XI
DRESSING, DANCING, LOOKING ON
The Bristos dined early that evening, and dressed afterwards; but onlythe Colonel and Miles sat down. Mrs. Parish was far too busy, addingeverywhere finishing touches from her own deft hand; while as for Alice,she took tea only, in her room.
When Mr. Miles went up-stairs to dress, the red sunlight still streamedin slanting rays through the open window. His room was large andpleasant, and faced the drive.
Mr. Miles appeared to be in excellent spirits. He whistled softly tohimself--one of Alice's songs; a quiet smile lurked about the corners ofhis mouth; but since his yellow moustache was long and heavy, this smilewas more apparent in the expression of the eyes. He moved about verysoftly for such a heavy man--almost noiselessly, in fact; but thispractice was habitual with him.
His dress-clothes were already laid out on the bed; they seemed never tohave been worn. His portmanteau, which stood in one corner, alsoappeared to have seen little service: it would have been hard to find ascratch on the leather, and the glossy surface bore but one porter'slabel. But, naturally enough, Miles's belongings were new: a freshoutfit from head to heel is no slight temptation to the Australian inLondon.
The first step towards dressing for a ball is to undress; the first steptowards undressing is to empty one's pockets. With Miles this eveningthis was rather an interesting operation. It necessitated severalniceties of manipulation, and occupied some little time. Miles carefullydrew down the blinds as a preliminary, and bolted the door.
He then crossed to the mantel-piece, lit the gas, and felt in hisbreast-pocket.
The first thing to be removed from this pocket was an envelope--anenvelope considerably thickened by its contents, which crackled betweenthe fingers. Miles dropped the envelope into the fender afterwithdrawing the contents. These he smoothed out upon the mantel-piece;he fairly beamed upon them; they were ten Bank of England ten-poundnotes. Then he counted them, folded them into small compass, andtransferred them to the trousers-pocket of his evening dress. In doingthis his smile became so broad that his whistling ended rather abruptly.It was a pleasant smile.
The next incumbrance of which he relieved himself came from that samebreast-pocket; but it was less easily placed elsewhere--so much lessthat the whistling was dropped altogether, and, instead of smiling, Mr.Miles frowned. Nay, a discovery that his dress-coat had no breast-pocketwas followed by quite a volley of oaths. Swearing, however, is a commonfailing of the most estimable bushmen; so that, coming from a man likeMiles, the words meant simply nothing. Miles then tried thetrousers-pocket which did not contain the bank-notes; but though thearticle was--of its kind--remarkably small, it was obviously too largefor such a pocket, and for the tail-pockets it was too heavy. Mr. Mileslooked seriously put out. His face wore just that expression which mightbe produced by the rupture of a habit or rule of life that has becomesecond nature. In despair and disgust he dropped the thing into histravelling bag, which he was careful to lock at once, and placed the keyin the pocket with the notes: the thing was a small revolver.
There followed, from the waistcoat, penknife, pencilcase, watch andchain, and, lastly, something that created a strange and instant changein the expression of Mr. Miles; and this, though it was the veriesttrifle, lying in a twisted scrap of printed paper. He spread andsmoothed out the paper just as he had done with the notes, and somethingwas displayed on its surface: something--to judge by the greedy gazethat devoured it--of greater value than the bank-notes, and to be partedwith less willingly than the revolver. It was a lock of light-colouredhair.
Mr. Miles again unlocked his travelling bag, and took from it a packetof oiled-silk, a pair of scissors, tape, a needle and thread. It is ahabit of many travellers to have such things always about them. Miles,for one, was very handy in the use of them, so that in about ten minuteshe produced a very neat little bag, shaped like an arc, and hung upon apiece of tape with ends sewn to the ends of the chord. Holding this bagin his left hand, he now took very carefully, between the thumb andfinger of his right hand, the lock of light-coloured hair. He let itroll in his palm, he placed his finger tips in the mouth of the littlebag, then paused, as if unwilling to let the hair escape his hand, and,as he paused, his face bent down until his beard touched his wrist. Hadnot the notion been wildly absurd, one who witnessed the action mighthave expected Mr. Miles to press his lips to the soft tress that nestledin his palm; but, indeed, he did nothing of the kind. He jerked up hishead suddenly, slipped the tress into its little case, and began at onceto stitch up the opening. As he did this, however, he might have beenclosing the tomb upon all he loved--his face was so sad. When the threadwas secured and broken, he loosed his collar and shirt-band and hung theoiled-silk bag around his neck.
