CHAPTER VII.

On Friday morning--the morning of the Eltons' _soirée_--Marie Arbi, who had been with the Adairs since the Monday before, was in a state of great excitement, mingled with no little terror, about her first ball. Flora could but laugh at the timid fears of the world's novice, for she knew that her prettiness and simplicity would amply cover any want of self-possession, and, indeed, render her doubly attractive.

One moment Marie was in ecstasies of delight with her dress and wreath; the next she would rush into the drawing-room to Flora and ask a score of questions. Then she would declare that she knew she should be horribly _gauche_, and looked half ready to cry over her anticipated awkwardness. But a word from Flora about her toilette would set her off again into a rapture of admiration, and, with all a Frenchwoman's delight in the details of dress, she would descant on each particular of it. All this made Flora think of her own first ball, and of how comparatively indifferent she was about it, although she really was fond of dancing; but she had never possessed any of that almost childish gaiety which characterised Marie.

A few minutes before nine o'clock the important business of dressing was satisfactorily completed, and the young ladies went into the drawing-room to Mrs. Adair, who was already dressed. Both the girls were in white. Marie's dress was trimmed with lily of the valley and pink convolvulus; she wore a wreath to match this trimming, and necklace and earrings of topaz. Flora's was looped up with bunches of scarlet geraniums, and a spray or two of the same flowers gleamed through the masses of her hair; she wore a band of pearls round her neck, and earrings to correspond. Marie was, according to all rule, by far the prettier of the two, as she stood there with her black eyes dancing merrily, and her full red lips parted in eager expectation; her short plump figure harmonised, too, so well with the child-like expression of her face. Flora looked well also, and her slighter and more delicately formed figure gave to her a grace which was quite her own.

"I hear the carriage!" Flora exclaimed, "so let us put on our cloaks. Mrs. Elton said that the music was to begin exactly at nine, and it is striking that now; so we shall not be too early at all events."

At the door of the brilliantly lighted saloon they were received by Mrs. Elton and Mary. Did the latter feel a qualm of conscience as she greeted Flora, after she had been plotting so against her? No change of countenance betrayed any such feeling. She looked as usual, calm and dignified, as she motioned to her to pass on, saying, "A little farther on in the room you will meet Charles and Helena, who will find seats for you."

The entrance of the Adair party was followed by that of Mr. and Mrs. Penton. She looked queen-like in her training dress of black velvet, which well displayed her majestic bearing; and the smallness of her head was rendered especially remarkable by the way in which her hair was dressed. It was combed back plainly from her forehead, plaited up tightly at the back, and surmounted by a magnificent tiara of pearls. Her fair round-faced husband looked the character of a gentleman farmer quite as well as she did that of a queen. Immediately afterwards came a number of gentlemen, and among them were Signor Lanzi, Mr. Mainwaring, Mr. Caulfield, Mr. Lyne, and Mr. Earnscliffe.

The music-room, which was rather small, was quite full, and the room next to it nearly so, when Helena went to ask her mother if she wished the music to begin. On her way, however, she discreetly managed to pass close to Mr. Caulfield, and to exchange a few words with him. He cast a questioning glance towards the place where Mrs. Elton stood, as if to ask if there was any hope of her looking favourably on him. Helena shook her head and turned away. In a few moments she returned with her mother and Mary, and the music began.

There were but short intervals between the pieces, so by a little after ten, as the last notes of one of Beethoven's sonatas died away, they were answered from the other end of the room by the inspiriting tones of the Overland Mail Galop. This was a special favourite of Helena's, and she had asked the leader of the band to commence with it; accordingly a few bars of it were played; then there was a pause in order to give the couples time to form.

What a scene of confusion there was at that moment! The girls looking anxiously to see if the _right_ one was coming to them; the gentlemen rushing about seeking for those to whom they were, or wished to be, engaged. Gradually the ladies and their partners paired off into the dancing-room, so that single couples could easily be distinguished.

Mr. Lyne, in his usual deliberate way, waited until the first rush was over, and then he went up to Flora and asked for the honour of her hand for this galop.

"I am not engaged," she answered; "but you will oblige me very much if you will dance with my friend instead of with me. She is a little shy, as it is her first ball, so it would be pleasant for her to begin by dancing with one whom she has met before. You will do this, will you not?" and she looked up smilingly at him.

