He found her, sitting with Mamie Livingstone, who was out of humor and who would not dance; she was silent, with flushed face and dewy eyes, looking like some pouting, pretty maid of Greuze. They spoke together for some minutes; and then wise Lionel Derwent came up and took Miss Mamie off.
John led Gracie to the deep embrasure of a window; below them, on the polished floor, the famous minuet was forming; and all the world looked on expectant. John looked grimly on: he never thought to have said such words in a ball-room. His very hopelessness gave him courage to speak his deepest heart; and it was without a change of manner when he spoke—at last.
She had been speaking sorrowfully of Mamie; you know the strange confidence that was between these two. “I fear that she is disappointed that Mr. Townley has not come. Tell me frankly, Mr. Haviland—do you think there is anything really wrong about him? Do you think that he could make Mamie happy? She will be so alone in the world, I am afraid, before very long.”
What could John say? There is a law that even the meanest men abide, to speak no harm of each other to the other sex. He hesitated. “I think you need have no fear of Mr. Townley, now,” he said, at last. Derwent had told him of the day in Wall Street.
Gracie turned her dear eyes full on his; and then the barriers of his heart broke down. “But I must speak selfishly, Miss Holyoke. I love you with all my heart—for all my life.”
The words had come so naturally, that they had passed among the spoken words of memory, and ceased—before Gracie started and the color left her cheeks. She had not dreamed of this; she had not kept, herself, the lesson she had given Mamie; and then she blamed herself for having been too much wrapped up in her own heart history. “O Mr. Haviland,” she said; “forgive me; I never thought of this.”
She was crying; John’s voice was husky, and he did not trust himself to speak, but looked across the brilliant room. The minuet was being danced; and just in front was Kitty Farnum, looking as if radiant with the triumph of the night. She was walking the minuet with Arthur Holyoke; who was brilliant in a velvet court-dress, with a sparkling sword; and opposite was Birmingham, dancing with Mrs. De Witt, but with eyes for her alone. The other figures in the dance were Mrs. Malgam, Mrs. Levison Gower, Killian Van Kull and Caryl Wemyss.
John turned his eyes to hers again. “You care for Arthur?”
Many women would have thought he had no right to ask the question; but Gracie’s was too true a life for this.
“Yes,” she said, clearly.