CHAPTER XXXI.

PREPARATIONS FOR A BALL.

About a week after this Doris comes home, arriving in such wild spirits that the household, which has lately become a little dull, does not seem the same. Since Hugh's departure Molly has certainly been more quiet and subdued than of old, often sitting lost in thought, till Dick one day was reduced to telling her she seemed always "wool-gathering" now, and asked was "it a paying business?" The fact of the case was, that Hugh's manner and gift on the evening of his last visit had set Molly thinking. No one can resist the influence of Doris's happy gaiety, however; and though still disposed to be a little thoughtful at times, Molly is soon roused into her own bright self again.

For some days after her arrival home, Doris's tongue hardly ever ceases going.

"Aunt was awfully kind to me, and I can tell you she is as pleased as Punch about my engagement. Only she will call Lancelot (a little blush) 'an estimable young man,' which does sound so dreadful, doesn't it? And so poor Hugh has gone," she runs on. "Yes, it's a pretty ring, Molly, very simple"--and here she glances rather complacently at her own half-hoop of fine diamonds--"but good taste; oh, yes, very. I always thought there would be something between you two; but I suppose I was mistaken," she says airily.

"Yes, aunt was very kind. Uncle is _much_ better, and looks quite ten years younger. It was such fun! Aunt, I suppose, thought I should be conceited if I thought Lancelot was coming so much for my sake, so she told me that uncle and he had struck up a wonderful affection for each other, and that amused uncle immensely. He used to wink at me openly whenever Mr. Ferrars was announced.

"Uncle and I are regular chums; and when he said good-bye he patted my face, and told me I was a good girl, and that he was going to send me a cheque when I begin to get my 'fal-lals and furbelows' together for my marriage."

The wedding has been fixed for about six months later, but Doris does not consider it a bit too soon to commence the all-important business of her trousseau, and soon the house is a perfect sea of long-cloth, cambric, and lace. For it is settled that all the under-linen shall be made at home, with the assistance of the girls at the schools, perhaps, in which both Honor and Molly have for some time held classes on Sunday.

"Plenty of time for dresses and such things later on," said Mrs. Merivale; and Doris agreed with her. Lancelot Ferrars was now in London, Mrs. Merivale and Doris had heard, and up to his eyes in business. He would run down to see them soon, however, he said.

Some few weeks after this, when they are all settled down quietly once more, a startling piece of intelligence is spread through Edendale, which throws every one, from the highest to the lowest, into an unwonted state of surprise and expectation.

The new heir to the Court is said to be about to return from "foreign parts," and intends coming down in about a fortnight's time to take formal possession of his inheritance.

There is to be first a tenants' dinner, and then a ball, to which every one for miles round is to be invited. Of course the whole neighbourhood is in a tremendous state of excitement over this unexpected news, more especially as it is reported that the new baronet intends living at the Court a good deal. There is much speculation on many points, and mothers who have unmarried daughters on their hands still, nod approvingly at all they hear of the preparations in connection with the proposed gaieties--all hoping for the best. For some declare that he is as yet a bachelor, though others are equally certain that he has been married for years.

Sir Edward Ferrars does not, it appears, feel disposed to gratify their curiosity on this point any more than any other. For he does not attempt to come near the place, leaving all arrangements as to the entertainment entirely in the hands of those appointed to carry it through, calmly announcing that he does not intend putting in an appearance himself until absolutely necessary. People are obliged perforce to be content, and they can only look forward to the day of the ball with redoubled zest.

In course of time cards of invitation are sent out for July 10th, the Merivale's being for "Mrs. and the Miss Merivales." Doris goes up to town soon after this to stay for a few days with her aunt, and Lancelot coming in one day she shows him the invitation.

"I brought it up to show aunt," she says.

Mr. Ferrars laughs a little.

"Sir Edward thought it best to say 'the Miss Merivales,' I suppose. I did say there were three of you, but I daresay he forgot. He's a queer sort of fellow, I believe. His predecessor was also rather eccentric, you know. Of course you are all going, Doris?" he says presently. "I shall be there. One of my aunts is going to play hostess for Sir Edward, and I have promised to go and help them. It's an awful bore, though."

"Honor and I are going," says Doris, referring to the first remark. "I am not quite sure about Molly."

"O, let little Molly go! Besides," cries Lancelot with energy, "she must, as my future bride's sister, you know."

Doris stares a little.

"How in the world are people to know that you and I are engaged; and even if they did, what would they care about either me or Molly? We are nothing to Sir Edward."

"Ah, true, I forgot that. But you know what country places are, Doris; and I wouldn't mind betting five pounds that before you have been in the room half an hour the fact of our engagement will have leaked out."

"Do you know much of this Sir Edward?" inquires Doris after a pause. "Is he married? Some say he is, some say he isn't."

"I don't _think_ he is," says Lancelot slowly. "I fancy I heard something about his being engaged, though."

"O, _what_ a pity!"

"Why, Doris?"