"I would do much more than that to oblige Miss Adair," replied Mr. Lyne, and he offered his arm to Marie. She hesitated to accept Flora's partner, but the latter insisted.

As they went into the dancing-room Flora looked after them with an expression of amusement at Mr. Lyne's answer, which she supposed was meant to be very complimentary, but which was in reality just the contrary; implying as it did, that to give up a dance with her was a very slight sacrifice indeed.

Meanwhile Mary and Helena Elton went about to see if all their friends had partners. They did not adopt the fashionable style of leaving people to get on as well as they can whether they know any one or not.

Mr. Caulfield was watching Helena with longing eyes. She had told him that she could not give him the first dance, so he felt half inclined to do the _doloroso_, by not dancing it at all, and he really thought that he could have refrained had the band played anything but that "Overland Mail." To stand still during such a galop was more than nature could bear, so as he saw Helena going towards Flora with a man "in tow," as he expressed it, to be introduced to her, he hastened in the same direction, and said in a low voice as he passed her, "Well, if I can't have you, I'll have the best dancer in the room," and the next minute he was making his bow to Flora.

"Why did you not say, 'Miss Adair, I want you to dance with me _faute de mieux_?'" she said laughingly, as she took his arm.

"By Jove, Miss Adair, I would rather have you for a partner than _almost_ any one in the room; you do go the pace to such perfection!"

She blushed as she felt how humbling it was to be told by Mr. Caulfield that he had chosen her for such a reason; but she knew that he meant it as a very great compliment, and therefore she thought it was unreasonable to be annoyed at it, so she answered lightly, "Well, let us begin."

Mary had asked Mr. Earnscliffe if he would allow her to get him a partner, but he replied, "Thank you, I very seldom dance; especially these dances." He bowed, turned away, and joined some gentlemen who were talking in another part of the room. Mary looked annoyed, and murmured to herself, "He might at least have asked me to dance a quadrille, if only from mere politeness. Ah! I see that I shall never succeed, but, at least, I need no longer to fear a rival in Flora Adair. My plan is working well," and a sinister expression came into her eyes as Flora passed with Mr. Caulfield.

The dancing continued with unflagging spirit until supper was announced, and even then it ceased only because the musicians went away to take some refreshments. Helena, however, considered that it would be too sad to lose such a delightful opportunity of dancing and flirting with Mr. Caulfield, so she managed to induce some obliging lady to sit down to the piano and play a valse. In a moment his arm was round her waist and away they twirled, enjoying intensely the pleasure of stealing a march on the "dragoness," as Mr. Caulfield irreverently persisted in calling Mrs. Elton. Their example was at once followed by all the lovers of dancing, who always prefer the supper dances to any others.

Marie seemed to have got over her shyness, and was quite a focus of attraction; her _naïveté_, and even her blunders in English, attracted every one, and she became a general favourite.

"Time flies when it should linger most," and Mr. Caulfield thought that this was the truest of all things, as Mary came to tell them that the people were coming back from supper. There was a deep recess in one of the rooms, in which was an ottoman. Here they had seated themselves, and were making plans for bright hours to come. For the moment they appeared to have forgotten the existence of a "dragoness" who might possibly prevent the realisation of visions so fair, but it was forcibly called to their recollection by Mary, who exclaimed, "Helena, how can you be so imprudent? In another moment mamma would have caught you!"

"Not while I have such a dear, thoughtful prig of a sister to guard me," replied Helena, as she jumped up and kissed her; then waving her hand to Mr. Caulfield, she glided away humming, "_Addio del passato bei sogni sorridenti_." A few minutes afterwards she was seen walking into the supper-room leaning on Mr. Mainwaring, and looking as demure as possible.

To Mary's surprise and delight Mr. Earnscliffe came and asked her to dance the next quadrille with him. As she took his arm she saw Mr. Lyne and Flora Adair coming towards them, and said, "Let us ask them to form part of our set."

He bowed and led her to them, but he did not speak. Mary said, "I am so glad that I chanced to see you, Flora; will you be our _vis-à-vis_?" The stereotyped answer, "With pleasure," was given, and they took the places opposite to each other. How often in the world are these two words uttered mechanically and untruly.

