[CHAPTER XV—A BALL AT THE GENERAL’S]
Lady Smith-Evered’s dance was a social event of much importance, and those members of the English community who were not invited had perforce to regard themselves as outside the ranks of the elect: a fact which led that night to much moodiness on the part of ambitious young women who wandered about their creditable little flats and houses, hating their mediocre husbands. On the other hand, those to whom invitations had come somewhat unexpectedly, vied with one another in their efforts to indicate that their presence at the General’s house was to be regarded as a matter of course; and herein, perhaps, lay the explanation of those curious demonstrations of nonchalance which were so frequently to be observed—the careless attitudes, the friendly words to the servants behind the supper buffet, the assumed knowledge of the plan of the house and garden, and the casual remarks to host and hostess.
Muriel, of course, was the outstanding figure of the ball: not so much because of her looks, for there were many well-favoured young women in the ballroom, nor because of her charming frock, for the beginning of the winter season in Cairo is notable for a general display of recent purchases; but rather because she was her father’s daughter, and, as his heiress, one of the most frequent victims of the familiarities of the London Press.
She paid little attention, however, to the many pairs of eyes which scrutinized her; for she had come here to enjoy herself, and her dancing program was full.
As an opening to the ball, she danced with the General; but her efforts to avoid having her toes trodden upon caused her to indulge in such antics that she speedily manœuvred him to a convenient sofa, where he puffed and blew until the military band had ceased and again renewed its conscientious din.
There are few noises so dispiriting as a British military band’s rendering of American ragtime; but, as has already been stated, Muriel was determined to enjoy herself, and, save for an occasional desire to sandbag the conductor, she was entirely untroubled by ill-humoured thoughts as her elegant partners swung her around the room, or led her out to rest in the illuminated garden, where a hundred gaily coloured Chinese lanterns dispelled the mystic sorrow of the moonlight.
After some two or three hours of dancing, however, she began to grow weary; and when something went wrong temporarily with the suspender which held up one of her stockings, she was glad enough to come to rest in the supper-room. Here she seated herself next to her hostess, who was just forming a big party at a little table, and who was jovially endeavouring to pretend that there was much fun to be derived from jamming oneself into the smallest possible space and eating with one hand.
Lady Smith-Evered, having swallowed during the evening quite a lot of champagne, was in a talkative and even confidential mood. On several occasions she nudged Muriel, and whispered loudly to her from behind her fan, calling her attention to the General, who, at a neighbouring table, was flirting resolutely with Kate Bindane.
“He’s such a Lothario,” she whispered: “I’m quite thankful he’s growing old; though, mind you, he doesn’t often show signs of age yet.” She laughed hoarsely, and turned her eyes upwards with a nod to express admiration for his virility.
Muriel, as she looked at her, conceived a violent horror of old age; and inwardly she prayed that in her own case she would know when to abandon the thoughts which only Youth can make beautiful.