CHAPTER XVI.
WALTZ.
A little commotion about the door—a little mob of young men and boys—and a little spreading buzz and whisper—some hand-shakings—two or three introductions—then another buzz—and Bart made his way forward, with an air of being annoyed and bored and pushed forward as if to escape. He was under the inspiration of one of those sudden impulses upon which he acted, so sudden, often, as to seem not the result of mental process.
He discovered Mrs. Ford and Mrs. Markham, with Julia, Miss Walters, and several others, about them, whom he at once approached with the modest assurance of a thorough-bred gentleman, safe in the certainty of a gracious reception, and conscious of power to please. A happy word to the two or three who made way for him, and he stood bowing and smiling, and turning and bowing to each with the nice discriminating tact that rendered to all their due.
Mrs. Ford graciously extended her hand, which he took, and bowed very low over; she was nearest him. Mrs. Markham, in a pleased surprise, gave him hers, and its reception was, to her nice perception, even more profoundly acknowledged. To Miss Markham and Miss Walters precisely the same, with a little of the chivalrous devotion of a knight to acknowledged beauty.
"The fall and winter style prevails, I presume," he said, in gay banter, as if anticipating that their gloved hands were not to be touched.
"Your memory is good, Mr. Ridgeley," said Julia, with a little laugh and a little flush.
"Forgetfulness is not my weakness," he replied.
"I was not aware you knew Mrs. Ford," said Mrs. Markham, observing the little flutter in Julia's cheeks, and thinking there was a meaning in Bart's persiflage.
"Mrs. Ford and General Ford," he answered with much warmth, "have been so very, very kind to me, that I have presumed to claim her acquaintance, even here; but then, they have only known me three months," with affected despair.
"Well," said Mrs. Ford, "what of that?"
"I find you with those who have known me all my life," with a deprecating look towards Mrs. Markham.
"Well, Mr. Ridgeley, you are not deserving of forbearance at my hands, if I only knew of anything bad to say of you."
"What exquisite irony! May I be permitted to know which of my thousand faults is now specially remembered against me?"
"You have not permitted me, until this moment, even to speak to you since your return last summer."
"May I ask that you will permit that to stand with my other misdemeanors until some rare fortune enables me to atone for all at once?"
"And when will that be?"
"Oh!
In that blissful never,
When the Sundays come together,
When the sun and glorious weather
Wrap the earth in spring forever;
As in that past time olden,
Which poets call the golden."
Laughing.
"And so I have poetry, and inspire it myself—that is some compensation, certainly," said Mrs. Markham, smiling.
"I fear my verses have deepened my offence," said Bart, with affected gravity.
Kate Fisher intervened here: "Mr. Ridgeley, I have more cause for offence than even Mrs. Markham. Why didn't you come to my little party? I made it on your account."
"The offence was great," he answered, "but then staying away was ample punishment, as you must know."
"No, I don't know it. I know you weren't there, and your excuse was merely a regret, which always means one don't want to go."
"Oh, Mrs. Ford!" said Bart, "see what your coming here, or my coming here, exposes me to!"
"Have I heard the worst?"
"Well, you see, Mrs. Ford," said Kate, "that Mr. Ridgeley can waltz, and so can Miss Walters, and I made a little party to see them waltz, and he didn't come."
"That is grave. Will you leave it to me to pass judgment upon him?"
"I will."
"And do you submit, Mr. Ridgeley?"
"She's so very kind to you," remarked Mrs. Markham.
"I do," said the young man, "and will religiously perform the sentence."
"Well, it won't be a religious exercise—you are to waltz with Miss
Walters, now and here."
A little clapping of little hands marked the righteousness of the award.
"Mrs. Ford," observed the culprit, "your judgment, as usual, falls heaviest on the innocent. Miss Walters, it remains for you to say whether this sentence shall be executed. If you will permit me the honor, I shall undergo execution with an edifying resignation."
The smiling girl frankly placed her hand in his: "I should be sorry to prevent justice," she said, which was also applauded.
Major Ridgeley was spoken to, and it was understood that the next dance would be a waltz, which had never before been more than named in a Yankee ball-room, on the Reserve; and it was anticipated with curiosity, not unmixed with horror, by many.
The floor was cleared, a simple waltz air came from the band, and the pleased Miss Walters, in the arms of Barton, was whirled out from her mob of curious friends, on to and over the nearly vacant floor, the centre of all eyes, few of which had witnessed such a spectacle before. The music went on with its measured rise and fall, sweet and simple, and youth and maiden possessed with it, seemed to abandon themselves utterly to it, and were controlled and informed by it; with one impulse, one motion, and one grace, each contributing an exact proportion, they glided, circling; and while the maiden thus yielded and was sustained, her attitude, so natural, graceful and womanly, had nothing languishing, voluptuous or sensuous; a sweet, unconscious girl, inspired by music and the poetry and grace of its controlling power, in the dance. Miss Walters dearly loved to dance, and above all to waltz. She had rarely met a partner who so exactly suited her step and style, and who so helped the inspiration she was apt to feel.
