CHAPTER X

THE DANCE

THE withdrawal of the voluminous ladies made great voids in the hitherto well-crowded table, and the gentlemen had now to commence the process of amalgamation among themselves amid the remnants of fruit and the remains of the wine. But the air was hot and oppressive—the superfluous awning kept the fumes of dinner down, and there seemed to be a general opinion that it would be better to pollute the fresh air outside with cigars than undergo any more of the impure atmosphere within. Accordingly there was soon a general fishing up of hats, a diving for cigars, and a running to Baccoman’s by those who had forgotten to bring their cases. Young gentlemen must smoke now-a-days, whether they like it or not. Presently the puffers were seen straggling away in all directions, and, considering that they carried the scent and not the ladies, it was wonderful with what accuracy they found them out, some down in the crypt, some up the ivy-tower, some along at Barndale burn, others listening to the gipsy under the wide-spreading Hartland oak.

The extreme heat of the day was now over, the country people were returning from their work, and Dobbin, and Smiler, and Farmer, and Jessey stood deep in the pond, imbibing the pure stream from its source. Groups of satchel-slung children came loitering along, forgetful of their bows and their drops at the sight of so many fine ladies of such unwonted rotundity. Very odd, they thought, their thin shoes and silk stockings looked compared to their own stout worsteds and clogs. The country was now in the full meridian of beauty. The hill-sheltered trees were loaded with leaf, whose rich and varied green contrasted with the golden-headed corn, full ready for the sickle, interspersed here and there with the picturesque but rather unpopular poppy. A farmer prefers a good downy thistle to one of these scarlet landscape lighters. One, they say, shows strength, the other poverty.

But it is time to return from our rural ramble, and already the chaperones whose charges have not got eligibly mated are beginning to fidget and look about, wondering where Mrs. Thomas Trattles, or Mrs. Brown, or Mrs. Campbell de Jenkins can be, while those whose young ladies are better suited saunter unconcernedly along, apparently without, but in reality just within, ear-shot, gazing complacently this way or that, admiring the lovely scenery, looking for Tenbury Hills, or trying to make out Springwell Park or Staunton spire in the distance. Of all the varied accomplishments of life, there are few more useful than that of being conveniently blind and not hearing everything. It saves many a quarrel and much cash.

Our friend Mr. Bunting, who knows the locality well, —indeed it was down the glen, in the violet banks, that he managed to slip the twenty-guinea diamond ring so adroitly on to the fair, or rather unfair, Miss Wingfield’s taper finger,—our friend, we say, manœuvres Rosa and Mamma by a series of tree-screening walks out of sight as well of the curious as of the more mar-plot ladies, from whom he expected no favour ; and after a most delightful chat—far surpassing in interest anything she had ever had with our friend in the country—Mr. Bunting wheeled round on the east of the Priory and brought them back in the rear of the capacious Miss Foldingleys, who were too busy turning attentive deaf ears to the gipsy to heed who was coming behind them. So the trio sauntered listlessly into the again-forming group, looking about as unconcernedly as if they had never been away.

The scene had now changed. After a vigorous onslaught upon the remains of the feast, as well by the Baccomans as the servants, the heat-condensing cover had been removed, and the beautiful refectory stood forth in its noble proportions, the rich clustering ivy folding gracefully over the walls, or creeping fantastically up the pillars and about the finely carved gothic work of the windows. The rough deal table had been removed to one side, and coveys of white cups, clustering about brown hens of tea-pots, denoted that Mrs. Baccoman’s privilege of finding hot water was about to commence. The composite floor had been cleanly swept and sprinkled with water, and half a dozen seedy musicians sat patiently in a corner ready to enliven the scene when required. After successive pop visits by the fair ladies to Mrs. Baccoman’s looking-glass, there was a general drawing on of clean white, primrose, or lavender-coloured kid gloves, and then a taking up of positions, with the comfortable confidence of all being right. So at the proper time, the ladies pointed their taper toes and started off gaily with the first quadrille of the evening. Great was the wheeling, and circling, and spreading, and guiding of crinoline, and divers the apologies of the fair obstructionists for stopping each other’s ways. But with a little patience and mutual concession, each fair lady at length got through her portion of the figure. Better have been stopped altogether than not have carried her full complement of crinoline. Wonderful fashion ! We suppose we shall have the other extreme next, and dresses as scant as they are now inflatedly full.

