“Now you are talking exactly like Aunt Mina! Never mind the classes—I should like to dance with the masses.”
“Oh Eva,” and as she spoke her face seemed to lengthen by inches, “what would your aunt say?”
“She will never know,” I rejoined with easy confidence, “and you might not have known either. If I had just gone to dine and sleep at the Manor, you would not dream in your wildest moments that I was dancing the New Year in at the Plough and Harrow, in Mirfield. You see, it is five miles from here, and quite out of our beat; not a soul will recognise me. But I could not play you such a trick, Liz—whatever I am, I am not sly!”
“Well, I really do not know what to say,” declared Lizzie sitting down with a Noah’s Ark in her lap. “I halt between two opinions. On the one hand, I should like you to enjoy yourself and have a little bit of amusement for once; on the other, I must say I rather shrink from the idea of your making your debut, chaperoned by old Mother Soady, and dancing with such partners as Sam and Bob Tate. If you do go——”
Here I broke in,
“Oh, you dear good Lizzie, and I shall have no end of funny things to tell you afterwards.”
“If you do go,” she reiterated, “the whole thing must be a dead secret; above all, not a word to Uncle Sep; he talks—and when he went over to ‘The Beetle’ for tobacco he would tell the village all about it; it is also to be a dead secret from me. Understand, that I give you permission to dine and sleep at the Manor; however they may entertain you there is no longer my affair.”
“Oh, Liz, what a nice Jesuitical way of looking at it! But whatever happens I have your official consent.” Then I fell upon her and kissed her.
We certainly were a tight fit, and a noisy party, in the old wagonette, which was somewhat severely tried by the weight of the company and the slap-dash pace of a fine pair of young horses. Nevertheless, we arrived safely at the “Plough and Harrow,” and in capital time. The old inn was all lit up, spectators were crowding round the door, gigs, phaetons and even milk carts were depositing happy guests. The ladies’ cloakroom was crammed; here we unpinned, uncloaked and reported upon one another’s appearance, as there was not the smallest chance of approaching the one looking-glass. Tossie looked blooming in blue and white. Annie Green was in flowered muslin of a bold and lurid design—somewhat resembling a perambulating wall-paper. The style, she informed us, “was the very latest thing in Paris.”
Mrs. Soady, chiefly remarkable for her kind heart and her circumference, was dressed in her best black satin, which was many inches too short in front, a large plaid bow crowned her good-looking smiling face, and an enormous cameo brooch fastened under her chin imparted the effect of a martingale.