THE LADIES' BALL.
"Then, thrilling to the harp's gay sound, So sweetly rung each vaulted wall, And echoed light the dancer's bound, As mirth and music cheer'd the hall."--SCOTT.
The gentlemen who were considered as the _elite_ of a certain city thatshall be nameless, had been for some years in the practice of giving,about Christmas, a splendid ball to the ladies of the same circle. Butat the period from which we date the commencement of our story,Christmas was fast approaching, and there had, as yet, been nointimation of the usual practical compliment.
Conjecture was busy among the ladies as to the cause of thisextraordinary defection; but it was most generally attributed to thepalpable fact that the attention of the gentlemen had been recentlydirected to a very different channel. In short, the beaux were nowtaking vast strides in the march of intellect, pioneered by certainnewly popular lecturers in various departments of science. The pursuitof knowledge, both useful and useless, had become the order of the day.Profound were the researches into those mysteries of nature that in thisworld can never be elucidated: and long and elaborate were thedissertations on points that, when established, would not be worth afarthing.
The "beaux turned savans," had formed themselves into an association towhich they had given a polysyllabic name of Greek etymology, and beyondthe power of female tongue to pronounce, or of female hand to write; buta very young girl designated it as the Fee-faw-fum Society. They hired aspare room in one of the public buildings, and assembled there "inclose divan" on stated nights when there were no evening lectures:several of the ologists holding forth to their classes of afternoons.
One seemingly indispensable instructor brought up the rear of the hostof lecturers, and this was a professor of mnemonics: that is, agentleman who gave lessons in memory, pledging himself to furnish theminds of his pupils with a regular set of springs, which as soon astouched would instantly unlock the treasures of knowledge that were laidup in "the storehouse of the brain:" the springs being acted upon bycertain sheets of engraved and coloured hieroglyphics, some of whichwere numerical figures, others represented trees and houses, and catsand dogs, much in the style of what children call primer pictures. Someof our readers may, perhaps, recollect this professor, who made thecircuit of the Union a few years since.
There seemed but two objections to this system, one being that thehieroglyphics and their key were harder to remember than the things theywere to remind you of: the other, that they were frequently to beunderstood by contraries, like the Hetman in Count Benyowsky, whosecharacteristic phraseology is--"When I say the garret, I mean thecellar--when I tell you to go up, I mean you to come down."
The professor of mnemonics was very unpopular with the ladies, whoasserted, that he had done the gentlemen more harm than good, by sopuzzling their already overcharged heads, that he, in many instances,destroyed what little memory they had once possessed. This wasparticularly the case with regard to Mr. Slowman, who having, at length,proposed in form to Miss Tremor, and the lady, in her agitation, beingunable at the moment to give him an intelligible answer, he had neverremembered to press his suit any further.
One thing was certain, that since the gentlemen had been taking lessonsin memory, they seemed totally to have forgotten the annual ball.
Yet, as the time drew near, there could be no doubt of its frequentlyentering their minds, from their steadily avoiding all reference to thesubject. There was evidently a tacit understanding among them, that itwas inexpedient to mention the ball. But the ice was at last broken byGordon Fitzsimmons, as they were all standing round the fire, andadjusting their cloaks and surtouts, at the close of one of theirsociety meetings.
"Is it not time," said he, "that we should begin to prepare for theChristmas ball?"
There was a silence--at last, one of the young gentlemen spoke, andreplied--"that he had long since come to a conclusion that dancing was avery foolish thing, and that there was something extremely ridiculous inseeing a room-full of men and women jumping about to the sound of afiddle. In short, he regarded it as an amusement derogatory to thedignity of human nature."
He was interrupted in the midst of his philippic by Fitzsimmons, whoadvised him to "consider it not so deeply." Now, Fitzsimmons was himselfan excellent dancer, very popular as a partner, conscious of lookingwell in a ball-room, and therefore a warm advocate for "the poetry ofmotion."
Another of the young philosophers observed, "that he saw neither goodnor harm in dancing, considered merely as an exercise: but that he wasnow busily engaged in writing a treatise on the Milky Way, the precisenature of which he had undoubtedly discovered, and therefore he had noleisure to attend to the ball or the ladies."
A second, who was originally from Norridgewock, in the state of Maine,protested that almost every moment of his time was now occupied inlithographing his drawings for the Flora Norridgewockiana, a work thatwould constitute an important accession to the science of botany, andwhich he was shortly going to publish.
A third declared frankly, that instead of subscribing to the ball, heshould devote all his spare cash to a much more rational purpose, thatof purchasing a set of geological specimens from the Himalaya Mountains.A fifth, with equal candour, announced a similar intention with regardto a box of beetles lately arrived from Van Diemen's Land.
A sixth was deeply and unremittingly employed in composing a history ofthe Muskogee Indians, in which work he would prove to demonstration thatthey were of Russian origin, as their name denotes: Muskogee beingevidently a corruption of Muscovite; just as the Tuscaroras areundoubtedly of Italian descent, the founders of their tribe having, ofcourse, come over from Tuscany.
And a seventh (who did things on a large scale) could not possibly givehis attention to a ball or anything else, till he had finished a workwhich would convince the world that the whole Atlantic Ocean was onceland, and that the whole American continent was once water.
To be brief, the number of young men who were in favour of the ball wasso very limited, that it seemed impossible to get one up in a mannerapproaching to the style of former years. And the gentlemen, feeling asort of consciousness that they were not exactly in their duty, becamemore remiss than ever in visiting the ladies.
It was now the week before Christmas: the ladies, being in hourlyexpectation of receiving their cards, had already begun to prepare; andflowers, feathers, ribands, and laces were in great activity. Still noinvitations came. It was now conjectured that the ball was, for someextraordinary reason, to be deferred till New Year's. But what thisreason was, the ladies (being all in a state of pique) had too muchpride to inquire.