At the sound of music the outsiders came trooping in, and then the formidable corps des observations of chaperones and dowagers was formed, each intent on watching the glances and movements of some particular party. Our friend Mr. Bunting, who felt his lacerated heart greatly relieved by the soft embrocation of Miss McDermott’s smiles, devoted himself heart and soul to his partner, little thinking how Mrs. Bolsterworth was watching him through her double eye-glasses at a convenient aperture between Mr. Malcolm Midwinter and Miss Spinner, who stood before her.

“Just the way he went on with Miss Hawthorn,” thought she, rubbing her glasses on the corner of Miss Spinner’s light blue scarf; “just the way he went on with Miss Hawthorn;” and Mrs. Bolsterworth felt how her “duty” would compel her to caution Mrs. McDermott against his insidious advances. Duty is a capital cloak for officiousness.

Miss Rosa, who dearly loved dancing, was equally pleased with her partner, and not a little flattered when, at the close of the quadrille, he claimed her for the succeeding valse, and then spun her about in a style very different to the cartwheel evolutions of the young gentlemen she had been accustomed to dance with in the town-hall of Mayfield.

Admiration Jack was a capital performer, and there are few things more prizeable in society than a willing, working, good looking, good dancer. They are the parties who keep the balls alive, and shame the listless young gentlemen lolling against doors, looking as if they had smoked all their energies away. And though the sour grapes chaperones might abuse our active friend Mr. Bunting, and say he was nothing but a flirt, or a man-coquette, there wasn’t one of them but what would have been well pleased to have seen him wheeling one of their fair charges about. But Mr. Bunting, if a lawyer-unsatisfying suitor, was, nevertheless, a constant swain, and stuck to his newly-acquired flame with marked perseverance, only introducing her to particular friends—generally young gentlemen in love like himself— always having her for a vis-à-vis in the quadrilles, and watching her well in the valses. And the more he looked at her, the more he admired her, and he inwardly resolved to send Mrs. Trattles two dozen of Nectar and Foamer’s best sparkling champagne for the introduction.

So the gay ball progressed amid occasional coolings and cups of tea, and peeps at the looking-glass; and the sun having again set with undiminished splendour, the shades of a long delayed summer’s evening at length began to draw on, causing the discontented ones to feel chilly and talk about cloaks, and ask about carriages, while the well-suited ones danced, if possible, with greater vigour than before. The seedy musicians seemed inspired with fresh spirit, and worked away at their instruments to the surprise of the bats and the inconvenience of the ivy-nestling sparrows, now kept out of their berths by the noise. At length, at the close of an apparently interminable Violente valse, when the most patient and accommodating of the chaperones were hinting the necessity of bringing the delightful day to a close, a cry of “the Comet ! the Comet !” drew all parties to the door with a rush, and interrupted the progressing arrangements by mixing all parties up in inextricable confusion. There was no saying where to find anybody. The cares and watchings and guardings of the day seemed likely to be lost in a moment. As fast as Mrs. Motley rescued Susan Ann from Captain Engleheart, she lost Sarah Jane, while Mrs. Sterne was deserted by her flock altogether. Then there was such star-gazing, such science, such talking of Dr. Donati— the parabolic elements, and the inclination of the planes, in the midst of which the poor seedy musicians struck up “God save the Queen,” and then hurried away with their instruments for fear of being impressed into further service. So ended the gay out-of-door party. Carriage after carriage then took up their departing company, and the refreshed horses went cheerfully away in the cool of the evening, with their heads towards home, bringing the glowworm like lamps of the distance into full reality ere many of the travellers had recounted half their adventures, or repeated half the compliments that had been paid them.