“Oh, plenty.”
“Mr. Clintock, for example, is not ugly.” Mrs. Davilow dared not mention Grandcourt.
“Well, I hate woolen cloth touching me.”
“Fancy!” said Mrs. Davilow to her sister who now came up from the other end of the room. “Gwendolen says she will not waltz or polk.”
“She is rather given to whims, I think,” said Mrs. Gascoigne, gravely. “It would be more becoming in her to behave as other young ladies do on such an occasion as this; especially when she has had the advantage of first-rate dancing lessons.”
“Why should I dance if I don’t like it, aunt? It is not in the catechism.”
“My dear!” said Mrs. Gascoigne, in a tone of severe check, and Anna looked frightened at Gwendolen’s daring. But they all passed on without saying any more.
Apparently something had changed Gwendolen’s mood since the hour of exulting enjoyment in the archery-ground. But she did not look the worse under the chandeliers in the ball-room, where the soft splendor of the scene and the pleasant odors from the conservatory could not but be soothing to the temper, when accompanied with the consciousness of being preeminently sought for. Hardly a dancing man but was anxious to have her for a partner, and each whom she accepted was in a state of melancholy remonstrance that she would not waltz or polk.
“Are you under a vow, Miss Harleth?”—“Why are you so cruel to us all?”—“You waltzed with me in February.”—“And you who waltz so perfectly!” were exclamations not without piquancy for her. The ladies who waltzed naturally thought that Miss Harleth only wanted to make herself particular; but her uncle when he overheard her refusal, supported her by saying,
“Gwendolen has usually good reasons.” He thought she was certainly more distinguished in not waltzing, and he wished her to be distinguished. The archery ball was intended to be kept at the subdued pitch that suited all dignities clerical and secular; it was not an escapement for youthful high spirits, and he himself was of opinion that the fashionable dances were too much of a romp.