The Child Wife

She knew of my lord’s late arrival – from Canada he had told her – though he had paid a flying visit to New York.

She hoped no one in the ball-room would recognise him – at least not till after she had paraded him with her own party, and could assume the seeming of his introducer.

She had still stronger reason for this. Storekeeper’s widow, as she was, she possessed the true tact of the match-making mother. It belongs to no clime exclusively; no country. It can be as well acquired in New York as in London, Vienna, or Paris. She was a believer in first impressions – with the “compromises” that often spring from them; and in this theory – with the view of putting it into practice – she had instructed her dear Julia while dressing her for the ball.

The daughter had promised compliance. Who wouldn’t, with the prospect of earning twenty thousand dollars’ worth of diamonds?

Chapter Ten.

A Previous Engagement

In all the gradations of the thermal line, is there any atmosphere more unbearable than that of a ball-room before the dancing commences?

It is the very essence of discomfort.

What a relief when the baton of the conductor is seen elevated over his acolytes, and those strains, proverbially soothing to the savage, resound through the glittering saloon!

It was a relief to Mrs Girdwood and her girls. They had begun to fancy themselves too much observed. At least Julia had, half suspecting herself of being the subject of a cynical criticism, which she did not think of attributing to her diamonds.

She was burning with an ill-repressed spleen, by no means diminished as the sets commenced forming, and no one came forward to claim either herself or her cousin.

At that moment appeared a man whose presence changed the current of her thoughts. It was Maynard.

In spite of her mother’s precautionary counsels, Miss Girdwood could not look upon this gentleman with indifference. To say nothing of what had passed between them, a glance satisfied her that there was no handsomer man in the room, or likely to come into it.

He was approaching from the entrance, apparently making his way toward the Girdwood group.

Julia wondered whether he was going to join them. She hoped that he would.

“I suppose I may dance with him, mother – that is, if he asks me?”

“Not yet, my dear, not yet. Wait a little longer. His lordship – Mr Swinton – may come in at any moment. You must have the first with him. I wonder why he’s not here,” pursued the impatient parent, for the tenth time raising her eye-glass and taking a survey of the saloon. “I suppose it’s not fashionable for men of rank to come in early. No matter, Julia; you must reserve yourself till the last moment.”

But the last moment had now arrived. The introductory piece had been played and was succeeded by the hum of half-whispered voices, and the rustling of silk dresses – by that movement which precedes the taking of places – gentlemen gliding in short stages across the slippery floor, formally bending in front of expanded skirts, and mincing out the well-known speech, “May I have the pleasure?” Then a momentary show of irresolution on the part of the lady, perhaps the consulting of a slip of cardboard, an inclination of the head so slight as to be scarce observable, a rising to the feet, with the greatest apparent reluctance, and lastly the acceptance of the offered arm, as if conferring the supremest of favours!

Neither of the young ladies under Mrs Girdwood’s care had been yet called upon to take part in this pantomime. Certainly the stewards were not doing their duty. There were no finer-looking girls in the room, and there were scores of gentlemen who would have been delighted to dance with them. Their standing neglected could be only an accidental oversight.

The storekeeper’s widow began to find it disagreeable. She felt inclined to be less exacting about the description of partners. As there was no lord in sight, the ex-officer would not be much longer objected to.

“Does he intend coming at all?” she reflected, thinking of Swinton.

“Does he intend coming to us?” was the reflection of Julia, her thoughts dwelling upon Maynard.

Her eyes, too, were on him. He was still approaching, though slowly. He was hindered by the hurrying couples as they took position on the floor. But she could see that he was looking toward them – herself and cousin – where they stood.

He evidently approached with an air of indecision, his glance appearing to interrogate them.

It must have been met by one of encouragement, for his demeanour became suddenly changed and stepping up to the two young ladies, he saluted them with a bow.

By both the salutation was returned, perhaps more cordially than he had been expecting.

Both appeared to be still unengaged. To which ought he to offer himself? He knew which he would have chosen, but there was a question of etiquette.

As it turned out, there was no question of choice.

“Julia, my dear,” said Mrs Girdwood, presenting a very stylishly-dressed individual, who had just been given in charge to her by one of the stewards. “I hope you have not engaged yourself for the quadrille? I’ve promised you to this gentleman. Mr Smithson – my daughter.”

Julia glanced at Smithson, and then looked as if she wished him far enough.

But she had not engaged herself, and was therefore compelled to accept.

Lest a second Mr Smithson should be trotted up, Maynard hastened to secure Cornelia, and led her off to form “opposite couple.”

Seemingly satisfied with the disposal thus made, Mrs Girdwood retired to a seat.

Her contentment was of short continuance. She had scarce touched the cushion, when she saw coming towards her a gentleman of distinguished appearance, in straw kids. It was his lordship incog.

She started back to her feet, and glanced across the room toward the square that contained her girls. She looked interrogatively, then despairingly. It was too late. The quadrille had commenced. Mr Smithson was doing “right and left” with her daughter. Confound Mr Smithson!

“Aw, madam! How’d do, again? Ball begun, I pawceive; and I’m cut out of the kadwille.”

“It is true, Mr Swinton; you’ve come in a little late, sir.”

“What a baw! I pwesume yaw young ladies are disposed of?”

“Yes; they are dancing over yonder.”

Mrs Girdwood pointed them out. Adjusting his eye-glass, Mr Swinton looked across the room. His eye wandered in search of Mrs Girdwood’s daughter. He did not think of the niece. And his inquiry was directed more to Julia’s partner than herself.

A single look seemed to satisfy him. Mr Smithson was not the man to make him uneasy.

“I hope, madam,” he said, turning to the mother, “I hope Miss Girdwood has not filled up her cawd for the evening?”

“Oh, certainly not, sir!”

“Pewaps for the next – I pawceive by the pawgwam a valz – pwaps I might have the honour of valzing with her? May I bespeak yaw influence in my behalf; that is, if there be no pwevious engagement?”

“I know there is none. I can promise you that, sir; my daughter will no doubt be most happy to waltz with you.”

“Thanks, madam! A thousand thanks?”

And, this point settled, the amiable nobleman continued to talk to the relict of the retail storekeeper with as much amiability as if she had been his equal in rank.

Mrs Girdwood was delighted with him. How much superior this sprig of true British nobility to the upstart bloods of New York or Boston! Neither the Old Dominion, nor South Carolina itself, could produce such a charming creature! What a rare stroke of good fortune to have chanced so timeously across him! Blessings upon the head of that “Stoopid fellaw, Fwank!” as his lordship had styled the little valet.

Frank was entitled to a present, which some day Mrs Girdwood had mentally determined upon giving him.

Julia engaged for the next! Certainly not! Nor the next, nor the next. She should dance with him all night long if he desired it. And if it were to be so, how she would like to be released from that promise, and let all Newport know that Mr Swinton was – a lord!