The gentlemen begun to feel a little ashamed; and Gordon Fitzsimmons hadnearly prevailed on them to agree to a New Year's ball, when ApesleySappington (who had recently returned from England in a coat by Stultz,and boots by Hoby) threw a damp on the whole business, by averring that,with the exception of Miss Lucinda Mandeville, who was certainly asplendid woman with a splendid fortune, there was not a lady in thewhole circle worth favouring with a ball ticket. At least so theyappeared to him, after seeing Lady Caroline Percy, and Lady AugustaHoward, and Lady Georgiana Beauclerck. Mr. Sappington did not explainthat his only view of these fair blossoms of nobility had beencircumscribed to such glimpses as he could catch of them while he stoodin the street among a crowd assembled in front of Devonshire House, togaze on the company through the windows, which in London are always openon gala nights. He assured his friends that all the ladies of theAmerican aristocracy had a sort of _parvenue_ air, and looked as if theyhad passed their lives east of Temple Bar; and that he knew not a singleone of them that would be presentable at Almack's: always excepting MissLucinda Mandeville.
The gentlemen _savans_ knew Apesley Sappington to be a coxcomb, and intheir own minds did not believe him; but still they thought it scarcelyworth while to allow their favourite pursuits to be interrupted for thesake of giving a ball to ladies that _might_ be unpresentable atAlmack's, and that _possibly_ looked like _parvenues_
from the east sideof Temple Bar.
The belles, though much disappointed at the failure of the expectedfete, proudly determined not to advert to the subject by the remotesthint in presence of the beaux; carefully avoiding even to mention theword cotillion when a gentleman was by. One young lady left off wishingthat Taglioni would come to America, the name of that celebrated_artiste_ being synonymous with dancing; and another checked herselfwhen about to inquire of her sister if she had seen a missing ball ofsilk, because the word ball was not to be uttered before one of the malesex.
Things were in this uncomfortable state, when Miss Lucinda Mandeville,the belle _par excellence_, gave a turn to them which we shall relate,after presenting our readers with a sketch of the lady herself.
Miss Mandeville was very beautiful, very accomplished, and very rich,and had just completed her twenty-second year. Her parents being dead,she presided over an elegant mansion in the most fashionable part of thecity, having invited an excellent old lady, a distant relation of thefamily, to reside with her. Mrs. Danforth, however, was but nominallythe companion of Miss Mandeville, being so entirely absorbed in booksthat it was difficult to get her out of the library.
The hand of Miss Mandeville had been sought openly by one-half thegentlemen that boasted the honour of her acquaintance, and it had beenhinted at by the other half, with the exception of Gordon Fitzsimmons, ayoung attorney of highly promising talents, whose ambition would haveled him to look forward to the probability of arriving at the summit ofhis profession, but whose rise was, as yet, somewhat impeded by severalvery singular notions: such, for instance, as that a lawyer should neverplead against his conscience, and never undertake what he knows to bethe wrong side of a cause.
Another of his peculiarities was a strange idea that no gentleman shouldever condescend to be under pecuniary obligations to hiswife--ergo--that a man who has nothing himself, should never marry awoman that has anything. This last consideration had induced Mr.Fitzsimmons to undertake the Herculean task of steeling his heart, andsetting his face against the attractions of Miss Mandeville, with allher advantages of mind and person. Notwithstanding, therefore, that herconversation was always delightful to him, he rarely visited her, exceptwhen invited with other company.
Lucinda Mandeville, who, since the age of sixteen, had been surroundedby admirers, and accustomed to all the adulation that is generallylavished on a beauty and an heiress, was surprised at the apparentcoldness of Gordon Fitzsimmons, than whom she had never met with a youngman more congenial to her taste. His manifest indifference continuallyattracted her attention, and, after awhile, she began to suspect that itwas no indifference at all, and that something else lurked beneath it.What that was, the sagacity of her sex soon enabled her to discover.
Fitzsimmons never urged Lucinda to play, never handed her to the piano,never placed her harp for her, never turned over the leaves of her musicbook; but she always perceived that though he affected to mingle withthe groups that stood round as listeners, he uniformly took a positionfrom whence he could see her to advantage all the time. When shehappened to glance towards him, which, it must be confessed, she didmuch oftener than she intended (particularly when she came to the finestpassage of her song), she never failed to find his eyes fixed on herface with a gaze of involuntary admiration, that, when they met, wasinstantly changed to an averted look of indifference.
Though he was scrupulous in dancing with her once only in the course ofthe evening, she could not but perceive that, during this set, hiscountenance, in spite of himself, lighted up with even more than itsusual animation. And if she accidentally turned her head, she saw thathis eyes were following her every motion: as well indeed they might, forshe danced with the lightness of a sylph, and the elegance of a lady.
Notwithstanding his own acknowledged taste for everything connected withthe fine arts, Fitzsimmons never asked to see Miss Mandeville'sdrawings. But she observed that after she had been showing them toothers, and he supposed her attention to be elsewhere engaged, he failednot to take them up, and gaze on them as if he found it difficult to laythem down again.
In conversation, he never risked a compliment to Miss Mandeville, butoften dissented with her opinion, and frequently rallied her.--Yet whenshe was talking to any one else, he always contrived to be withinhearing; and frequently, when engaged himself in conversing with others,he involuntarily stopped short to listen to what Lucinda was saying.