Mary was looking unusually pleased and animated. Not so was Flora. She felt puzzled about Mr. Lyne. His marked attention to her during the whole evening, and his--for him--devoted manner, made her wonder if so wild an idea as his imagining himself in love with her could have got into his head; but she rejected such a supposition as absurd, and persuaded herself that his increasing attention to her might be the effect of champagne, which would quickly wear off, and that it would be best to treat it lightly, so she tried to appear gay and amused. She little knew how closely she was watched, and how false an interpretation was given to whatever she did.

In taking the usual promenade after the dance, they passed the recess where Mary found Helena and Mr. Caulfield after supper. Pointing to the seat, Mr. Lyne said to her--

"Will you rest here a little, Miss Adair?"

"Thank you; I would rather rejoin mamma."

"Nay, Miss Adair, I beg you to grant me a few moments."

She did not see how she could well refuse, so she allowed him to take her to the ottoman. She seated herself, and he took the place beside her. How she wished to say to him, "If you are going to propose to me, I pray you not to do so, and it will save us both pain." But of course she could say nothing of the kind, and must leave him to take his own course; she had already done all that she could to avoid the threatened conversation. He did not keep her long in suspense, but plainly and directly asked her to be his wife.

"Oh, Mr. Lyne!" she answered, "I am so sorry that this should have occurred; for although I feel deeply gratified by your preference, I would much rather not have had that gratification than be obliged, as I am, to inflict the pain of a refusal upon you."

"Pray hear me for a moment, Miss Adair," he exclaimed, eagerly, "before you give so decided an answer. Your mother has given her full approbation to my suit, and my family would be enchanted to receive you among them; for myself, I can truly say that I have the highest possible respect and admiration for you, and you have always appeared to like me. I would do everything to make you happy--agree to anything you could desire. What obstacle, then, is there to your marrying me?"

She looked at him in amazement, and was on the point of giving him rather a sharp answer; but remembering that more or less a refusal must give him pain, she felt that it would be unwomanly not to make hers as gentle as she could; therefore she determined to restrain herself, and after a little hesitation she said--

"There is one grand objection, Mr. Lyne. I feel no love for you, and I could not do you the wrong of marrying you without loving."

"Oh! if that's all, I'll forgive you the wrong. I will try to win your love, and I am too sensible to want that sort of romantic love about which some people rave. Indeed, I do not think it in the least necessary to the happiness of marriage."

This was too much for Flora; she forgot all her good resolutions, and retorted with heightened colour, "I dare say _you_ do not; you probably think, as I have heard good people in France say, that _l'amour n'est rien dans le mariage, c'est une affection--un dévouement chrétien, qui doit exister entre les époux, et_ cet _amour ne vient qu'après le mariage_. Perhaps you would be satisfied with that sort of thing!"

No sooner had the words escaped her than she felt heartily ashamed of herself, and she added, humbly, "Forgive me; I have been rude and ungrateful. I have no excuse to offer save that I was carried away by momentary excitement. This is a subject upon which I feel very strongly, and I cannot, as I know many estimable people do, look upon marriage as a sort of half religious, half social duty, for which suitable position and fortune, without any prominent incompatibility of disposition, are the only requisites. If I have ever misled you as to my sentiments towards you, believe me, Mr. Lyne, that it was unintentional. I never thought of you in any other way than as a friend, and, until this evening, I never imagined that you otherwise regarded me--surely we are too unsuited to each other for anything more."

"Yes, I do feel now that we _are_ unsuited to each other; yet I never admired you more than I do at this moment. As to your having misled me, the fault, if any, was all my own. I might have seen how reluctant you were to grant me these few minutes, and yet I would persevere, so you are perfectly free from blame. Whatever pain you may have caused me I freely forgive. Remember also, Miss Adair, that should you ever want a friend you will find a true one in me."

"Of that I am sure."

He looked gratified, pressed her hand, and murmured, "God bless you!" and then left her.

Flora felt so unhappy that it was difficult for her to prevent the tears which stood in her eyes from falling. She had fortunately refused to engage herself for the dance which was now beginning, pleading a wish to rest before the cotillon which was to follow it, so she had a little time to recover herself.

This conversation was not long in passing, yet, short as it was, Mr. Earnscliffe had observed it,--he saw the parting, and the tears in her eyes afterwards, yet he never doubted that she had accepted Mr. Lyne, and he thought to himself, "What! even in the first moments, is she bewailing the sale which she has made of herself, and the wrong she is doing to him? I suppose she is not quite hardened as yet in her _rôle_, and that it costs her a few tears to act it--soon enough it will become a second nature to her!... What soulless things women are! And I was once so silly as to worship them; but I was cured of that folly long ago. This is only another proof of their worthlessness; and that, too, in one of whom I felt half inclined to believe better things. How she excited my curiosity as we walked home the other day from the Farnese Palace! I could not comprehend her.... Well, at all events I will go and say good-bye to her, since we may perhaps never meet again."

