“I am perfectly ready to return to Mrs. Scorton, I assure you.”
“What a spoil-sport you are, Chevalier!” drawled Mr. Westruther. “Mere flourishing so far! We have not yet arrived at the lilac gown, which I take to be the crux of the matter. Come now, Meg, rattle in!”
But this mocking encouragement had the effect of turning his principal into a stiff figure of outraged propriety. “Pray take me back to our own box!” said Meg, in freezing accents. “We are keeping dear Kitty from what I am persuaded must be a most agreeable party. I am myself returning to Berkeley Square in a very few minutes, but no doubt Mrs. Scorton will convey you there when the masquerade is over, Kitty.” She then swept a dignified curtsy, took Mr. Westruther’s arm again, and walked away with him down the corridor.
A good deal concerned, the Chevalier began to express his contrition at having been imprudent enough to have removed his mask. Kitty cut him short, saying that it did not signify; and in silence they went back to Mrs. Scorton’s box.
The next half hour passed for Kitty like a species of nightmare. She was obliged for civility’s sake to dance several times, but the masquerade was fast developing into a romp, and, as though to make matters even more disagreeable, two total strangers had been added to the party, and were contributing their mites to its success by flirting in an inebriated and very ungenteel way with the Misses Scorton. Their sallies were received with shrieks of mirth, and playful raps across the knuckles from furled fans, and the only person, besides Kitty herself, who seemed to deprecate their inclusion in the party was Mr. Malham, who several times informed Kitty that he had a very good mind to call that fellow in a Spanish costume to book. Since the fellow in question was behaving extremely freely with Miss Susan Scorton, Kitty could only be surprised that he did not do it. She was herself subjected to a good deal of annoyance; and since her cousin had once more spirited Olivia away from the box, and Mrs. Scorton, much flushed, and refreshing herself with sips of champagne, took it all as a very good joke, she felt herself to be wholly unprotected. She excused herself from waltzing with Tom Scorton, and, when the rest of the party surged out of the box to take the floor, was thankful to find herself alone, Mrs. Scorton having gone off with Eliza, to pin up her daughter’s torn flounce. She withdrew to a chair at the back of the box, trying to compose her disordered nerves, but was startled, a few minutes later, by feeling a touch on her shoulder. Such had been the experiences of this disastrous evening that she uttered a cry, and shrank away from the hand. A familiar, and most welcome, voice smote her ears. “No, really, Kit!” it said. “No need to screech! Only me!”
“Freddy!” she cried, turning sharply in her chair. “Oh, how thankful I am! How in the world did you know I was here?”
“Happened to be in Berkeley Square when Meg’s coachman took her off,” he replied. “Said young Scorton meant to bring you home. Didn’t like it above half, so I took a hack to Hans Crescent. Thought I’d bring you home myself. Servant said you wasn’t there. So I saw old Scorton—very rum touch! He told me where you were: told me the number of the box. So I came to fetch you away. Thing is, Kit—not the thing!”
“Oh, Freddy, I know it!” she said, clasping his hand between both of hers. “Pray believe that I would never have consented to have come had I the smallest notion how it would be! But what could I do, when it was all arranged? It has been so very dreadful! You do not know the half! Will Mrs. Scorton be offended if you take me home? I would give anything to escape from this vulgar place!”
“Don’t signify if she is,” he replied, patting her shoulder in a soothing way. “No business to bring you here! you leave it to me!”
“Oh, yes!” she sighed gratefully. “You will know just how to do!”