"The Gaffer has told me partic'lar to see that the 'gals' all had partners, and just look down that 'ere room; 'alf of that lot 'aven't been on their legs yet. 'Ere's a partner for you," and the butler pulled a young gamekeeper towards a young girl who had just arrived. She entered slowly, her hands clasped across her bosom, her eyes fixed on the ground, and the strangeness of the spectacle caused Mr. Leopold to pause. It was whispered that she had never worn a low dress before, and Grover came to the rescue of her modesty with a pocket-handkerchief.
But it had been found impossible to restrict the ball to those who possessed or could obtain an evening suit, and plenty of check trousers and red neckties were hopping about. Among the villagers many a touch suggested costume. A young girl had borrowed her grandmother's wedding dress, and a young man wore a canary-coloured waistcoat and a blue coastguardsman's coat of old time. These touches of fancy and personal taste divided the villagers from the household servants. The butlers seemed on the watch for side dishes, and the valets suggested hair brushes and hot water. Cooks trailed black silk dresses adorned with wide collars, and fastened with gold brooches containing portraits of their late husbands; and the fine shirt fronts set off with rich pearls, the lavender-gloved hands, the delicate faces, expressive of ease and leisure, made Ginger's two friends—young Mr. Preston and young Mr. Northcote —noticeable among this menial, work-a-day crowd. Ginger loved the upper circles, and now he romped the polka in the most approved London fashion, his elbows advanced like a yacht's bowsprit, and, his coat-tails flying, he dashed through a group of tradespeople who were bobbing up and down, hardly advancing at all.
Esther was now being spoken of as the belle of the ball, she had danced with young Mr. Preston, and seeing her sitting alone Grover called her and asked her why she was not dancing. Esther answered sullenly that she was tired.
"Come, the next polka, just to show there is no ill-feeling." Half a dozen times William repeated his demand. At last she said—
"You've spoilt all my pleasure in the dancing."
"I'm sorry if I've done that, Esther. I was jealous, that's all."
"Jealous! What was you jealous for? What do it matter what people think, so long as I know I haven't done no wrong?"
And in silence they walked into the garden. The night was warm, even oppressive, and the moon hung like a balloon above the trees, and often the straying revellers stopped to consider the markings now so plain upon its disc. There were arbours, artificial ruins, darkling pathways, and the breathless garden was noisy in the illusive light. William showed Esther the theatre and explained its purpose. She listened, though she did not understand, nor could she believe that she was not dreaming when they suddenly stood on the borders of a beautiful lake full of the shadows of tall trees, and crossed by a wooden bridge at the narrowest end.
"How still the water is; and the stars, they are lovely!"
"You should see the gardens about three o'clock on Saturday afternoons, when the excursion comes in from Brighton."