Miss Mandeville had read much, and seen much, and had had much lovemade to her: but her heart had never, till now, been touched evenslightly. That Fitzsimmons admired her, she could not possibly doubt:and that he loved her, she would have been equally certain, only that hecontinued all the time in excellent health and spirits; that, so farfrom sitting "like patience on a monument," he seldom sat anywhere; thatwhen he smiled (which he did very often) it was evidently not at grief;and that the concealment he affected, was assuredly not feeding on hischeek, which, so far from turning "green and yellow," had lost nothingof its "natural ruby."
Neither was our heroine at all likely to die for love. Though thereseemed no prospect of his coming to a proposal, and though she wassometimes assured by the youngest and prettiest of her female friends,that they knew from authentic sources that Mr. Fitzsimmons hadmagnanimously declared against marrying a woman of fortune; yet otherladies, who were neither young nor handsome, and had no hope of Mr.Fitzsimmons for themselves, were so kind as to convince Miss Mandevillethat he admired her even at "the very top of admiration." And thesegenerous and disinterested ladies were usually, after such agreeablecommunications, invited by Miss Mandeville to pass the evening with her.
Also--our heroine chanced one day to overhear a conversation betweenDora, her own maid, and another mulatto girl; in which Dora averred toher companion that she had heard from no less authority than SquireFitzsimmons's man Cato, "who always wore a blue coat, be the colour whatit may, that the squire was dead in love with Miss Lucinda, as might beseen from many invisible _symptoms_, and that both Dora and Cato had acertain _foregiving_ that it would turn out a match at last, for allthat the lady had the money on her side, which, to be sure, was ratherunnatural; and that the wedding might be looked for _momently_, anyminute."
In the course of the next quarter of an hour, Miss Lucinda called Dorainto her dressing-room, and presented her with a little Thibet shawl,which she had worn but once. Dora grinned understandingly: and from thattime she contrived to be overheard so frequently in similarconversations, that much of the effect was diminished.
To resume the thread of our narrative--Lucinda being one morning on avisit to her friend Miss Delwin, the latter adverted to the failure ofthe annual dancing party.
"What would the beaux say," exclaimed Lucinda, struck with a suddenidea, "if the belles were to give a ball to _them_, by way of hintingour sense of their extraordinary remissness? Let us convince them that,according to the luminous and incontrovertible aphorism of the renownedSam Patch, 'some things may be done as well as others.'"
"Excellent," replied Miss Delwin; "the thought is well worth pursuing.Let us try what we can make of it."
The two young ladies then proceeded to an animated discussion of thesubject, and the more they talked of it, the better they liked it. Theyvery soon moulded the idea into regular form: and, as there was no timeto be lost, they set out to call on several of their friends, andmention it to them.
The idea, novel as it seemed, was seized on with avidity by all to whomit was suggested, and a secret conclave was held on the followingmorning at Miss Mandeville's house, where the ladies debated with closeddoors, while the plan was organized and the particulars arranged: ourheroine proposing much that she thought would "point the moral and adornthe tale."
Next day, notes of invitation to a ball given by the ladies, were sentround to the gentlemen; all of whom were surprised, and many mortified,for they at once saw the motive, and understood the implied reproof.Some protested that they should never have courage to go, and talked ofdeclining the
invitation. But the majority decided on accepting it,justly concluding that it was best to carry the thing off with a goodgrace; and having, besides, much curiosity to see how the ladies would_conduct_, if we may be pardoned a Yankeeism.
Fitzsimmons declared that the delinquent beaux were rightly punished bythis palpable hit of the belles. And he congratulated himself on havingalways voted in favour of the ball being given as formerly: secretlyhoping that Miss Mandeville knew that _he_ had not been one of thebacksliders. We are tolerably sure that she _did_ know it.
Eventually the invitations were all accepted, and the preparations wentsecretly but rapidly on, under the superintendence of Miss Mandevilleand Miss Delwin. In the mean time, the gentlemen, knowing that they alllooked conscious and foolish, avoided the ladies, and kept themselves asmuch out of their sight as possible; with the exception of GordonFitzsimmons, he being the only one that felt freedom to "wear his beaverup."
At length the eventful evening arrived. It had been specified in thenotes that the ladies were to meet the gentlemen at the ball-room, whichwas a public one engaged for the occasion. Accordingly, the beaux foundall the belles there before them: the givers of the _fete_ having gonein their own conveyances, an hour in advance of the time appointed fortheir guests.
The six ladies that officiated as managers (and were all distinguishedby a loop of blue riband drawn through their belts) met the gentlemen atthe door as they entered the ball-room, and taking their hands,conducted them to their seats with much mock civility. The gentlemen,though greatly ashamed, tried in vain to look grave.
The room was illuminated with astral lamps, whose silver rays shone outfrom clusters of blue and purple flowers, and with crystal chandeliers,whose pendent drops sparkled amid festoons of roses. The walls werepainted of a pale and beautiful cream colour. Curtains of the richestcrimson, relieved by their masses of shadow the brilliant lightness ofthe other decorations: their deep silken fringes reflected in themirrors, whose polished surfaces were partially hidden by folds of theirgraceful drapery. The orchestra represented a splendid oriental tent;and the musicians were habited in uniform Turkish dresses, their whiteturbans strikingly contrasting their black faces.
At the opposite end of the room was an excellent transparency, executedby an artist from a sketch by Miss Mandeville. It depicted a medley ofscenery and figures, but so skilfully and tastefully arranged as to havea very fine effect when viewed as a whole. There was a Virginian ladyassisting her cavalier to mount his horse--a Spanish damsel under thelattice of her lover, serenading him with a guitar--a Swiss _paysanne_supporting the steps of a chamois hunter as he timidly clambered up arock--four Hindoo women carrying a Bramin in a palanquin--an Englishgirl rowing a sailor in a boat--and many other anomalies of a similardescription. Beneath the picture was a scroll fancifully ornamented, andcontaining the words "_Le monde renverse_."