"Because I thought he would have done nicely for Honor, or Molly perhaps."

"It strikes me there are two people who would strongly object to such an arrangement," says Mr. Ferrars, leaning back in his chair and smiling at Doris. "I don't think Dr. Sinclair would care about it, nor young Horton."

Doris opens her eyes.

"Hugh!" she says with astonishment in her voice. "Why, nothing has been said about these two, Lancelot."

"Perhaps not," he answers lazily; "but there will be, sooner or later, you will see, my dear. Don't say anything to Molly, though; I don't think your mother wishes it. As for Sinclair, anyone can see he is fond of Honor."

"O yes, of course, I know that. But fancy Molly! My goodness, it seems only yesterday that she was in short frocks!" And Doris falls to musing.

It is finally decided that Molly _shall_ go to the ball with her sisters, and now an important question comes up. What are they all to wear?

"I would rather not go at all than go badly dressed," says Doris with a suspicion of a pout. "How _horrid_ it is to be poor! There will be all the Trevelyan family there: they are _sure_ to be, because even Lancelot knows them quite intimately, and so also of course Sir Edward must, to some extent; and they are the greatest people about this part of the world, I suppose. I can just imagine how Lady Anne will put up her eye-glass and examine us from top to toe."

"I don't care if she does," says Molly promptly. "You can afford to be looked at, Doris, for you are a hundred times better looking than she is, and you are sure to get a lot more partners, notwithstanding her title."

But here Mrs. Merivale suddenly becomes possessed of an idea, and intimates that such is the case by holding up her hand and saying "Hush!"

She then reminds Honor of the trunks of dresses belonging to her, which, it will be remembered, there had been some little argument about keeping at the time of the sale.

"Were they kept, Honor?"

"Yes, mother. Aunt insisted that it was more than anyone would expect or even think of (I mean to leave them), so she had her own way, and they are up in the second attic now in those big boxes."

"Quite right, too," remarks Doris, referring to her aunt's having come off victorious in the matter.

So then and there a tremendous turn out takes place; and Mrs. Merivale's bed-room, where the foregoing conversation has taken place, is the scene of trying on and taking off for a good hour.

Doris and Molly turn out their own particular hoards also, though the latter's, in the matter of evening apparel, is somewhat scanty. Still it is found that their white silks, which were their winter party dresses, and only new shortly before the death of their father, are in perfectly good condition still, and with judicious management the two together can be made into one very presentable dress for Molly.

Doris's few evening dresses provided by her aunt when abroad, and modest enough in themselves, prove to be a little shabby when seen by daylight, and the girl's spirits begin to sink accordingly.

"That pale pink of mother's is lovely," she says, looking at one which Honor is in the act of shaking out, "but Lancelot insists on my being in white. Such nonsense! I declare I would spend my last few shillings in having a new white net or something; but it would look absurd for Molly to be in silk and me not. What about Honor, too?"

At this critical moment Becky appears staggering under the weight of a large milliner's box, her cap a little more awry than usual.

"For you, miss," she says, planting it on the floor close before Doris. "There ain't nothing to pay;" and looking very much as if she would like to stay, she slowly leaves the room.

"For me? Good gracious! what can it be?" and Doris pounces on the box, and tearing off both paper and string she very soon gets at the contents. A new dead, white silk is then triumphantly displayed, made with artistic simplicity, the only trimming being a little good lace.

Off comes Doris's dress in a trice, and in almost less time than it takes to tell she is in the new one, pulling here and patting there until it is all fastened (Doris gasping a little, but striving to conceal that fact), and pronounced by one and all to "do" charmingly.

"My stars," says Dick, appearing suddenly on the scene, "you _do_ look stunning! What a pity our knight is not here to gaze upon his future bride in this--shall I say, regal attire," and the boy falls into an attitude of admiration and devotion. Doris bows her acknowledgments of these graceful compliments with a heightened colour; but whether the colour is due to the undeniable tightness of the bodice or the mention of the "knight" we will leave an open question; Dick inclining to the latter opinion, Doris (privately) to the former.

"You ungrateful girl!" suddenly cries Honor, who is engaged in smoothing out the many sheets of crumpled tissue paper strewn about the box and on the floor. "Here is a letter from aunt; how came you not to see it?"

It appears that the present is from Sir John. He wishes Doris to look well at the coming ball, Lady Woodhouse goes on to say, young Ferrars being of the same family as Sir Edward.

"Well, that is kind of uncle, isn't it? Now I shall not care two straws for Lady Anne Trevelyan or anyone else."

On further examination of the hoards another white silk (one of Mrs. Merivale's) is discovered, which will do nicely for Honor if altered and renovated.

"I want you all to be dressed alike in that respect," says Mrs. Merivale. "You know, girls, I always liked white silk for you in the old days before your poor father died," and she sighs heavily.

And so the weighty subject of the ball dresses is settled, and a young woman in the village, whom the girls have found to be possessed of some ideas as to style and so on, is engaged to come into the house to alter those destined for Honor and Molly.