At that moment a clock on the landing, chiming the three-quarters aftereight, bade him make haste. There was good reason, it seemed, why heshould be downstairs before the guests began to arrive.
In the drawing-room he found Colonel Bristo and Mrs. Parish. In facebenevolent rather than strong, there was little in Colonel Bristo tosuggest at any time the Crimean hero; he might have been mistaken for aprosperous stockbroker, but for a certain shyness of manner incompatiblewith the part. To-night, indeed, the military aspect belonged rather tothe lady housekeeper; for rustling impatiently in her handsome blacksilk gown, springing up repeatedly at the sound of imaginary wheels,Mrs. Parish resembled nothing so much as an old war horse scentingbattle. She welcomed the entrance of Miles with effusion, but Miles paidher little attention, and as little to his host. He glanced quicklyround the room, and bit his lip with vexation; Miss Bristo was as yetinvisible. He crossed the hall by a kind of instinct, and looked intothe ballroom, and there he found her. She had flitted down that moment.
Her dress was partly like a crystal fall, and partly like its silverspray; it was all creamy satin and tulle. Or so, at least, it seemed toher partners whose knowledge, of course, was not technical. One of them,who did not catch her name on introduction--being a stranger, broughtunder the wing of a lady with many daughters--described her on his cardsimply as "elbow sleeves;" and this must have been a young gentleman ofobservation, since the sleeves--an artful compromise between long andshort--were rather a striking feature to those who knew. Othersremembered her by her fan; but the callow ones saw nothing but her face,and that haunted them--until the next ball.
Mr. Miles, however, was the favoured man who was granted the firstglimpse of this lovely apparition. He also looked only at her face. Wasshe so very indignant with him? Would she speak to him? Would she refusehim the dances he had set his heart on? If these questions were decidedagainst him he was prepared to humble himself at her feet; but he soonfound there was no necessity for that.
For, though Alice was deeply angry with Mr. Miles, she was ten timesangrier with herself, and ten times ten with Dick. Her manner wascertainly cold, but she seemed to have forgotten the gross liberty Mileshad taken in the afternoon; at any rate, she made no allusion to it.She gave him dances--then and there--since he brought her a programme,but in doing so her thoughts were not of Miles. She gave him literalcarte blanche, but not to gratify herself or him. There were too fewways open to her to punish the insults she had received that day; buthere was one way--unless the object of her thoughts stayed away.
She hurried from the ballroom at the sound of wheels. In a few minutesshe was standing at her father's side shaking hands with the people. Sheseemed jubilant. She had a sunny smile and a word or two for all. Shewas like a tinkling brook at summer noon. Everyone spoke of herprettiness, and her dress (the ladies whispered of this), and above all,her splendid spirits. She found out, when it was over, that she hadshaken hands with the Edmonstones among the rest. She had done sounconsciously, and Dick, like everybody else, had probably received acharming welcome from her lips.
If that was the case he must have taken the greeting for what it wasworth, for he seized the first opportunity to escape from Fa
nny andMaurice, who were bent upon enjoying themselves thoroughly inunsentimental fashion. He saw one or two men whom he had known before hewent to Australia, staring hard at him, but he avoided them; he shrankinto a corner and called himself a fool for coming.
He wanted to be alone, yet was painfully conscious of the wretchedfigure cut by a companionless man in a room full of people. If he talkedto nobody people would point at him. Thus perhaps: "The man who made afool of himself about Miss Bristo, don't you know; went to Australia,made his fortune, and all the rest of it, and now she won't look at him,poor dog!" He was growing morbid. He made a pretence of studying thewater-colours on the wall, and wished in his soul that he could makehimself invisible.
A slight rustle behind him caused him to turn round. His heart rose inhis throat; it was Alice.
"You must dance with me," she said coldly; and her voice was the voiceof command.
Dick was electrified; he gazed at her without speaking. Then a scornfullight waxed in his eyes, and his lips formed themselves into a sneer.
"You can hardly refuse," she continued cuttingly. "I do not wish to bequestioned about you; there has been a little too much of that.Therefore, please to give me your arm. They have already begun."
That was so; the room in which they stood was almost empty. Without aword Dick gave her his arm.
