CHAPTER THIRTY TWO.
A CONTRADANZA.
It was a _contredanse_; the "contradanza" of Spain transmitted throughFrance to England, where it had become naturalised, and by amisapprehension of terms called "country dance" It was the _piece deresistance_ of the time, before the introduction of the cotillon,quadrille, and other "square" dances.
The assemblage being a large one, several sets danced at the same time,inside the house and without, the music in a central position availingfor all.
The set in which figured Mademoiselle Lalande was, of course, the selectone, comprising the _elite_ of the family's friends and resident gentry,with the strangers of greatest distinction, military and civilian. Itwas formed on the lawn outside, in front of the withdrawing-roomwindows, where a spread of smooth, firm turf afforded ample space, and afloor for dancing good as that of any ballroom. Better, slips andtumbles considered. Around and overhead were strings of lamps suspendedfrom the trees, while a profusion of flowers, now in full blow, filledthe air with incense. A warm summer's night, with such surroundings,the Creole girl might have fancied herself back in her native isle ofthe Antilles, under the palms and amidst the flashing _cocuyos_.
As if she had such a fancy, her grand dark eyes were aglow withdelight--triumph in them too. But neither had to do with any thought ofscenes or things transatlantic. The cause was by her side, and she tookno pains to conceal it. Impassioned child of the tropics, never in herlife gainsaid, she had needed not the resorts of subterfuge; insteadopenly demanding and having whatever she desired. And now desiringEustace Trevor, she believed she had secured him.
Certainly it seemed so; and as if with her wiles and witchery--bold waysthe sober Bristolians called them--she had succeeded in weaving a spellaround him. Once already had he been her partner, and now for thesecond time was he standing up with her, to all appearance absorbed inwhat she said, making impressive responses, partaking of her joy andtriumph.
This was what Vaga Powell supposed; and no wonder at her jealousy stungto the highest, bitterest pitch. But the green-eyed monster sees witheyes that distort and exaggerate, as hers were doing then. She wasputting a wrong interpretation on what she saw, reading it reversely tothe truth. A disinterested spectator, with skill in physiognomy, couldhave told that Eustace Trevor, so far from being taken up with ClarisseLalande, would have been glad to get disembarrassed of her. He too wasat that moment suffering pangs of jealousy equal to those he inflicted.This from seeing his cousin the partner of Vaga Powell, thinking ofReginald's acquaintance with her older than his own, and recallingsomething he had heard of between them antecedent to the time of hisintroduction at Hollymead. Only a rumour it was--a vague whisper--butit spoke of relations of a nature warmer and more confidential thanthose of mere friendship.
Could it have been so, and was there a renewal of them? These were thequestions self-asked by the _ci-devant_ gentleman-usher. Seeminglyanswered in the affirmative by what he now saw. For, young as was theyounger daughter of Ambrose Powell, she was no child of simplicity, butcould play at coquetting with the oldest and cleverest coquette there.If he in her eyes seemed too assiduously attentive to Clarisse, she inhis appeared the same with Reginald.
An odd position of affairs it was with this _quartette_ of cousins asregarded their feelings towards one another--a play of cross purposes,triangularly twisted and sinister, but in a manner symmetrical. The twomen in love with the same woman, the two women loving the same man, yettwo of the four not loved at all--as it were, left out in the cold. Andthese last the ones that were joyous and exultant, the others despondentand sad.
Could hearts see into hearts, and read the writing therein, all thiswould have been reversed; the glad ones would have ceased to be gay, andon the instant, while the sad ones would as suddenly have found joy.But the people so perversely astray could not comprehend one another.Not likely with everything done to hinder it--glances, attitudes,gestures, all meant to deceive.
And so the mutual misconception remained throughout the night. Dancesucceeded dance, but in none was Eustace Trevor the partner of VagaPowell.
And yet the fault was not with him, though it may appear so. Hisdancing the first set with Clarisse was quite accidental so far as hewas concerned. He had not sought to engage her; on the contrary sheseeking him--in a manner commanding him. Officially privileged, shemight do so without incurring censure or challenging remark. But whenthe thing was repeated, and for the second time in succession they wereseen standing up together, a whisper went round that it meant somethingmore than mere inadvertency--in short, a decided preference.
And so was it with her at least, he neither feeling it nor conscious ofher design. For, in truth, he had been on the way to seek Vaga Powelland ask her for the second set, when once more encountering Clarisse, asby chance, she exclaimed, in a half patronising, half-coaxing way,--
"How well you dance, Captain Trevor! So different from all the others."
Rather surprised by such a plain-spoken compliment, flattery in fact--hewas about to give it this name--but, without waiting his rejoinder, sherattled on,--
"And I hope you're enough satisfied with _my_ dancing to have me foryour partner again--you will, won't you?"
Solicitation seeming bold, almost to shamelessness. It would have beenthis in an English girl; but one knowing Clarisse Lalande, her impulsivenature, and the way she had been brought up, could better pardon it.
"It will give me the greatest pleasure," was his response. He would nothave been man--less gentleman--to answer otherwise. Both gallantry andgood manners enforced an affirmative.
"Consider yourself engaged then!"
"By all means, Mademoiselle. For which set?"
"Oh! now--the next. I wish it."
Another surprise to him, anything but agreeable. It interfered with hisintentions, spoiling his own programme. But there was no help for it,no gain saying a wish so plainly expressed, and he stammered out assentwith the best grace possible.
As the music for the second set was just commencing, she thrust herjewelled fingers inside his arm, and conducted him, rather than he her,back to the place of dancing.
It was then Vaga Powell experienced that jealous pang which determinedher to the line of action she was pursuing. But it was a jealousyneither new, nor born of that hour; only in that hour reaching theclimax and acme of its keenness. Eustace Trevor twice dancing with hercousin, and never coming near herself! Never once, even to say a word,since the one or two of ceremony exchanged between them at his firstentering and reception. No wonder at her being a prey to jealousy!
But she was not alone in the experience of its misery. He, in his turn,was tasting of it too. When at length released from his engagement withthe Creole, inopportune as irksome, and he again sought Vaga Powell, itwas to find her in a mood aught but amiable. And with Reginald still byher side--she had no difficulty in retaining _him_--the two seeminglyengrossed with one another. Well and skilfully--too well and tooskilfully--was the damsel of Dean Forest playing her part.
As Eustace approached them, Reginald drew back a pace, and stood in anattitude of dignified stiffness, with a perceptible triumph in his eyes,and something like a sneer on his lips. No word of salutation passedbetween the cousins now--not even nod of recognition--and one seeing whoknew them not would have supposed them utter strangers. Eustace butbowed to the lady; and, as the music was just sounding the prelude toanother dance, he asked, in rather a timid, doubting way,--
"May I have you for a partner, Mistress Vaga?"
At another time, even earlier that night, he might have addressed herdifferently and more familiarly--ay, would have been safe insaying--"Let us dance, dear Vaga!" But he had neither thought norconfidence to "dear" her now, nor she the desire to be deared. Curt,and almost disdainful was her answer,--
"Sorry; but I'm engaged."
He did not need being told to whom, the triumphant bearing of his cousindeclared that; and, with a bow of fei
gned resignation, and muchbitterness of heart, he withdrew, leaving them to themselves.
And so the jealous fire, just kindled in his breast, burned on in hers,not that night to be extinguished.