her presence and that ofNorah, and their kind eyes and the voices that bade her welcome whenevershe crossed their threshold was a comfort to her. She kept herself apartfrom the Burtons for a long time, having next to no intercourse withthem, and so she would have done still had the matter been in herhands. But the matter was no longer in her hands. The children had grownup, all of them together. They had grown into those habits which fathersand mothers cannot cross, which insensibly affect even their ownfeelings and relations. Clara Burton and Norah Drummond were cousinsstill, though so great a gulf of feeling lay between their two houses.Both of them had been, as it were, brought up with the Daltons at theRectory. They were all children together, all boys and girls together.Insensibly the links multiplied, the connection grew stronger. When NedBurton was at Dura there was never a day in his life that he did notspend, or attempt to spend, part of it in the Gatehouse. And Clara ranin and out--she and Mary Dalton; they were all about the same age; atthis moment they ranged from twenty to seventeen, a group of companionsmore intimate than anything but youth and this long and closeassociation could have made them. They were like brothers and sisters,Mrs Dalton said anxiously, veiling from herself the fact that some ofthem perhaps had begun to feel and think as brothers and sisters do notfeel. Charlie Dalton, for instance, who was the eldest ofall--one-and-twenty--instead of falling in love with Norah, who was aspoor as himself--a thing which would have been simple madness, ofcourse, but not so bad as what had happened--had seen fit to go andbestow his heart upon Clara Burton, whose father dreamed of nothing lessthan a duke for her, and who had not as much heart as would lie on asixpence, the rector's wife said indignantly; and Heaven knows how manyother complications were foreshadowing through those family intimacies,and the brother and sister condition which had been so delightful whileit lasted. Mrs Drummond and Mrs Dalton went together on this particularevening watching from a distance over their respective children. Helen'sface was calm, for Norah was in no trouble; but the rector's wife had apucker on her brow. She could see her Charlie watching so wistfully themovements of Clara Burton through the crowd, hanging about her, stealingto her side whenever he could, following her everywhere with his eyes.Charlie was especially dear to his mother, as the eldest boy of a largefamily, when he is a good boy, so often is. She had been able to talk tohim many a day about her domestic troubles when she could not speak tohis father. She had felt herself strengthened by his sympathy andsupport, that backing up which is so good for everybody, and it brokeher heart to see her boy breaking his for _that_ girl. What could he seein her? the mother thought. If it had been Norah Drummond! and then shetried to talk to her friend at her side. They had come to be very fastfriends; they had leant upon each other by turns, corners, as it were,of the burdens which each had to bear, and Mrs Dalton knew Mrs Drummondcould guess what the sigh meant which she could not restrain.
'How nice Norah is looking,' she said, 'and how happy! I think she haschanged so much since she was a child. She used to have
such a dreamylook; but now there is no _arrière pensée_, she goes into everythingwith all her heart.'
'Yes,' said Helen; but she did not go on talking of Norah, sheunderstood the give and take of sympathy. 'I like Mary's dress so much.She and Katie look so fresh, and simple, and sweet. But they are notsuch novices as Norah; you know it is her first ball.'
'Poor children, how excited it makes them! but dressing them is adreadful business,' said Mrs Dalton, with her anxious look stillfollowing her Charlie among all the changing groups. 'I need notdisguise it from you, dear, who know all about us. It was sometimes hardenough before, and now what with evening dresses! And when they come toa dance like this they want something pretty and fresh. You will feel itby-and-by even with Norah. I am sure if it were not for the cheap shops,where you can buy tarlatan for so little, and making them up ourselvesat home, I never could do it. And you know, whatever sacrifices onemakes, one cannot refuse a little pleasure to one's children. Poorthings, it is all they are likely to have.'
'At least they are getting the good of it,' said Helen. Norah's dresswas the first task of this kind that had been put upon her, and she hadbeen forced to make her sacrifices to dress the child who had grown awoman; but Helen, too, knew that she could not buy many ball dresses offher hundred a year. And it was so strange to think such thoughts in thislavish extravagant house, where every magnificence that could be thoughtof adorned mother and daughter, and the room and the walls. Mrs Daltonanswered to the thought before it had been expressed.
'It _is_ curious,' she said, 'there is Clara Burton, who might dress incloth of gold if she liked--but our girls look just as well. What athing it is to be rich!--for the Burtons you know are--' Here Mrs Daltonstopped abruptly, remembering that if the Burtons were nobodies, so wasalso the friend at her side. She herself was connected with the oldHarcourts, and had a right to speak.
'Now, ladies, I know what you are doing,' said Mr Burton, suddenlycoming up to them; 'you are saying all sorts of sweet things to eachother about your children, and privately you are thinking that there isnobody in the room fit to be seen except your own. Oh don't look socaught! I know, because I am doing the same thing myself.'
Doing the same thing himself--comparing his child to my Norah--to myMary, the ladies inwardly replied; but no such answer was made aloud.'We were saying how they all enjoy themselves,' said Mrs Dalton, 'thatwas all.'
