“Oh, how charming!” cried one lady, who had just received hers before Rosalie. “An old clog for luck! It is delightful!”
Flowers the most gorgeous and tasteful banked every available corner; truly, the house had been completely altered from darkness into light.
Mr. Barringcourt on these occasions made an excellent host. He had none of the clumsiness of the bachelor host, being for all the world as much at home as if he’d been married and had ten children. Now, it was a dancing night, and thanks to an excellent example, there was not one smoke-absorbed, or card-absorbed, or billiard-absorbed man present. For one night everybody made a delightful martyr of themselves, and secretly enjoyed the process.
Rosalie’s programme did not fill so quickly, for there were many there who took her to have religious mania, and doubted they might have something to put up with. Moreover, there were very few persons there that she really knew. At last she was suddenly accosted by Mr. Barringcourt.
“The first and last dance, Rosalie,” said he, and they looked at one another. Then looking down at her programme, he said: “What an empty list!”
“It’s quite right, thank you. I don’t care about dancing. I’d rather watch other people, and listen to the music. Find me some quiet old lady whom I may sit by, and who does not talk too much. It is all I ask of you.”
“There are not many present. They are all young and frivolous, or old and giddy. A much easier task would be to find you partners for every dance.”
“I should be dead tired before supper-time; I can’t talk to strangers, and I don’t know every dance. And it takes rather a brave man to accost me; I perceive them mentally screwing themselves up to the pitch as they approach.”
“Under those circumstances, it was very kind of you to come. Here comes the Princess. I’ll return later.”
The Princess smiled so condescendingly all round that everyone was charmed with her. She had a light walk, as one who treads on eggs and fears to break them, and her admirers said she glided as the spirits do.