Heart had won. She had gone to the ball, meaning to behave with the utmost circumspection; but no sooner had she dressed her hair in her former style than circumspection fled. She felt young again, as excited as a girl going to her first party, a little reckless.
The recklessness, encouraged by the lights and the laughter, and the music, had grown. She had retained enough prudence to demur when Sir Waldo had asked her to dance the first waltz with him, but none thereafter, she thought. She had felt the exquisite happiness of knowing herself to be sought after by the man of her choice; and when he had asked her to waltz with him a second time she had not hesitated. He had taken her in to supper, too; and when they had gone into the garden to watch the firework-display it had been he who had fetched her shawl, and put it round her shoulders. So heedless had she been, so lost in enchantment, that she had not spared a thought for what might be the opinions of the matrons who watched her so jealously, and was shocked when an acid comment from Mrs Banningham made her realize that she was considered by that lady, and some others too, to be setting her cap at the Nonesuch. She knew it to be spite, but she felt ready to sink; and when Lady Colebatch had said to her, laughingly: “All this dangerous flirting with Sir Waldo—! Fie on you, Miss Trent!” her enjoyment was at an end, and her fears and doubts again assailed her.
She knew herself to be inexperienced in love, and guessed that Sir Waldo was not. It was beyond question that he was strongly attracted to her, but whether he had anything but flirtation in mind she could not tell. When their eyes met, and he smiled, she thought that surely he could not look at her and smile just so if the feeling he had for her was not deeper and more enduring than a mere passing fancy. Then she remembered that she was not the only woman to be charmed by his smile; and wondered if she was flattering herself in believing that that particular smile was one which no one but she had seen. But it was rumoured that he had had many loves: she supposed that a squire of dames must necessarily possess the power of making one believe that he was very much in love with one.
Almost as painful as these doubts was the thought that by allowing the Nonesuch to single her out she, who had so often preached propriety to Tiffany, should herself have set the neighbourhood in a bustle. Her conduct must have been very bad, she thought, for even Courtenay had remarked on it, saying, with a grin: “Lord, ma’am, won’t Tiffany be as mad as fire to see the Nonesuch making up to you!”
But it had not entered Tiffany’s head that any man, far less a man of Sir Waldo’s consequence, could feel the smallest tendre for a governess. In talking over the ball she had spoken quite casually of Sir Waldo’s having danced two waltzes with Miss Trent, and disclosed, as a very good joke, that some of the old cats had taken snuff at it; because they fancied him to be dangling after her. “You and Sir Waldo, Ancilla—!” she gurgled, “I was very nearly in whoops, as you may imagine! Of all the absurdities!”
“I don’t think it would be at all absurd!” stated Charlotte belligerently. “Not nearly such an absurdity as for anyone to suppose that he was dangling after you! I suppose you’re jealous because he didn’t ask you to stand up with him first of all!”
“Oh, he couldn’t!” said Tiffany, with a saucy look. “Mr Calver was before him! He was obliged to wait for the second waltz with me! And poor Lindeth for the third!”
Miss Trent regarded her thoughtfully for a moment, before lowering her gaze again to the handkerchief she was hemming. She had not been so much absorbed in her own affairs as to have had no leisure to observe Tiffany’s behaviour at the ball. Being fairly well conversant with Tiffany’s methods of punishing and still further enslaving any member of her court who had displeased her, she had not been surprised when she had seen her at her dazzling best with all the admirers whose noses had been put out of joint by Lord Lindeth, raising melting eyes to Mr Calver’s face, and treating Lindeth with careless indifference. Miss Trent had been amused rather than shocked, for these tactics, she thought, betrayed Tiffany’s extreme youth. They might answer well enough with callow boys, but they were not at all likely to inspire Lindeth with anything but disgust. She hoped they would do so, but she hoped also that they were not as blatant to others as they were to her.
To one person they were perfectly obvious. Laurence Calver’s intellect was not superior, but he had a certain quickness of perception, and a decided talent for discovering scandals and frailties. He went to the ball suspecting that his cousin Lindeth had a considerable interest in the unknown Beauty, and it did not take him long to become convinced of this, or to realize that some tiff had occurred to rupture what had no doubt been a promising affaire.That was very interesting, and opened out all sorts of possibilities. The girl was a minx: bang-up to the echo, of course, but not at all the thing for Lindeth. Waldo must know that, so what was he doing to prevent such a shocking alliance? Or was he at a stand? And if so would he be grateful if his other cousin were to intervene? Yes, thought Laurence: if the thing were serious, he would be. It would be very amusing, and not at all difficult: the Beauty had already thrown out unmistakeable lures to him, and he was perfectly ready to accept these. No doubt she was on the catch for Lindeth; and no doubt either that she thought to bring him to the scratch by making him mad with jealousy. Possibly she would succeed in making him jealous—and that would be amusing too—but if she supposed that by flirting outrageously with another man she would goad Lindeth into popping the question she must be as bird-witted as she was beautiful. Too vulgar by half for young Julian!
All this was pleasantly intriguing. It was satisfactory too to have discovered why Waldo was lingering in this God-forsaken district: he had set up a new flirt. Not very like him to make a female who appeared to be some sort of a governess the object of his gallantry, but girls who were just out never took his fancy, and apart from them the only females in the neighbourhood seemed to be fussocks, like Lady Colebatch, or regular worricrows, like Mrs Banningham and the Squire’s wife.
Critically surveying Miss Trent, Laurence doubted whether she would prove a satisfactory flirt. Not striking au fait de beauté,and too much of a Long Meg for his taste, but a distinguished-looking woman: nothing of the dasher about her! If Waldo didn’t take care he’d find himself riveted, and a rare kettle of fish that would be! The last of the Hawkridges leg-shackled to a nobody who earned her bread by teaching provincial schoolgirls to write and to cipher and to stitch samplers! Devilish funny that would be! But it was odd of Waldo to raise false expectations. Come to think of it, all his flirts were married women of the world, well up to snuff; and he had some pretty Gothic notions about trifling with females on the catch for eligible husbands. Still odder that he shouldn’t have seen that this Long Meg of his was badly love-bitten.
Hot on the scent of this really succulent on-dit, Laurence sought information of his younger cousin, saying casually: “You didn’t tell me that Waldo had set up a new flirt. Who is she?”
Julian stared at him. “New flirt? Waldo?”
“Running rather sly, ain’t you?” drawled Laurence. “Tall female—somebody’s governess, I collect. Lord, Julian, do you take me for a flat?”
“Miss Trent! Good God, what next? New flirt, indeed! She’s Miss Wield’s companion: a most agreeable woman, but as for being Waldo’s flirt—! You should know him better!”