The crowd about the doorway of the ballroom made way for them to pass,and a grim conceit which suggested itself to Dick nearly made him laughaloud.
As they began to waltz Alice looked up at him with flashing eyes.
"If you hate this," she whispered between her teeth, "imagine myfeelings!"
He knew that his touch must be like heated irons to her; he wanted herto stop, but she would not let him. As the couples thinned after thefirst few rounds she seemed the more eager to dance on. One moment,indeed, they had the floor entirely to themselves. Thus everyone in theroom had an opportunity of noticing that Alice Bristo had given herfirst dance to Dick Edmonstone.
The Colonel saw it, and was glad; but he said to himself, "The boydoesn't look happy enough; and as for Alice--that's a strange expressionof hers; I'll tell her I don't admire it. Well, well, if they only gettheir quarrels over first, it's all right, I suppose."
Fanny noted it with delight. The one bar to her complete happiness forthe rest of the evening was now removed. The best of dancers herself,she was sought out by the best. To her a ball was a thing of intrinsicdelight, in no way connected with sentiment or nonsense.
Mrs. Parish also saw it, but from a very different point of view. Shebustled over to Mr. Miles, who was standing near the piano, and askedhim confidentially if he had not secured some dances with Alice? Heshowed her his card, and the old schemer returned triumphant to herniche among the dowagers.
He followed her, and wrote his name on her empty card opposite the firstsquare dance; a subtle man, this Mr. Miles.
At the end of the waltz Miss Bristo thanked her partner coldly, observedbelow her breath that she should not trouble him again, bowed--and lefthim.
Dick was done with dancing; he had not wished to dance at all; but thisone waltz was more than enough for him--being with her. Love isresponsible for strange paradoxes.
He found two men to talk to: men who gloried in dancing, without greateraptitude for the art (for it is one) than elephants shod with lead.Being notorious, these men never got partners, save occasional ladiesfrom remote districts, spending seasons with suburban relatives. Thesemen now greeted Dick more than civilly, though they were accustomed tocut his brother, the bank-clerk, every morning of their lives. Theyremembered him from his infancy; they heard he had done awfully wellabroad, and congratulated him floridly. They were anxious to hear allabout Australia. Dick corrected one or two notions entertained by themrespecting that country. He assured them that the natives werefrequently as white as they were. He informed them, in reply to aquestion, that lions and tigers did not prowl around people's premisesin the majority of Australian towns; nor, indeed, were those animals tobe found in the Colonies, except in cages. He set them right on theusual points of elementary geography. He explained the comprehensivemeaning of the term, "the bush."
As Dick could at a pinch be fluent--when Australia was the subject--andas his mood to-night was sufficiently bitter, his intelligentquestioners shortly sheered off. They left him at least better-informedmen. Thereupon Dick returned to the ballroom with some slight access ofbriskness, and buried himself in a little knot of wall-flowers of bothsexes.
A dance had just begun--scarcely necessary to add, a waltz. Every manblessed with a partner hastened to fling his unit and hers into thewhirling throng. After a round or two, half the couples would pause, andprobably look on for the rest of the time; but it seems to be a point ofhonour to begin with the music. As Dick stood watching, his sisterpassed quite close to him; she happened to be dancing with Maurice, hervery creditable pupil, but neither of them saw Dick. Close behind themcame a pair of even better dancers, who threaded the moving maze withouta pause or a jar or a single false step; they steered so faultlesslythat a little path seemed always to open before them; human teetotums,obstacles to every one else, seemed mysteriously to melt at the gracefulapproach of these two. But, in fact, it was impossible to follow anyother pair at the same time, so great were the ease, and beauty, andharmony of this pair. They seemed to need no rest; they seemed to yieldthemselves completely--no, not to each other--but to the sweet influenceof the dreamy waltz.
Dick watched the pair whose exquisite dancing attracted so muchattention; his face was blank, but the iron was in his soul. The otherwallflowers also watched them, and commented in whispers. Dick overheardpart of a conversation between a young lady whose hair was red (butelaborately arranged), and a still younger lady with hair (of the samewarm tint) hanging in a plait, who was presumably a sister, not yetthoroughly "out." Here is as much of it as he listened to:
"Oh, how beautifully they dance!"
"Nonsense, child! No better than many others."
"Well, of course, I don't know much about it. But I thought they dancedbetter than anyone in the room. Who are they?"
