After this, Isaac could never again be brought to open his mouth on the subject.
CHAPTER XXIV
THE BALL
When a man has not been provided by Nature with more than an average share of personal advantages, that same process of dressing for a ball after a bachelor’s dinner-party is an affair of considerable trouble and dissatisfaction. To devote those minutes, that are wont to pass so pleasantly in the enjoyment of conviviality or repose, to the cares of the toilet, is in itself a sufficient infliction; but the contrast is rendered all the more aggravating by abortive efforts to eradicate the effluvia of tobacco-smoke, to disguise the appearance of satiety, not to say repletion, attendant on four courses and a dessert, with champagne and claret at discretion, and to achieve that general aspect of light and airy gaiety which even middle-aged gentlemen of spherical proportions consider most captivating in the eyes of the fair.
All these difficulties had Mr. Sawyer to encounter on the night of the Harborough Ball.
Yes, the important event had arrived at last, after much discussion by stewards and lady patronesses, and general differences of opinion amongst all concerned. After protestations from some that they could by no means fill their houses, and assurances from others that nothing would induce them to travel such distances by night in bad weather, and declarations from all that, for their own part, they voted the whole thing a bore, the day was at length fixed, the musicians engaged, the supper ordered, and the room prepared.
“It was to be a capital ball,” said one, “comprising the élite of three counties, and at least as many beautiful débutantes.” “There would be nobody there,” vowed another, “but the M.F.H., and the M.P., and old Mrs. Halfcaste, with a bevy of the townspeople.” The room would be cold, prophesied the malcontents; the supper scanty, the roads slippery, and the moon obscured. Miss Cecilia Dove, in talking the matter over with her mamma, inclined first to one, and then the other of these opinions; supporting each in turn with vigour and tenacity. Under any circumstances, however, she had determined to go.
Behold Mr. Sawyer then, in his little smoky bedroom, struggling into a white neckcloth, about ten P.M., and contemplating a pale face and heavy eyes; the unattractive appearance of which he could not wholly attribute to the bad glass which adorned his dressing-table. He was nervous, too, was our friend John Standish Sawyer; unquestionably nervous. Of all nights in his life this was the one when he would fain have borrowed, if he could, the exterior of another hunting-man, a very different-looking person, whom painters strive to represent as worthy to be the Queen of Beauty’s choice, in their embodiment of the hapless loves of Venus and Adonis. Alas! Mr. S. could not conceal from himself that he was anything but a good-looking fellow.
Nevertheless, a plain exterior, like a bad farm, must equally be cultivated at the proper season. Dress works wonders, and the tailor, if you employ Poole, doubtless helps to make the man. Like Brummel, our friend spoilt a good many white neckcloths before he effected the desired tie. At last, however, he got it to his liking, swung himself into a roomy dress-coat—scarlet, with silk lining—and proceeded, not without trepidation, to the scene of action.
Is there any penalty or disgrace attached to the solecism of being earlier than one’s neighbours at ball, concert or other public occasion of festivity? It is wonderful what pains people will take to avoid this appearance of over-punctuality. I cannot call to mind any occasion on which I have thus had the room entirely to myself; nor did I ever meet any one who would confess that he had enjoyed this monopoly of vacuity. And yet somebody must arrive first! I wonder how that desolate one employs the long leaden moments. Does he wander about with his hands in his pockets, trying to look as if he expected something, and scanning the decorations with critical sang froid! Does he fraternise with the musicians, who, drawn up in a row, must present, indeed, a formidable array of eyes to a person of moderate apprehensions, and win their eternal goodwill by performing a pas seul to their voluntary strains? or does he give way to a cowardly despair, and, retreating in disorder, retire incontinently to bed? Probably not the latter, or the ball would never begin.