On the mantle-piece, lay Fitzhenry’s pencil-case, pocket-book, and several of those sort of trifles that seem so intimately connected with the person to whom they belong. Emmeline had a gratification in taking them in her hand, and examining them minutely: at last, she found a small turquoise brooch which she had often observed in his neck-handkerchief; it had apparently been originally meant for a woman’s ornament. Emmeline had on one almost exactly similar. The temptation to exchange them was too strong to be resisted—with trembling fingers she undid her own pin; but again carefully examined Fitzhenry’s, for fear of his detecting the exchange. At the back of his, in small letters, she saw “Firenze,” but they were almost worn away; her courage however nearly failed her, although she thought she might contrive to scratch something on her own broach to resemble the inscription, but, just at that minute, Lady Saville, who had finished her book of caricatures, and looked at every thing in the room, coming up, proposed their proceeding to the rest of the house—Emmeline almost started with the embarrassment of guilt: she had no time for further doubt, she hastily threw down on the marble-slab her own brooch, and carried off her husband’s.
Almost terrified at what she had done, when they met in the drawing-room before dinner, she looked anxiously at Fitzhenry’s handkerchief, but, when he turned towards the light, she had the satisfaction to see her own pin placed as usual, and, consequently, that he had not discovered her robbery.
To those who may be inclined to think the feelings of Emmeline on such a trifle exaggerated, we have only to say, that proving themselves never to have been in love we can no more attempt to speak to their feelings than to describe colours to a person born blind.
Delighted and elated with her prize, poor Emmeline’s spirits rose above their now usual state, and when, after dinner, Lady Saville declared she wanted exercise to get rid of a headache, and proposed dancing, Emmeline readily forwarded her wish and offered her service as musician. Every one willingly acquiesced, and they soon made up a quadrille. Fitzhenry and Mr. Pelham were the only two who did not join in the dance, but continued standing over the fire, seemingly engaged in very earnest conversation. When the quadrille was ended, Emmeline played a waltz; this was still less to be resisted, and the whole party immediately swung round the room.
“I can play a waltz,” said Mrs. Danvers, the purse-making young lady’s mother, who had just then entered the room—”I can’t bear to see you, Lady Fitzhenry, labouring at the pianoforte, do let me play who can do nothing else; and do you go and join the dancers.”—And she insisted on Emmeline resigning her post.
All were engaged: there was no one left to waltz with. Emmeline was young; by nature gay, she liked dancing as all gay young people do. The music, the sight of others dancing, all had revived her former love for the amusement, and, not liking to deprive any one else of her partner, she set off alone after the rest. Unsupported, and lately out of practise, she soon grew giddy, the room turned round, she knew not where she went, and, to save herself from falling, she caught hold of something she had run against, putting her other hand over her eyes till the dizziness had gone off. When it had subsided, still keeping her hold, she looked up to see where she was.
It was her husband’s arm she had hold of.
She could scarcely check a scream of alarm which burst from her on seeing what she had done: she hastily withdrew her hand, her flushed cheek turning deadly pale. Fitzhenry was looking at her attentively, but with apparent surprise, and indeed, even apparent displeasure.
The whole occurrence, which did not occupy above a minute, had been mistaken by the dancers. They thought she was proposing to him to waltz with her, and Mr. Moore hastily said, “That is right, Lady Fitzhenry; make that lazy fellow dance. No one waltzes so well or was so fond of it; and it is too ridiculous his giving himself already the airs of an old married man!”
“Lord and Lady Fitzhenry dance together! Oh! that will be charming,” exclaimed Miss Selina, clapping her hands in foolish ecstasy.