"Don't speak so loud. You know very well that is Miss Bristo herself;the man is--must be--Mr. Edmonstone."
"Are they engaged?"
"Well, I believe they used to be. He went out to Australia because hecouldn't afford to marry (his family were left as poor as mice!), butnow he has come back with a fortune, and of course it will be on againnow. I used to know him--to bow to--when they lived on the river; Inever saw anyone so much altered, but still, that must be he."
"Oh, it must! See how sweet they----"
"Hush, child! You will be heard. But you are quite right; didn't you seehow----"
That was as much as Dick could stand. He walked away with a pale faceand twitching fingers. He escaped into the conservatory, and found asolitary chair in the darkest corner. In three minutes the waltz ended,and the move to the conservatory was so general that for some minutesthe double doors were all too narrow. Before Dick could get away, ayellow-haired youth with a pretty partner, less young than himself,invaded the dark corner, and by their pretty arrangement of two chairseffectually blocked Dick's egress. They were somewhat breathless, havingevidently outstripped competitors for this nook only after considerableexertion. The yellow-haired youth proceeded to enter into a desperateflirtation--according to his lights--with the pretty girl his senior:that is to say, he breathed hard, sought and received permission tomanipulate the lady's fan, wielded it execrably, and utteredcommonplaces in tones of ingenuous pathos. The conservatory, theplashing fountain, and the Chinese lantern are indeed the acceptedconcomitants of this kind of business, to judge by that class of moderndrawing-room songs which is its expositor. At length, on being snubbedby the lady (he had hinted that she should cut her remaining partners inhis favour), the young gentleman relapsed with many sighs into personalhistory, which may have been cunningly intended as an attack on hersympathy, but more probably arose from the ego
tism of eighteen. Heinveighed against the barbarous system of superannuation that hadremoved him from his public school; inquired repeatedly, Wasn't itawfully hard lines? but finally extolled the freedom of his presentasylum, a neighbouring Army crammer's, where (he declared) a fellow wastreated like a gentleman, not like a baby. He was plainly in theconfidential stage.
All this mildly amused Dick, if anything; but presently the victim of anevil system abruptly asked his partner if she knew Miss Bristo verywell.
"Not so very well," was the reply; "but why do you ask?"
"Because--between you and me, you know--I don't like her. She doesn'ttreat a fellow half civilly. You ask for a waltz, and she gives you asquare. Now I know she'd waltzes to spare, 'cause I heard her giveone----"
"Oh, so she snubbed you, eh?"
"Well, I suppose it does almost amount to that. By the bye, is sheengaged to that long chap who's been dancing with her all the evening?"
"I believe she is; but----"
It was a promising "but;" a "but" that would become entre nous with verylittle pressing.
"But what?"
"It is a strange affair."
"How?"
"Oh, I ought not to say; but of course you would never repeat----"
"Rather not; surely you can trust a fel----"
"Well, then, she used to be engaged--or perhaps it wasn't an absoluteengagement--to someone else: he went out to Australia, and made money,and now that he has come back she's thrown him over for this Mr. Miles,who also comes from Australia. I know it for a fact, because Mrs. Parishtold mamma as much."
"Poor chap! Who is he?"
"Mr. Edmonstone; one of the Edmonstones who lived in that big houseacross the river--surely you remember?"
"Oh, ah!"
"I believe he is here to-night--moping somewhere, I suppose."
"Poor chap! Hallo, there's the music! By Jove! I say, this is awful; weshall have to part!"
They went; and Dick rose up with a bitter smile. He would have givenmuch, very much, for the privilege of wringing that youngwhippersnapper's neck. Yet it was not the boy's fault; some fate pursuedhim: there was no place for him--no peace for him--but in the open air.
A soft midsummer's night, and an evening breeze that cooled his heatedtemples with its first sweet breath. Oh, why had he not thought ofcoming out long ago! He walked up and down the drive, slowly at first,then at speed, as his misery grew upon him, and more times than hecould count. The music stopped, began again, and again ceased; it cameto him in gusts as he passed close to the front of the conservatory onhis beat. At last, when near the house, he fancied he saw a darkmotionless figure crouching in the shrubbery that edged the lawn at theeastern angle of the house.
Dick stopped short in his walk until fancy became certainty; then hecrept cautiously towards the figure.