That nothing might be wanting to the effect of the ball, the ladies hadmade a point of appearing this evening in dresses unusually splendid and_recherche_. The elegant form of Lucinda Mandeville was attired in arich purple satin, bordered with gold embroidery, and trimmed round theneck with blond lace. Long full sleeves of the same material threwtheir transparent shade over her beautiful arms, and were confined atintervals with bands of pearls clasped with amethysts. A chain of pearlswas arranged above the curls of her dark and glossy hair, crossing atthe back of her head, and meeting in front, where it terminated in asplendid amethyst aigrette. Three short white feathers, tastefullydisposed at intervals, completed the coiffure, which was peculiarlybecoming to the noble and resplendent style of beauty that distinguishedour heroine; though to a little slight woman with light hair and eyes,it would have been exactly the contrary.
"Did you ever see so princess-like a figure as Miss Mandeville?" saidyoung Rainsford to Gordon Fitzsimmons, "or features more finelychiselled?"
"I have never seen a princess," replied Fitzsimmons, "but from what Ihave heard, few of them look in reality as a princess should. Neither, Ithink, does the word _chiselled_ apply exactly to features, formed by ahand beside whose noble and beautiful creations the finest _chefd'oeuvres_ of sculpture are as nothing. I like not to hear of thehuman face being _well cut_ or _finely chiselled_: though theseexpressions have long been sanctioned by the currency of fashion. Whyborrow from art a term, or terms, that so imperfectly defines the beautyof nature? When we look at a living face, with features more lovely thanthe imagination of an artist has ever conceived, or at a complexionblooming with health, and eyes sparkling with intelligence, why shouldour delight and our admiration be disturbed, by admitting any ideaconnected with a block of marble and the instruments that form it intoshape?"
"But you must allow," said Rainsford, "that Miss Mandeville has a fineclassic head."
"I acknowledge," said Fitzsimmons, "the graceful contour of the headscalled classic. On this side of the Atlantic we have few opportunitiesof judging of antique sculpture, except from casts and engravings. Butas to the faces of the nymphs and goddesses of Grecian art, I mustventure to confess that they do not exactly comport with my ideas offemale loveliness. Not to speak of their almost unvarying sameness (anevidence, I think, that they are not modelled from life, for naturenever repeats herself), their chief characteristics are a coldregularity of outline, and an insipid straightness of nose and forehead,such as in a living countenance would be found detrimental to allexpression. I know I am talking heresy: but I cannot divest myself ofthe persuasion, that a face with precisely the features that we areaccustomed to admire in antique statuary, would, if clothed in flesh andblood, be scarcely considered beautiful."
"Perhaps so," said Rainsford; "but you surely consider Miss Mandevillebeautiful?"
"The beauty of Lucinda Mandeville," replied Fitzsimmons, "is not that ofa Grecian statue. It is the beauty of an elegant American lady, unitingall the best points of her countrywomen. Her figure is symmetry itself,and there is an ease, a grace, a dignity in her movements, which I havenever seen surpassed. Her features are lovely in their form and charmingin their expression, particularly her fine black eyes: and hercomplexion is unrivalled both in its bloom and its delicacy."
"What a pity that Lucinda does not hear all this!" remarked Miss Delwin,who happened to be near Fitzsimmons and his friend.
Fitzsimmons coloured, fearing that he had spoken with too much warmth:and, bowing to Miss Delwin, he took the arm of Rainsford, and went toanother part of the room.
Miss Delwin, however, lost no time in finding Lucinda, and repeated thewhole, verbatim, to her highly gratified friend, who tried to lookindifferent, but blushed and smiled all the time she was listening: andwho, from this moment, felt a sensible accession to her usual excellentspirits.
"Ladies," said Miss Delwin, "choose your partners for a cotillion."
For a few moments the ladies hesitated, and held back at the idea of sonovel a beginning to the ball: and Fitzsimmons, much amused, made a signto his friends not to advance. Miss Mandeville came forward with a smileon her lips, and a blush on her cheeks. The heart of Fitzsimmons beatquick; but she passed him, and curtsying to young Colesberry, who wasjust from college, and extremely diffident, she requested the honour ofhis hand, and led him, with as much composure as she could assume, to acotillion that was forming in the centre of the room; he shrinking andapologizing all the while. And Miss Delwin engaged Fitzsimmons.
In a short time, all the ladies had provided themselves with partners.At first, from the singularity of their mutual situation, both beaux andbelles felt themselves under considerable embarrassment, but graduallythis awkwardness wore away, and an example being set by the masterspirits of the assembly, there was much pleasantry on either side; allbeing determined to humour the jest, and sustain it throughout with asgood a grace as possible.
When the cotillions were forming for the second set, nearly a dozenyoung ladies found themselves simultaneously approaching GordonFitzsimmons, each with the design of engaging him as a partner. And this_empressement_ was not surprisin
g, as he was decidedly the handsomestand most elegant man in the room.
"Well, ladies," said Fitzsimmons, as they almost surrounded him, "youmust decide among yourselves which of you is to take me out. All I cando is to stand still and be passive. But I positively interdict anyquarrelling about me."
"We have heard," said Miss Atherley, "of men dying of love, dying ofgrief, and dying from fear of death. We are now trying if it is notpossible to make them die of vanity."
"True," replied Fitzsimmons, "we may say with Harry the Fifth atAgincourt--'He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,'"--"'Willstand a-tiptoe when this day is named,'"--added Miss Atherley, finishingthe quotation.
Fitzsimmons did not reply; for his attention was at that moment engagedby seeing Miss Manderville leading out Apesley Sappington, andapparently much diverted with his absurdities.
