‘Oh, give us something livelier, Mr Owen, do,’ she cried, jumping up from her seat. ‘“Robin Adair” is enough to give one the blues! Let’s have a dance instead. Here, Hetty, help me to wheel the table into the corner, and we’ll stand up for a good old country reel. Did I tell you that Lord Ilfracombe is married? We’ll dance in honour of the wedding.’
‘The earl married!’ exclaimed her sister, standing still in her amazement. ‘Why, Nell, when did that happen? Wasn’t it very sudden? You said nothing about it when we were in London.’
‘Oh, it seems he had been thinking of it for a long while, but gentlemen don’t tell their secrets to their servants, you know. They take the responsibility and trouble and expense, and all the servants have to do is to smile and look happy and dance at the wedding. Come along, Hugh,’ she continued, pulling that young man by the arm, ‘you shall be my partner. Hetty and Will must open the ball, of course, but we’ll show them how to dance at it. Up the middle and down again; hands across and turn your partner; as we used in the days gone by. That’s right, Mr Owen, give us “Yankee Doodle.” That’s the tune to make one’s feet fly. Now, Hugh!’
She was dragging at his arm as hard as she could to make him rise from his seat, and she looked so beautiful, with her flushed cheeks and disordered hair, that he found it hard to resist her.
‘But Nell—Miss Llewellyn,’ he remonstrated shyly, ‘you forget—I cannot—it would not be seemly for me in my character as minister to dance. I have not done such a thing for years, and I shall never do it again.’
Nell regarded him for a moment with grave surprise, and then, with a hard laugh, flung his hand away from her.
‘You stupid! Do you really mean it? So much the worse for you. I shall dance with my dad, then. He won’t refuse me; will you, daddy? You’ll have a fling with your girl in honour of her master’s wedding.’
And she pulled the old farmer into the middle of the room as she spoke, whilst he, well pleased at her audacity and good spirits, allowed himself to be turned and twisted at the will of his handsome daughter, who flew up and down the dance as if she had never had a care or a sorrow in her life. Hugh Owen sat by and watched her with troubled, anxious eyes. He almost regretted at that moment that his chosen vocation forbade his joining in the festivities before him. He would have given a good deal to have had his arm round his old sweetheart’s waist and danced hand in hand with her to the merry tune his father played with so much spirit. Mrs Llewellyn, though still on hospitable cares intent, and engaged at the sideboard with currant and orange wine and queen cakes, was delighted to watch the antics of her daughters as they beat time with their flying feet to the strains of “Yankee Doodle,” but her pleasure was somewhat tempered by anxiety lest Nell should fatigue herself too much after her long journey.
‘There, there, my lass,’ she remonstrated, as she heard her urging Mr Owen to play them another country dance, ‘you mustn’t forget you have come off a tiring journey, and haven’t eaten a morsel since you entered the house. You ought to be in bed, my Nell, instead of cutting such jinks. I shall have you ill to-morrow if you don’t take care.’
‘Ill? Tired?’ cried Nell. ‘Fiddle-de-dee, mother; no such thing. I shall be up at cock-crow to see after the hens and chickens, or to have a ride on Kitty. How’s the dear old mare, father?’