Mr Burton laughed that little laugh of mockery which men of vulgar mindsindulge in when they talk to women, and which is as much as to say, youcan't take me in with your pretences, _I_ see through you. He had grownstouter, but he did not look so vigorous as of old. He was fleshy, therewas a furtive look in his eye. When he glanced round him at thebrilliant party, and all the splendour of which he was the owner, it wasnot with the complacency of old. He looked as if at any moment somethingdisagreeable, something to be avoided, might appear before him, and hadacquired a way of stretching out his neck as if to see who was comingbehind. The thing in the room about which he was most complacent wasClara. She had grown up, straight, and large, and tall in stature, likeour Anglo-Saxon queen with masses of white rosy flesh and gold-colouredhair. The solid splendid white arm, laden with bracelets, which leanedon her partner's shoulder, was a beauty not possessed by any of theslight girls whose mothers were watching her as she moved past them.Clara's arm would have made two of Norah's. Her size and fulness andcolour dazzled everybody. She was a full-blown Rubens beauty, of theclass which has superseded the gentler, pensive, unobtrusive heroine inthese days. 'I don't pretend to say anything but what I think,' said MrBurton, 'and I do feel that _that_ is a girl to be proud of. Don't dancetoo much, Clary, you have got to ride with me to-morrow.' She gave him asmile and a nod as she whirled past. The man who was dancing with herwas dark, a perfect contrast to her brilliant beauty. 'They make acapital couple,' Mr Burton said with a suppressed laugh. 'I suppose aprophet, if we had one, would see a good many combinations coming on inan evening like this. Why, by Jove, here's Ned.'
And it was Ned, bringing Norah back to her mother. 'I thought you hadbeen dancing with one of----' said his father, pointing with his thumbacross his shoulder. 'Have you no manners, boy? Norah, I am sure, willexcuse you when she knows you are engaged--people that are stopping inthe house.'
'Oh, of course I will excuse him,' said Norah. 'I did not want him atall. I would rather sit quiet a little and see everybody. And Charliehas promised to dance with me. I suppose it was not wrong to askCharlie, was it? He might as well have me as any one, don't you think,mamma?'
'If you take to inviting gentlemen, Norah, I shall expect you to askme,' said Mr Burton, who was always jocular to girls. Norah looked athim with her bright observant eyes. She always looked at him, hethought, in that way. He was half afraid of her, though she was soyoung. He had even tried to conciliate her, but he had not succeeded.She shook her head without making any reply, and just then somethinghappened which made a change in all the circumstances. It was theapproach of the man with whom Clara had been dancing; a man with the airof a hero of romance; bearded, with very fine dark eyes and hair thatcurled high like a crest upon his head. Norah gave a little start as heapproached, and blushed. 'It is the hero,' she said to herself. Helooked as if he had just walked out of a novel with every sign of hischaracter legibly set forth. But though it may be very well to gibe atbeautiful dark eyes and handsome features, it is difficult to remainunmoved by their influence. Norah owned with that sudden flush of coloura certain curiosity, to say the least of it. Mr Burton frowned, and sodid his son and daughter simultaneously, as if by touching of a spring.
'I am afraid you don't remember me, Mrs Drummond,' the stranger said;'but I recollect you so very well that I hope you will let me introducemyself--Cyril Rivers. It is a long time since we met.'
'Oh, I remember!' cried impulsive Norah, and then was silent, blushingmore deeply than ever. To ask Charlie Dalton to dance with her was onething, but meeting the hero was entirely different. It took away herbreath.
And two minutes after she was dancing with him. It was this he had cometo her mother for--not asking any one to introduce him. He was no longera boy, but a man travelled and experienced, who knew, or thought heknew, society and the world. But he had not yet dismissed from his mindthat past episode--an episode which had been fixed and deepened in hismemory by the trial and all the discussions in the newspapers. To saythat he had continued to think about the Drummonds would have beenfoolish; but when he came back to Dura to visit the Burtons, they werethe first people who recurred to his mind. As his host drove him pastthe Gatehouse on the night of his arrival, he had asked about them. AndMr Burton remembered this now, and did not like it. He stood and lookedafter the pair as they went away arm-in-arm. Norah did not answer asClara did as a complete foil and counter to Mr Rivers's darkhandsomeness. It was a mistake altogether. It was Clara who should havebeen with him, who was his natural companion. Mr Burton reflected thatnothing but kindness could have induced him to invite his cousin'spenniless girl to the great ball at which Clara made her _début_ in theworld as well as Norah. He felt as he stood and looked on that it was amistake to have done it. People so poor and so lowly ought not to beencouraged to set themselves up as equals of the richer classes. He saidto himself that his system had been wrong. Different classes haddifferent duties, he felt sure. His own was to get as much of the goodthings of this world, as much luxury and honour, as he could have forhis money. Helen's was to subsist on a hundred a year; and to expect ofher that she could anyhow manage to buy ball dresses, and put her childin competition with his! It was wrong; there was no other word. MrBurton left his neighbours, and went off with a dissatisfied countenanceto another part of the room. It was his own fault.
'I should have known you anywhere,' said Mr Rivers in the pause of thewaltzing. 'You were only a child when I saw you last, but I should haveknown you anywhere.'
