"The carriage is waiting. Are you nearly ready?" he said. And then stopped short, and looked at her, literally dazzled with her exceeding beauty. Thus he had seen her, a year ago, the first time he had dined at her father's house, dressed for a ball,--a ball at Mrs. Pendarvis's too,--a ball he had heard mentioned with a kind of hopeless envy. And she had gone downstairs to the carriage with him then. How well he remembered it, how distinctly he saw it all!--the head-dress she had added to her dinner-array, the white cloak--was this which he took from the maid and tenderly placed around her the same? he wondered. It looked like it; but it was another, ten times more costly than Miss Guyon had ever worn. Again he saw the smile, the bow, from the corner of the carriage; again he heard Mr. Guyon's, "Don't stand there, Streightley; come in." And he felt like a man who has formerly seen in a dream things now passing before his eyes.
He could not speak before her servant; so he trusted to a glance to tell his wife how beautiful he thought her. He saw immediately that among the jewels she wore were none of his gifts, and he said, with some hesitation, "You do not honour my selection much, Katharine. Would not your bracelet go with your other ornaments, dear?"
A splendid serpent, a glittering mass of brilliants, with emerald eyes and protruded ruby tongue, lay on the table. He took it up as he spoke. Katharine looked half-disposed to refuse; then she said gaily:
"Never mind if it does contradict the quaint old roses and crescents; I'll wear it, Robert. Put it on, please,--there." And she held out her round white arm.
It was a trifling incident, but it meant a great deal to Robert Streightley; so much, that when they were seated in the carriage he thanked her with all the ardour of a lover. He told her he had never seen her half so beautiful; he reminded her--he who rarely dared to refer to the past--of the first time he had seen her dressed for a ball; and told her what a vision of beauty, what an enchantress she had appeared to him then,--what an unending spell she had cast upon him. There was no wrath, no bitterness in Katharine's heart that night, though the remembrances evoked were all of the kind calculated to provoke them. Time, and the unfailing, persevering love of this man,--love which she wondered at, and which had begun to touch her heart,--were working on her proud nature. She listened to him with a smile, with a faint, beautiful blush. She was glad that she had pleased him; it was not hard to do so: to wear a gorgeous ornament like that, and be thanked for it, was not a great sacrifice. To be so passionately admired by one's own husband was not unpleasant. Katharine was quite aware that it was not a very common case. Their carriage fell into the line; the light of many lamps was flitting about. She threw her cloak off the arm that bore the bracelet, and admired the splendid jewel, rippling with many-coloured light:
"It is extremely beautiful, Robert," she said. "I like it better than any of your presents. It was your first, you know:"
He did know; and he also knew that this was the first, the very first word he had ever heard from his wife's lips which implied any sentiment concerning the past connected with him. A fresh tide of hope and joy welled up in his heart; and as she laid her hand lightly in his, and let it rest there until their turn had come, and the carriage drew up under the striped awning, surrounded with a gaping crowd of idlers collected to see the ball-goers, Robert Streightley was happier than he had ever been in his life before.
Mrs. Pendarvis's house was large, but the fashion and success of a ball appear to depend on the disregard of proportion between the room and company; and when it is said that this ball was brilliantly successful, it becomes unnecessary to state that it was excessively crowded. Robert and Katharine were detained for some time on the staircase, but the delay was not tedious; for they encountered a few scores of their acquaintances, and Robert had the satisfaction, which in his present happy mood was unmixed, of observing the universal admiration excited by his lovely wife. At the top of the first flight of stairs there was a large recess, or rather room, beautifully hung with muslin and lace, and profusely decorated with flowers and odorous plants. A few route-seats were placed in this apartment, which was only a little less crowded than the dancing-rooms and the staircase. When Robert and Katharine reached this temporary harbour they found Lady Henmarsh in possession of one of the seats, and were immediately greeted by her with her accustomed warmth.
"Miss Gould is here, of course?" asked Katharine.
"Yes, she is dancing. How well you are looking, Katharine! I see you are wearing your diamonds to-night; very becoming indeed; that serpent is beautiful. You have such taste, Mrs. Streightley."