Or have smelt o' the bud o' the brier?
Or the nard i' the fire?
Or have tasted the bag of the bee?
Oh, so white! oh, so soft! oh, so sweet is she!'
A footman entered, bearing the harp, which he placed on a table in
the corner. He disclaimed all knowledge of it, having probably been
well paid to do so, and the unoccupied girls gathered about it like
bees about a honeysuckle, while Patricia and Terence stayed by the
piano.
"To think it may never be a match!" sighed Francesca, "and they are
such an ideal pair! But it is easy to see that the mother will
oppose it, and although Patricia is her father's darling, he cannot
allow her to marry a handsome young pauper like Terence."
"Cheer up!" said Bertie Godolphin reassuringly. "Perhaps some
unrelenting beggar of an uncle will die of old age next and leave
him the title and estates."
"I hope she will accept him to-night, if she loves him, estates or
no estates," said Salemina, who, like many ladies who have elected
to remain single, is distinctly sentimental, and has not an ounce of
worldly wisdom.
"Well, I think a fellow deserves some reward," remarked Mr.
Beresford, "when he has the courage to drive up in a hansom bearing
a green harp with yellow strings in his arms. It shows that his
passion has quite eclipsed his sense of humour. By the way, I am
not sure but I should choose Rose, after all; there's something very
attractive about Rose."
"It is the fact that she is promised to another," laughed Francesca
somewhat pertly.
"She would make an admirable wife," Mrs. Beresford interjected -
absent-mindedly; "and so of course Terence will not choose her, and
similarly neither would you, if you had the chance."
At this Mrs. Beresford's son glances up at me with twinkling eyes,
and I can hardly forbear smiling, so unconscious is she that his
choice is already made. However, he replies: "Who ever loved a
woman for her solid virtues, mother? Who ever fell a victim to
punctuality, patience, or frugality? It is other and different
qualities which colour the personality and ensnare the heart; though
the stodgy and reliable traits hold it, I dare say, when once
captured. Don't you know Berkeley says, 'D - n it, madam, who falls
in love with attributes?'"
Meantime Violet and Celandine have come out on the balcony, and
seeing the tinkling musicians there, have straightway banished them
to another part of the house.
"A good thing, too!" murmured Bertie Godolphin, "making a beastly
row in that 'nailing' little corner, collecting a crowd sooner or
later, don't you know, and putting a dead stop to the jolly little
flirtations."
The Honourable Arthur glanced critically at Celandine. "I should
make up to her," he said thoughtfully. "She's the best groomed one
of the whole stud, though why you call her Celandine I can't think."
"It's a flower, and her dress is yellow, can't you see, man? You've
got no sense of colour," said the candid Bertie. "I believe you'd
just as soon be a green parrot with a red head as not."
And now the guests began to arrive; so many of them and so near
together that we hardly had time to label them as they said good
evening, and told dear Lady Brighthelmston how pretty the
decorations were, and how prevalent the influenza had been, and how
very sultry the weather, and how clever it was of her to give her
party in a vacant house, and what a delightful marriage Rose was
making, and how well dear Patricia looked.
The sound of the music drifted into the usually quiet street, and by
half-past eleven the ball was in full splendour. Lady
Brighthelmston stood alone now, greeting all the late arrivals; and
we could catch a glimpse now and then of Violet dancing with a
beautiful being in a white uniform, and of Rose followed about by
her accepted lover, both of them content with their lot, but with
feet quite on the solid earth.
Celandine was a bit of a flirt, no doubt. She had many partners,
walked in the garden with them impartially, divided her dances, sat
on the stairs. Wherever her yellow draperies moved, nonsense,
merriment, and chatter followed in her wake.
Patricia danced often with Terence. We could see the dark head,
darker and a bit taller than the others, move through the throng,
the diamond arrow gleaming in its lustrous coils. She danced like a
flower blown by the wind. Nothing could have been more graceful,
more stately. The bend of her slender body at the waist, the pose
of her head, the line of her shoulder, the suggestion of dimple in
her elbow - all were so many separate allurements to the kindling eye
of love.
Terence certainly added little to the general brilliancy and gaiety
of the occasion, for he stood in a corner and looked at Patricia
whenever he was not dancing with her, 'all eye when one was present,
all memory when one was gone.'
Chapter XIII. A Penelope secret.
Shortly after midnight our own little company broke up, loath to
leave the charming spectacle. The guests departed with the greatest
reluctance, having given Dawson a half-sovereign for waiting up to
lock the door. Mrs. Beresford said that it seemed unendurable to
leave matters in such an unfinished condition, and her son promised
to come very early next morning for the latest bulletins.
"I leave all the romances in your hands," he whispered to me; "do
let them turn out happily, do!"
Salemina also retired to her virtuous couch, remembering that she
was to visit infant schools with a great educational dignitary on
the morrow.