"Ladies," said Miss Atherley, looking round to her companions, "let ustry a fair chance of Mr. Fitzsimmons--suppose we draw lots for him."
"Do--by all means," exclaimed Fitzsimmons. "Set me up at a raffle."
"No," replied Miss Atherley, "we cannot conveniently raffle for you, aswe have no dice at hand. Another way will do as well."
She then plucked from her bouquet some green rose-leaves, and halfconcealing them between her fingers, she offered the stems to each ofher companions in turn, saying--"Whoever draws the largest rose-leaf mayclaim the honour of Mr. Fitzsimmons's hand for the next set."
The lots were drawn, and the largest rose-leaf remained with MissAtherley (who was a young lady of much beauty and vivacity), and whomher friends laughingly accused of foul play in contriving to hold itback, in which opinion Fitzsimmons assured them that he perfectlycoincided. But Miss Atherley, however, led him triumphantly to thecotillion which, fortunately for his partner, did not happen to be theone in which Lucinda Mandeville was engaged.
At the conclusion of each set, the ladies conducted the gentlemen totheir seats, assisted them to the refreshments that were handed round,and stood by and fanned them. Most of the gentlemen took all this verywell, but others were much disconcerted: particularly a graveknight-errant-looking Spaniard, who (having but lately arrived, andunderstanding the language but imperfectly) conceived that it was thecustom in America for ladies to give balls to gentlemen, and to wait onthem during the evening. In this error he was mischievously allowed tocontinue: but so much was his gallantry shocked, that he could notforbear dropping on his knees to receive the attentions that wereassiduously proffered to him: bowing gratefully on the fair hands thatpresented him with a glass of orgeat or a plate of ice-cream.--And hewas so overcome with the honour, and so deeply penetrated with a senseof his own unworthiness, when Lucinda Mandeville invited him to dancewith her, that she almost expected to see him perform kotou, and knockhis head nine times against the floor.
Among others of the company was Colonel Kingswood, a very agreeablebachelor, long past the meridian of life, but not quite old enough tomarry a young girl, his mind, as yet, showing no symptoms of dotage. Hisfortune was not sufficient to make him an object of speculation, andthough courteous to all, his attentions were addressed exclusively tonone. He was much liked by his young friends of both sexes, all of themfeeling perfectly at ease in his society. Though he rarely danced, hewas very fond of balls, and had participated in the vexation of GordonFitzsimmons when the beaux had declined giving their Christmas fete tothe belles.
In an interval between the sets, Lucinda suggested to a group of herfair companions, the propriety of asking Colonel Kingswood to dance; acompliment that he had not as yet received during the evening. "Youknow," said she, "the Colonel sometimes dances, and now that the ladieshave assumed the privilege of choosing their partners, courtesy requiresthat none of the gentlemen should be neglected."
But each declined asking Colonel Kingswood, on the plea that they hadother partners in view.
"For my part," said Miss Ormond, frankly, "I am just going to ask Mr.Wyndham. This is, perhaps, the only chance I shall ever have of dancingwith him, as I am quite certain he will never ask _me_."
"But, my dear Lucinda," said Miss Elgrove, "why not invite ColonelKingswood yourself? There he is, talking to Mr. Fitzsimmons, near thecentral window. It is not magnanimous to propose to others what you areunwilling to do in _propria persona_."
Lucinda had, in reality, but one objection to proposing herself as apartner to Colonel Kingswood, and that was, his being just then engagedin conversation with Gordon Fitzsimmons, whom she felt a sort ofconscious reluctance to approach. However, she paused a moment, and thensummoned courage to join the two gentlemen and proffer her request tothe Colonel, even though Fitzsimmons was close at hand.
"My dear Miss Mandeville," said Colonel Kingswood, "I confess that Ihave not courage to avail myself of your very tempting proposal. As myfighting days are now over, I cannot stand the shot of the jealous eyesthat will be directed at me from every part of the ball-room."
"I have seen you dance," remarked Lucinda, evading the application ofhis compliment.
"True," replied the Colonel, "but you might have observed that I nevertake out the _young_ ladies--always being so considerate as to leavethem to the young gentlemen. I carry my disinterestedness so far asinvariably to select partners that are _ni jeune, ni jolie_:notwithstanding the remarks I frequently hear about well-matched pairs,&c."
"I am to understand, then," said Lucinda, "that you are mortifying me bya refusal."
"Come, now, be honest," returned Colonel Kingswood, "and change the word'mortify' into _gratify_. But do not turn away. It is customary, youknow, when a man is drawn for the militia and is unwilling to serve, toallow him to choose a substitute. Here then is mine. Advance, Mr.Fitzsimmons, and with such a partner I shall expect to see you 'risefrom the ground like feather'd Mercury.'"
Fitzsimmons came forward with sparkling eyes and a heightened colour,and offered his hand to Lucinda, whose face was suffused even to thetemples. There were a few moments of mutual confusion, and neither partyuttered a word till they had reached the cotillion. The music commencedas soon as they had taken their places, and Lucinda being desired by heropposite lady to lead, there was no immediate conversation.
Our heroine called up all her pride, all her self-command, and all hernative buoyancy of spirits; Fitzsimmons did the same, and they managedin the intervals of the dance to talk with so much vivacity, that eachwas convinced that their secret was still preserved from the other.
When the set was over, they returned to the place in which they had leftColonel Kingswood, who received them with a smile.
"Well, Miss Mandeville," said he, "what pretty things have you beensaying to your partner?"
"Ask Mr. Fitzsimmons," replied Lucinda.