'Should you? How very strange! What a good memory you must have!' saidNorah. 'Though, indeed, as soon as you said who you
were, I rememberedyou.'
'But nobody told me who you were,' he said, 'when I saw you just now,dancing with that young fellow, the son of the house.'
'Did you see us then?'
'Yes, and your mother sitting by that stand of flowers. You are halfyourself as I remember you, and half her.'
'What a good memory you must have!' said Norah, very incredulous; andthen they floated away again to the soft dreamy music, he supportingher, guiding her through the moving crowd as Norah had never dreamt ofbeing guided. She had felt she was on her own responsibility whendancing with Ned and Charlie; with, indeed, a little share ofresponsibility on account of her partners too. But Mr Rivers dancedbeautifully, and Norah felt like a cloud, like a leaf lightly carried bythe breeze. She was carried along without any trouble to herself. Whenthey had stopped, instead of feeling out of breath, she stopped onlyfrom courtesy's sake, to let the others go on.
'How well you dance, Mr Rivers!' she cried. 'I never liked a waltz somuch before. The boys are so different. One never feels sure where oneis going. I like it now.'
'Then you must let me have as many waltzes as you can,' he said, 'and Ishall like it, too. Who are the boys? You have not any--brothers? Boysare not to be trusted for waltzing; they are too energetic--too muchdetermined to have everything their own way.'
'Oh, the boys! they are chiefly Ned and--Charlie Dalton. They are theones I always dance with,' said Norah. 'And oh, by-the-bye, I wasengaged to Charlie for this dance.'
'How clever of me to carry you off before Mr Charlie came!' said thehero. 'But it is his own fault if he was not up in time.'
'Oh, I don't know,' said Norah, with a blush. 'The fact is--he did notask me; I asked him. I never was at a ball before, and I don't know manypeople, and of course I wanted to dance. I asked him to take me if hewas not engaged, so if he found any one he liked better, he was not tobe blamed if he forgot. Why do you laugh? Was it a silly thing to do?'
'I don't know Charlie,' said Mr Rivers; 'but I should punch his headwith pleasure. What has he done that he should have you asking him todance?'
And then that came again which was not dancing, as Norah understood it,an occasion which had always called for considerable exertion, but avery dream of delightful movement, like flying, like--she could not tellwhat. By this time she was a little ashamed about Charlie; and the waltzput it out of Mr Rivers's mind.
'Do you think I may call to-morrow?' he said, when they stopped again.'Will your mother let me? There are so many things I should like to talkover with her. You are too young, of course, to remember anything abouta certain horrid bank.'
'Ah, no, I am not too young,' said Norah, and the smiles with which shehad been looking up at him suddenly vanished from her face.
'I beg your pardon. I had forgotten that it was of more importance toyou than to any one. I want to talk to your mother about that. Do youthink I may come? Look here; is this Charlie? He is just the sort ofyouth whom a young lady might ask to dance with her. And good heavens,how he waltzes! I don't wonder that you felt it a painful exercise. AreMiss Burton and her guests friends?'
'We are all great friends,' said Norah, half-displeased. And ClaraBurton as she passed gave her an angry look. 'Why Clara is cross,' shesaid pathetically. 'What can I have done?'
Mr Rivers laughed. Norah did not like the laugh; it seemed a little likeMr Burton's. There was a certain conscious superiority and sense ofhaving found some one out in it, which she did not either like orunderstand.
'You seem to know something I don't know,' she said, with promptindignation. 'Perhaps why Clara is cross; but you don't know Clara. Youdon't know any of us, Mr Rivers, and you oughtn't to look as if you hadfound us out. How could you find out all about us, who have known eachother from babies, in one night?'
'I beg your pardon,' he said, with an immediate change of tone. 'It isone of the bad habits of society that nobody can depend on another, andeverybody likes to grin at his neighbours. Forgive me; I forgot I was ina purer air.'
'Oh, it was not that,' said Norah, a little confused. He seemed to saythings (she thought) which meant nothing, as if there was a great dealin them. She was glad to be taken back to her mother, and depositedunder her shelter; but she was not permitted to rest there. Ned came andglowered at her reproachfully, as she sat down, and other candidates forher hand arrived so fast that the child was half intoxicated withpleasure and flattery. 'What do they want _me_ for?' she wondered withinherself. She was so much in request that Ned did not get another dancetill the very end of the evening: and even Mr Rivers was balked in atleast one of the waltzes he had engaged her for. He drew back with asmile, seeing it was Mr Burton himself who was exerting himself to findpartners for Norah. But Norah was all smiles; she danced the wholeevening, coming little by little into her partner's way. Pleased to beso popular, delighted with everybody's 'kindness' to her, and dazzledwith this first opening glimpse of 'the world.'
'If this is the world, I like it,' she said to her mother as they drovehome. 'It is delightful; it is beautiful; it is so kind! Oh, mamma, isit wrong to feel so? I never was so happy in my life.'
'No, my darling, it is not wrong,' Helen said, kissing her. She was notinsensible to her child's triumph.