And where was Joan? Joan was dancing with the Reverend Rex Forsyth, the proposed incumbent of Pybus St. Anthony. Had any one told her a week ago that she would dance with the elegant Mr. Forsyth before a gathering of all the most notable people of Polchester and Southern Glebeshire, and would so dance without a tremor, she would have derided her informant. But what cannot excitement and happiness do?
She knew that she was looking nice, she knew that she was dancing as well as any one else in the room--and Johnny St. Leath had asked her for two dances and then wanted more, and wanted these with the beautiful Claire Daubeney, all radiant in silver, standing close beside him. What, then, could all the Forsyths in the world matter? Nevertheless he was elegant. Very smart indeed. Rather like a handsome young horse, groomed for a show. His voice had a little neigh in it; as he talked over her shoulder he gave a little whinny of pleasure. She found it very difficult to think of him as a clergyman at all.
You should SEE me DANCE the POLKA,
Ta-ram-te-tum-te-TA.
Yes, she should. And he should. And he was very pleasant when he did not talk.
"You dance--very well--Miss Brandon."
"Thank you. This is my first Ball."
"Who would--think that? Ta-ram-te-tum-te-TA.... Jolly tu-une!"
She caught glimpses of every one as they went round. Mrs. Combermere's cloth of gold, Lady St. Leath's white hair. Poor Lady Mary--such a pity that they could not do something for her complexion. Spotty. Joan liked her. She did much good to the poor in Seatown, and it must be agony to her, poor thing, to go down there, because she was so terribly shy. Her next dance was with Johnny. She called him Johnny. And why should she not, secretly to herself? Ah, there was mother, all alone. And there was Mr. Morris coming up to speak to her. Kind of him. But he was a kind man. She liked him. Very shy, though. All the nicest people seemed to be shy--except Johnny, who wasn't shy at all.
The music stopped and, breathless, they stayed for a moment before finding two chairs. Now was coming the time that she so greatly disliked. Whatever to say to Mr. Forsyth?
They sat down in the long passage outside the ballroom. The floor ran like a ribbon from under their feet into dim shining distance. Or rather, Joan thought, it was like a stream, and on either side the dancers were sitting, dabbling their toes and looking self-conscious.