"Not a single compliment could I extract from her," said Fitzsimmons;"she had not even the grace to imply her gratitude for doing me thehonour of dancing with me, or rather, for my doing her the honour. Ah!that is it--is it not? I forgot the present mode of expression. It is sodifficult for one night only to get out of the old phraseology. But shecertainly expressed no gratitude."
"I owed you none," replied Lucinda; "for, like Malvolio, you have hadgreatness thrust upon you. You know you are only Colonel Kingswood'ssubstitute."
"Well," resumed Fitzsimmons, "have I not done my best to make 'thesubstitute shine brightly as the king?'"
"Recollect that the king is now by," said Colonel Kingswood. "But, MissMandeville, you must go through your part. Consider that to-night is theonly opportunity the gentlemen may ever have of hearing how adroitly theladies can flatter them."
"It is not in the bond," replied Lucinda.
"What is not?"
"That the ladies should flatter the gentlemen."
"Excuse me," said Colonel Kingswood; "the ladies having voluntarilytaken the responsibility, the gentlemen must insist on their goingregularly through the whole ball with all its accompaniments, includingcompliments, flattery, and flirtation, and a seasoning of genuinecourtship, of which last arti
cle there is always more or less at everylarge party. And as it appears that Miss Mandeville has not faithfullydone her part during the dance, she must make amends by doing it now."
"On the latter subject," said Fitzsimmons, "Miss Mandeville can need noprompting. Her own experience must have made her familiar with courtshipin all its varieties."
"Of course,"--resumed the Colonel.--"So, Miss Mandeville, you can be atno loss in what manner to begin."
"And am I to stand here and be courted?" said Fitzsimmons.
"Now do not be frightened," observed the Colonel, "and do not look roundas if you were meditating an escape. I will stand by and see how youacquit yourself in this new and delightful situation. Come, MissMandeville, begin."
"What sort of courtship will you have?" said Lucinda, who could notavoid laughing. "The sentimental, the prudential, or the downright?"
"The downright, by all means," cried the Colonel. "No, no," saidFitzsimmons; "let me hear the others first. The downright would be toooverwhelming without a previous preparation."
Lucinda affected to hide her face with a feather that had fallen fromher head during the dance, and which she still held in her hand, and sheuttered hesitatingly and with downcast eyes--
"If I could hope to be pardoned for my temerity in thus presuming toaddress one whose manifest perfections so preponderate in the scale,when weighed against my own demerits--"
"Oh! stop, stop!" exclaimed Fitzsimmons; "this will never do!"
"Why, it is just the way a poor young fellow courted me last summer,"replied Lucinda. "Come, let me go on. Conscious as I am that I might aswell 'love a bright and particular star, and think to wed it--'"
"You will never succeed in that strain," said Fitzsimmons, laughing."You must try another."
"Well, then," continued Lucinda, changing her tone, "here is theprudential mode. Mr. Gordon Fitzsimmons, thinking it probable (though Ispeak advisedly) that you may have no objection to change yourcondition, and believing (though perhaps I may be mistaken) that we aretolerably well suited to each other--I being my own mistress, and youbeing your own master--perceiving no great disparity of age, orincompatibility of temper--"
"I like not this mode either," interrupted Fitzsimmons; "it is worsethan the other."
"Do you think so?" resumed Lucinda. "It is just the way a rich oldfellow courted me last winter."
"Nothing is more likely," said Fitzsimmons. "But neither of these modeswill succeed with me."
"Then," observed the Colonel, "there is nothing left but the plaindownright."
"Mr. Fitzsimmons, will you marry me?" said Lucinda.
"With all my heart and soul," replied Fitzsimmons, taking her hand.
"Oh! you forget yourself," exclaimed Lucinda, struggling to withdraw it."You are not half so good a comedian as I am. You should look down, andplay with your guard-chain; and then look up, and tell me you areperfectly happy in your single state--that marriage is a lottery--thatour acquaintance has been too slight for either of us to form a correctopinion of the other. In short, you should say _no_."
"By heavens!" exclaimed Fitzsimmons, kissing her beautiful hand; "Icannot say no--even in jest."
Lucinda's first sensation was involuntary delight. But in a moment shewas startled by the conviction that she had unthinkingly gone too far.The native delicacy of woman thrilled every nerve in her frame, and hercheeks varied alternately from red to pale. Shocked at the length towhich she had inadvertently carried a dialogue begun in _badinage_, andconfused, mortified, and distressed at its result, she forciblydisengaged her hand from that of Fitzsimmons, and turning to a lady andgentleman that she saw passing, she said she would accompany them to theother end of the room. Arrived there, she seated herself in the midst ofa group that were warmly engaged in discussing the comparative merits ofSpanish dances and Polish dances: and she endeavoured to collect herscattered thoughts, and compose the flutter of her spirits. But it wasin vain--the more she reflected on the little scene that had just takenplace, the more she regretted it.
"What must Fitzsimmons think of me?" was her predominant idea. "Hisgallantry as a gentleman prompted his reply, but still how sadly I musthave sunk in his opinion! That I should have allowed myself to be drawninto such a conversation! That I should have carried a foolish jest sofar! But I will punish myself severely. I will expiate my folly byavoiding all farther intercourse with Gordon Fitzsimmons; and from thisnight we must become strangers to each other."
The change in Lucinda's countenance and manner was now so obvious thatseveral of her friends asked her if she was ill. To these questions sheanswered in the negative: but her cheeks grew paler, and the tearssprang to her eyes.
Miss Delwin now approached, and said to her in a low voice--"My dearLucinda, I perceive that you are suffering under some _contre-tems_; butsuch things, you know, are always incidental to balls, and all otherassemblages where every one expects unqualified delight. We should beprepared for these contingencies, and when they do occur, the onlyalternative is to try to pass them over as well as we can, by making aneffort to rally our spirits so as to get through the remainder of theevening with apparent composure, or else to plead indisposition and gohome. Which course will you take?"
