“Yes,” agreed his wife, “but Arthur Mickleby is too clumsy a partner for her.”
She saw that Mrs Underhill was quite alone, and went to her, sitting down beside her, and saying: “What do you think of the waltz, Mrs Underhill? My husband is in raptures over it, and thinks me very old-fashioned for not liking it as much as he does!”
“Well, I wouldn’t like to be seen dancing it myself,” said Mrs Underhill, “but I’m sure I never saw anything so pretty as the way Sir Waldo and Miss Trent glide and twirl about the room so elegantly! What has me in a puzzle is how she knows when he means to go down the room, and when he means to go round and round, for he don’t seem to push her or pull her, which you’d think he’d be obliged to, and which he certainly would be, if it was me he had his arm round!”
Mrs Chartley smiled. “They certainly dance very well together.”
“Ay, don’t they?” nodded Mrs Underhill, watching them complacently. “So well-matched as they are, Miss Trent being so tall, and the both of them so handsome! When she came downstairs this evening, with her hair dressed the way you see it, and that gown on, which she says she’s had laid up in lavender ever since she left the General’s house, though little would you think it, ‘Well,’ I said to her, ‘I declare I’ve never seen you in greater beauty!’ I said. And no more I have.” She lowered her voice, and added conspiratorially: “What’s more, Mrs Chartley, I wasn’t the only one to be knocked bandy! Oh, no! ‘With you or no one!’ he said, when she was telling him he should ask another lady to stand up with him!”
“Sir Waldo?” asked Mrs Chartley, startled.
“Sir Waldo!” corroborated Mrs Underhill, with immense satisfaction. “Mind you, it didn’t come as any surprise to me! A pea-goose I may be, which Mr Underhill was used to call me—joking me, you understand!—but I’ve got eyes in my head, and I don’t need to wear spectacles either! Nor I’m not such a pea-goose as to think it’s for the pleasure of my company that Sir Waldo comes to Staples as often as he does. I did think it was Tiffany he was dangling after, but it ain’t. Not but what he flirts with her: that I can’t deny. But, to my way of thinking, it’s no more than playfulness. It’s Miss Trent who brings him to Staples.”
Mrs Chartley was disquieted by this confidence; and after a moment’s hesitation, said: “That he should feel some degree of preference for Miss Trent is very understandable. To a certain extent they belong to the same world—the London world—and no doubt they have acquaintances in common. Then, too, she is not a girl, but a woman of five or six-and-twenty, with a well-informed mind, and the habits of easy intercourse which come with increasing years. She doesn’t want for sense, but when a man of Sir Waldo’s address and experience makes a woman the object of his gallantry—”
“Lor’, ma’am, whatever are you thinking of?” broke in Mrs Underhill. “It’s not marriage with the left hand he has in his mind! Not with her uncle being a General!”
“No, indeed! You mistake me! I meant only to say that it would be unwise to—to encourage Miss Trent to cherish what I am persuaded must be false hopes. Forgive me, dear ma’am, but I feel you are refining too much upon a mere flirtation!”
Mrs Underhill smiled indulgently at her. “Ay, well, he who lives the longest will see the most!” she prophesied.
Chapter 12
As she had looked forward to the ball with mixed feelings, so did Ancilla look back upon it. It had been with misgiving that she had accepted Lady Colebatch’s invitation, believing, with a sense of guilt, that in doing so she was allowing her desire to overcome the principles she had laid down for herself when she had first stepped deliberately out of her own sphere to become a schoolteacher.
It had been a hard decision to reach, for although her family was not affluent it was respected, and she had been accustomed all her life to move in the first circles of Hertfordshire. Her father’s death, coupled as it had been with unlucky investments, had left the family, not in penury, but in uncomfortably straitened circumstances, and no doubt existed in the minds of all those who were acquainted with the Trents that it was incumbent upon Ancilla to relieve her eldest brother of the burden of providing for her by contracting a suitable marriage. It was generally agreed that although she was then in her twenty-fourth year, and had no fortune, her case was not hopeless. She was very good-looking, with an air of distinction that always attracted attention; she was accomplished; her disposition was charming; though she was not vivacious she had a lively mind, and a witty tongue; and if she had rather too much reserve, and a composure that made her seem sometimes a little cold, her graceful manners always ensured her a welcome at any social function. It was a thousand pities she had not liked any of her admirers well enough to encourage their advances; but it was hoped that now, when she had been out for more than four years and must be fearful of dwindling into an old maid, she would not spurn a respectable offer.
That was what her aunt had hoped, when she had invited her to London for a whole season. Lady Trent, who was sincerely attached to her, had really done her best for her, introducing her to the ton, taking her to Almack’s, and even presenting her at one of the Queen’s Drawing-Rooms, but it had been to no avail. Ancilla would not marry where she did not love; and until she encountered the Nonesuch her heart had never experienced the smallest flutter.
Unwilling to marry, and resolved neither to add to the expenses of her brother’s household nor to hang upon her uncle’s sleeve, she had made her difficult decision, against the loudly expressed wishes of her family, and in the full realization that if she became a schoolmistress she would, to all intents and purposes, have renounced the world. It had been a hard duty, but she saw it as inescapable; and when she had accepted the post offered her by Miss Climping she had put the social life which she enjoyed behind her, and moulded herself into the form of a governess. By the time she had been fortunate enough to exchange her situation at Bath for the highly paid and privileged one which she now held she had thought herself inured to the disadvantages of her position. It had not been long before that position had become far more agreeable than she had ever supposed possible; but however much her kind employer might urge her to think herself one of the family, discretion, and a strong sense of propriety had prevented her from stepping across the invisible line she had drawn for herself. Her place was in the background, ready to fill a social need, but never putting herself forward. If Mrs Underhill were indisposed, she was perfectly willing to escort Tiffany to a party, where she took her place amongst the chaperones; but when, as had occasionally happened, she had herself received an invitation she had been steadfast in her refusal.
Until the arrival on the scene of the Nonesuch. Within a fortnight of their first meeting—or had it been within a minute?—he had destroyed her calm, undermined her resolution, and utterly demolished her comfort. She had believed herself to be a rational woman, with a well-regulated mind and a temperate disposition; but since his coming into Yorkshire she had swung from breathless happiness to doubt and despondency. Her heart had never previously opposed her mind: they seemed now to be in eternal conflict, the one warning her to take care, the other urging her to throw care and discretion to the wind.
Mind had suffered a severe set-back over the invitation to Lady Colebatch’s ball. The correct Miss Trent, who had long since outgrown her love of dancing, desperately wanted to go to the ball. Just this once! she pleaded. What harm can there he in it, when Mrs Underhill particularly wishes me to accept? I have too much sense to let it turn my head! Her well-regulated mind replied uncompromisingly: You have none at all. You want to go to this ball because Sir Waldo will be there, and if you had a grain of sense you would hint him away before he has ruined your peace.