As soon as he got close to where she was sitting he said, "I am come to bid you farewell, Miss Adair. I leave Rome to-morrow."

She started as she heard his voice, for she had been leaning her head upon her hand, and had not seen him approach, and now, as he took the vacant place beside her, she looked rather confused, and felt very much at a loss for something to say, so she repeated, "Leaving Rome to-morrow?"

"Yes, I am going to the neighbourhood of Naples; it is so beautiful there in spring."

"I should imagine so; spring is beautiful everywhere, and in Southern Italy it must be doubly so."

He did not answer, and, to break the silence, she added, "We go in the very opposite direction--northwards. I am longing to see Venice."

"But you do not go immediately," he rejoined; looking at her inquiringly, "you remain here some time longer, and then you begin _your_ travels?" he laid a slight stress on _your_.

"No, we go at once. What should we remain here for when all our friends are gone? New scenes give variety, and--for the time at least--interest."

Her tone was sad and listless as she said this, and again he fixed his full blue eyes on her face with a meditative and a questioning gaze. She wondered what he meant by looking at her thus, as if he would read her very thoughts, and feeling that it was most unpleasant to be gazed at in this way, she exclaimed, "Mr. Earnscliffe!"

He was on the point of saying, "And Mr. Lyne goes with you, of course?" when the sound of his name, uttered by Flora, arrested his words: had they been spoken, he must have discovered his mistake; but, alas! they were not, and she continued, "Will you take me to mamma?"

This annoyed him, yet he stood up at once and offered her his arm. As they went she said, "I must thank you once more and for the last time, as we say good-bye to-night, for all your kindness to me when my ankle was sprained,--it was so good-natured of you to condescend to come and lighten my close imprisonment. I cannot say how grateful I feel to you."

"There is no cause for gratitude, Miss Adair; I did nothing for you beyond what I was bound in justice to do." It was now her turn to feel annoyed. "Besides, I enjoyed those hours very much."

"Wonderful! I thought you hated women too much to derive pleasure from their society?"

"Hate them, Miss Adair!--ah! I should do anything but that if I could only trust them. How different this life would be if they were only true! if they were not, as the best of them are--even those to whom it costs a pang to act so--ever ready to sell themselves for wealth and position."

Flora became scarlet. Mr. Earnscliffe noted that vivid flush, and considered it to be caused by consciousness of guilt, whilst in reality it was from a sense of injured innocence. A few minutes before she had been called upon to decide between wealth and possible dependence and humiliation--humiliation in the eyes of the world--and she had chosen the latter; but it was useless as a proof of the falseness of that sweeping accusation--in honour she was bound not to speak of it. She waited until the rush of excited feeling had subsided a little, and then said quietly--

"I _know_ that you are wrong, Mr. Earnscliffe--we are not _all_ ready to sell ourselves; there are many women who would refuse any man, no matter what advantages he could offer them, if they did not really love him."

His eyes flashed and he exclaimed, "You!" but he stopped suddenly, changed his tone, and added in his usual cold, polite manner, "Here is Mrs. Adair; but I see that she is speaking to some one, so I will not interrupt her; and now allow me to wish you _Addio, e felice viaggio_!"

He held her hand for a moment, whilst he looked at her again with one of those searching glances which had annoyed her before. Mrs. Adair turned round just as he left her, and said, "Why, Flora, how tired you look! Here is Marie as fresh and gay as ever!"

The gentlemen now came to claim them for the cotillon. Marie was engaged to dance with Charles Elton, and Flora with Mr. Caulfield; but Mrs. Adair said to him, "I really think that Flora ought not to dance any more, she appears to be so tired."

Flora saw Mr. Caulfield's look of annoyance, and answered with a smile--although it was rather a weary one if the truth must be told--"Not so much so, mamma, that I cannot fulfil my engagement," and she took Mr. Caulfield's arm.

At last the cotillon came to an end, and it was with a feeling of relief at not being obliged to talk or dance any more that Flora followed her mother down the stairs and got into their carriage, Marie declaring that she wished the ball was going to begin again.