"Oh! how gladly would I retire!" exclaimed Lucinda, scarcely able torestrain her tears. "But were I to do so, there are persons who mightput strange constructions--or rather the company might be induced tomake invidious remarks--"
"By no means," interrupted Miss Delwin. "A lady may at any time beovercome with the heat and fatigue of a ball-room--nothing is morecommon."
"But," said Lucinda, "were I to leave the company--were I to appear asif unable to stay--were I to evince so much emotion--he would, indeed,suppose me in earnest."
"He!" cried Miss Delwin, looking surprised. "Of whom are you speaking,dear Lucinda? Who is it that would suppose you in earnest?"
"No matter," replied Lucinda, "I spoke inadvertently; I forgot myself; Iknew not what I was saying."
"Dearest Lucinda," exclaimed Miss Delwin, "I am extremely sorry to findyou so discomposed. What can have happened? At a more convenient time,may I hope that you will tell me?"
"Oh! no, no," replied Lucinda, "it is impossible. I cannot speak of iteven to you. Ask me no further. I am distressed, humiliated, shocked atmyself (and she covered her face with her hands). But I cannot talkabout it, now or ever."
"Lucinda, my dear Lucinda," said Miss Delwin, "your agitation will beobserved."
"Then I must endeavour to suppress it," replied Lucinda, starting up. "I_must_ stay till this unfortunate ball is over; my going home would seemtoo pointed."
"Let me then intreat you, my dear girl," said Miss Delwin, "to exertyourself to appear as usual. Come, take my arm, and we will go and talknonsense to Apesley Sappington."
Lucinda did make an effort to resume her usual vivacity. But it wasevidently forced. She relapsed continually: and she resembled an actressthat is one moment playing with her wonted spirit, and the next momentforgetting her part.
"So," said Colonel Kingswood to Fitzsimmons, after Lucinda had left themtogether, "I am to infer that you are are really in love with MissMandeville?"
"Ardently--passionately--and I long to tell her so in earnest," repliedFitzsimmons; and he took up the feather that Lucinda in her agitationhad dropped from her hand.
"Of course, then, you will make your proposal to-morrow morning," saidthe colonel.
"No," replied Fitzsimmons, concealing the feather within the breast ofhis coat. "I cannot so wound her delicacy. I see that she isdisconcerted at the little scene into which we inadvertently drew her,and alarmed at the idea that perhaps she allowed herself to go too far.I respect her feelings, and I will spare them. But to me she has longbeen the most charming woman in existence."
"What, then," inquired the colonel, "has retarded the disclosure of yoursecret, if secret it may be called?"
"Her superiority in point of fortune," replied Fitzsimmons. "You knowthe small amount of property left me by my
father, and that in myprofession I am as yet but a beginner; though I must own that myprospects of success are highly encouraging. To say nothing of myrepugnance to reversing the usual order of the married state, anddrawing the chief part of our expenditure from the money of my wife, howcould I expect to convince her that my motives in seeking her hand wereotherwise than mercenary?"
"Are they?" said Colonel Kingswood, with a half smile.
"No, on my soul they are not," replied Fitzsimmons, earnestly. "Were oursituations reversed, I would, without a moment's hesitation, lay allthat I possessed at her feet, and think myself the most honoured, themost fortunate of men if I could obtain a gem whose intrinsic valuerequires not the aid of a gold setting."
"Do you suppose, then," said Colonel Kingswood, "that a lovely andelegant woman like Miss Lucinda Mandeville can have so humble an opinionof herself as to suppose that she owes all her admirers to her wealth,and that there is nothing attractive about her but her bank-stock andher houses?"
"Since I first knew Miss Mandeville," replied Fitzsimmons, "I havesecretly cherished the hope of being one day worthy of her acceptance.And this hope has incited me to be doubly assiduous in my profession,with the view of ultimately acquiring both wealth and distinction. Andwhen I have made a name, as well as a fortune, I shall have no scruplesin offering myself to her acceptance."
"And before all this is accomplished," observed the colonel, "some luckyfellow, with a ready-made fortune, and a ready-made name, or, moreprobably, some bold adventurer with neither, may fearlessly step in andcarry off the prize."
"There is madness in the thought!" exclaimed Fitzsimmons, putting hishand to his forehead.
"Did it never strike you before?" inquired the colonel.
"It has, it has," cried Fitzsimmons; "a thousand times has it passedlike a dark cloud over the sunshine of my hopes."
"Take my advice," said the colonel, "and address Miss Mandeville atonce."
"Fool that I was!" exclaimed Fitzsimmons, "how could I be so utterlyabsurd--so devoid of all tact, as to reply to her unguarded _badinage_in a tone of reality! No wonder she looked so disconcerted, so shocked.At this moment, how she must hate me!"
"I am not so sure of that," observed the colonel; "but take my advice,and let the _etourderie_ of this evening be repaired by the opening itaffords you of disclosing your real feelings to the object of yourlove."
"I cannot," replied Fitzsimmons, "I cannot, after what has passed, runthe risk of giving farther offence to her delicacy."
"Her delicacy," remarked the colonel, "may be more deeply offended byyour delaying the disclosure. But we must separate for the present. IfMiss Mandeville sees us talking together so earnestly, she may justlysuppose herself the object of discussion."
The two gentlemen parted; and Fitzsimmons, feeling it impossible tospeak to Lucinda again that evening, and having no inclination to talkto any one else, withdrew from the ball, and passed two hours intraversing his own room.