Bart had had little practice as a waltzer, but natural grace, and the presence of ladies, usually brought him to his best; and it was not in nature, perhaps, that he should not receive some inspiration from the beautiful girl, half given to his embrace, and wholly to his guidance.
So around and around through the hushed and admiring throng they went, whirling, turning, advancing, retreating, rising and falling, swaying and sinking, yet always in unison, and in rhythmic obedience to the music.
Sometimes the music rose loud and rapid, and then languished to almost dying away; but whatever its movement or time, it was embodied and realized by the beautiful pair, in their sweeping, graceful motions. The maiden's face was wrapt with a sweet, joyous light in her half-shut eyes; his, pale, but lit up and softened in the lamp-light, seemed fairly beautiful, like a poet's.
"How beautiful!" "How exquisite!" from the ladies.
"What a dance for lovers!" said Mrs. Ford.
"They are lovers, are they not?" asked a lady from Warren.
"I think not," said Mrs. Markham, with a glance at Julia, who, never withdrawing her eyes, stood with lips slightly apart, and her face bright with unenvying admiration.
A little ripple—a murmur—and a decided clapping of hands around the room, with other sounds from the crowd at the entrance, marked the appreciation of the beautiful performance. The moment that this reached Barton, he led his delighted partner towards her group of friends, remarking: "Your admirers are sincere, Miss Walters, but too demonstrative, I fear."
"Oh, I don't mind it," said the straightforward girl.
"And I have to thank you for your courtesy to me," he went on, "and only hope that all my punishments may come in the same form."
"Mrs. Ford, is the judgment satisfied?"
"Satisfactory as far as you went, but then you did not serve out your time."
"Have consideration, I pray, for the minister of justice," bowing to
Miss Walters.
"She seemed rather to like it," said Mrs. Ford.
"Indeed I did!" and the young ladies gathered about to congratulate her, and cast admiring glances at her partner.
"Mr. Ridgeley," said Mrs. Markham, "I was not aware that you were an accomplished waltzer."
"You forget," Bart answered mockingly, "that I am travelled; and you know my only aptitude is for the useless."
"I did not say that."
"You are too kind. I sometimes supply words to obvious thoughts."
"And sometimes to those that have no existence."
The floor filled again, and the music struck up. Standing, a moment later, at a window, Julia saw a figure pass out, pause at the roadway, turn and look up. The full glare of the lamps revealed the face of Bart, from which the light had faded, and its beauty and spirit of expression had departed. He gazed for an instant up at the brilliant and joyous scene, where a moment before he had been a central and applauded figure, and then, muffling his face in his cloak, he turned away.
He had not intended to go, and sat melancholy through the darkness of the early night; but somehow, a hungry, intense longing came to him to go and look for a moment upon the loveliness of Julia, as she would stand open to the eyes of all, just for one moment, and then to go away. He felt that he ought not to do it, but he went. He could not help it.
When he reached the place, three miles away, he was annoyed by being recognized and pointed at, and talked at, on account of his late encounter with Grid.
"He ain't a powerful-lookin' chap." "I wouldn't be afeared o' him."
"He's a darned sight harder'n he looks," etc.
When he escaped into the ball-room, the impulse to go into the immediate presence of Julia was followed, and ended by as sudden a retreat. He had not known how utterly weak and helpless he was, and felt angry with himself that he could ever wish for the presence of one who had so scorned him. He was ashamed, also, that the music, the dance, and gay joyance of the scene he had just left, had still such a seductive charm for him, and he recorded a mental resolution to avoid all similar allurements for the future. Having made this resolution, and strong in his faith of keeping it, he merely turned to take final leave, as he fell under the eyes of Julia, and without seeing her.
The night outside was cold, dark, and thick, with a pitiless snow, that was rapidly filling the track along the highway. Bart turned, without the remotest touch of self-pity, to face it, with a heart as cold and dark as the night that swallowed him up. He felt that there was not a heart left behind that would throb with a moment's pain for him—that would miss him, or wonder at his departure; and he was sure that he did not care.
Yet, with what a sweet, remonstrating, expostulating call the music came after him, with its plaining at his desertion! Fainter and sweeter it came, and died out with a wailing sob, as the night, with its storm and darkness, blotted him out!
Mrs. Ford, who may have anticipated his attendance at the supper-table, missed him. His late partner in the dance cast her eyes inquiringly through the thronged rooms. She remarked to Julia that she believed Mr. Ridgeley had left, and thought it very strange. Julia said she presumed he had, and did not say what she thought.
Most of the elders left early; the young people danced the music and themselves away, and the gray, belated dawn of the next day looked coldly into the windows of a sacked, soiled, and silent house.