After the departure of her lover, Lucinda felt more at her ease;particularly as Colonel Kingswood was so considerate as to avoidapproaching her. During the remainder of the evening, she exertedherself with such success as to recall a portion of her naturalsprightliness, and of the habitual self-command that she had acquiredfrom living in the world of fashion.
Supper was announced. The ladies, persisting in their assumedcharacters, conducted the gentlemen to the table, where the profusionand variety of the delicacies that composed the feast, could only beequalled by the taste and elegance with which they were decorated andarranged. The belles filled the plates of the beaux, and poured out thewine for them; and many pretty things were said about ambrosia andnectar.
At the conclusion of the banquet, the band in the orchestra, on a signalfrom some of the gentlemen, struck up the symphony to a favourite airthat chiefly owes its popularity to the words with which Moore hasintroduced it into his melodies; and "To ladies' eyes a round, boys,"was sung in concert by all the best male voices in the room. The songwent off with much eclat, and made a pleasant conclusion to the evening.
After the belles had curtsied out the beaux, and retired to thecloak-room to equip themselves for their departure, they found thegentlemen all waiting to see them to their carriages, and assist inescorting them home: declaring that as the play was over, and thecurtain dropped, they must be allowed to resume their real characters.
When Lucinda Mandeville arrived at her own house, and found herselfalone in her dressing-room, all the smothered emotions of the eveningburst forth without restraint, and leaning her head on the arm of thesofa, she indulged in a long fit of tears before she proceeded to takeoff her ornaments. But when she went to her psyche for that purpose, shecould not help feeling that hers was not a face and figure to be seenwith indifference, and that in all probability the unguarded warmth withwhich Fitzsimmons had replied to her mock courtship, was only thegenuine ebullition of a sincere and ardent passion.
It was long before she could compose herself to sleep, and her dreamswere entirely of the ball and of Fitzsimmons. When she arose nextmorning, she determined to remain all day up stairs, and to see novisiters; rejoicing that the fatigue of the preceding evening wouldprobably keep most of her friends at home.
About noon, Gordon Fitzsimmons, who had counted the moments till then,sent up his card with a pencilled request to see Miss Mandeville.Terrified, agitated, and feeling as if she never again could raise hereyes to his face, or open her lips in his presence, Lucinda's firstthought was to reply that she was indisposed, but she checked herselffrom sending him such a message, first, because it was not exactly thetruth, and secondly, lest he should suppose that the cause of herillness might have some reference to himself. She therefore desired theservant simply to tell Mr. Fitzsimmons that Miss Mandeville couldreceive no visiters that day.
But Fitzsimmons was not now to be put off. He had been shown into one ofthe parlours, and going to the writing-case on the centre-table, he tooka sheet of paper, and addressed to her an epistle expressing in the mostardent terms his admiration and his love, and concluding with the hopethat she would grant him an interview. There was not, of course, theslightest allusion to the events of the preceding evening. The letterwas conceived with as much delicacy as warmth, and highly elevated thewriter in the opinion of the reader. Still, she hesitated whether to seehim or not. Her heart said yes--but her pride said no. And at length shemost heroically determined to send him a written refusal, not only ofthe interview but of himself, that in case he should have dared topresume that the unfortunate scene at the ball could possibly have meantanything more than a jest, so preposterous an idea might be banishedfrom his mind for ever.
In this spirit she commenced several replies to his letter, but found itimpossible to indite them in such terms as to satisfy herself; and,after wasting half a dozen sheets of paper with unsuccessful beginnings,she committed them all to the fire. Finally, she concluded that shecould explain herself more effectually in a personal interview, whateverembarrassment the sight of him might occasion her. But not being able atthis time to summon courage to meet him face to face, she sent down anote of three lines, informing Mr. Fitzsimmons that she would see him inthe evening at seven o'clock.
Several of Lucinda's friends called to talk about the ball, but sheexcused herself from seeing them, and passed the remainder of the day upstairs, in one long thought of Fitzsimmons, and in dwelling on thepainful idea that the avowal of his sentiments had, in all probability,been elicited by her indiscretion of the preceding evening. "But," saidshe to herself, "I will steadily persist in declining his addresses; Iwill positively refuse him, for unless I do so, I never can recover myown self-respect. I will make this sacrifice to delicacy, and even thenI shall never cease to regret my folly in having allowed myself to becarried so far in the thoughtless levity of the moment."
Being thus firmly resolved on dismissing her admirer, it is not to besupposed that Lucinda could attach the smallest consequence to lookingwell that evening, during wh
at she considered their final interview.Therefore we must, of course, attribute to accident the length of timeshe spent in considering which she should wear of two new silk dresses;one being of the colour denominated _ashes of roses_--the other of thetint designated as _monkey's sighs_. Though ashes of roses seemedemblematic of an extinguished flame, yet monkey's sighs bore more directreference to a rejected lover, which, perhaps, was the reason that shefinally decided on it. There was likewise a considerable demur about acanezou and a pelerine, but eventually the latter carried the day. Andit was long, also, before she could determine on the most becoming styleof arranging her hair, wavering between plaits and braids. At last thebraids had it.
Mr. Fitzsimmons was announced a quarter before seven, his watch beingundoubtedly too fast. Lucinda came down in ill-concealed perturbation,repeating to herself, as she descended the stairs, "Yes--my rejection ofhim shall be positive--and my adherence to it firm and inexorable."
Whether it was so we will not presume to say, but this much iscertain--that in a month from that time the delinquent gentlemen madethe _amende honorable_ by giving the ladies a most splendid ball, atwhich the _ci-devant_ Miss Mandeville and Mr. Gordon Fitzsimmons madetheir first appearance in public as bride and bridegroom, to the greatdelight of Colonel Kingswood.