"Miss Pool asks the pleasure of your company at a social dance, on Thursday evening, at seven o'clock.
"Yours truly,
"Bethesda Pool."
This was the bomb-shell that fell into every respectable household in the village two days after Nan Bradford's visit. Such a sensation had never been known since old man Pool rode a saw-horse across the common and into meeting the Sunday before he died; and, indeed, that was nothing to be compared to this. Bethesdy Pool! Bethesdy Pool give a party!! Well, what next? everybody wanted to know. Half-an-hour after the notes had been delivered by Iry Goodwin (who carried them round in a basket and handed them out as if they were death warrants), every woman in the village, with two exceptions, was in another house than her own.
"Have you got one?" "Have you?" "Let me see!" "Lemme see if 'tis like mine?" "Yes, they're all the same!" "Well, I do declare! don't you?" "Is the mile-ennion coming, or what, do you s'pose?" "A social dance! Bethesdy Pool, as hasn't set down to a table, nor yet asked a soul to set down to hers these fifteen years,—well of all! but so't is! You can't tell where to have some folks, even though you've had 'em all your life, as you may say!"
The general verdict was that the Pools were all "streaky," and Bethesda the most streakèd of any of them; and that most likely she was going clean out of her mind this time, and there would be an end of it.
However, the unanimity on this point was equalled by the determination of everybody, old and young, rich and poor, to go to the party. In fact, it seemed probable that every house in the village would be deserted on the eventful evening; for not a soul was willing to lose the sight of a party in the old Inn.
Report said, as the day came nearer and nearer, that great preparations were going on. Every woman who had any skill in cookery had offered her services eagerly, hoping to have some share in the great doings; Mrs. Fullby had "presumed likely" that Bethesda would have more'n she could manage with her own two hands, and had assured her that she, Mrs. Fullby, would jis lives's not bring her apurn and eggbeater and put right in on the cake and frostin'! while Miss Virginia Sharpe hinted delicately that there was "a certain twist" in the making of pastry that was considered peculiar to the Sharpe family, and that no festivity would be complete without "Sharpe tarts;" but Miss Bethesda was of the opinion that she and Iry could do what was necessary, and just as much obleeged to them! and in point of fact, not a soul, with the exception of Nan Bradford, who was seen to emerge once from the Inn, looking rather frightened but very happy, was permitted to set foot within the mysterious doors. Mrs. Peake said that she saw Nan coming home, looking as if she had seen a ghost and lost her heart to it; but Mrs. Peake had a poetic way with her, and her remarks were not much heeded in the village.
It was thought more likely that Nan had been poking her nose in where her betters wouldn't ha' thought of poking theirs, and got it taken off for her pains, and served her right! But it happened that Mrs. Peake was right this time.
Thursday evening came! The moon was full, the sleighing perfect; Nature was evidently in league with Miss Bethesda Pool, and meant to do her share in making the party a success. Miss Pool, standing in state at the end of the ballroom, waiting for her guests to arrive, made a pleasant picture in her old-fashioned flowered brocade, one of the self-supporting kind, little beholden to any figure inside it. Her hair was still brown, still pretty, with its crinkles that caught the light, and gave her a wonderful look of youth, well carried out by her bright hazel eyes, and trim figure. In truth, she was not old, Miss Bethesda; her fortieth birthday was only just past, and she was straight as a dart, and strong as a tree; but when one has played old woman for fifteen years, one gets to think the play a reality, and one's neighbours are not slow to adopt the view. On looking in the glass, this evening, Miss Bethesda experienced a slight shock, and a decided impression of good looks. She wondered if Buckstone Bradford would find her much changed; she regretted that she had worn her old "punkin" hood quite so uniformly for the last ten years, and meditated on the attractions of a certain sky-blue "fascinator," which had been lying in her top-drawer ever since Siloama died. Fond of bright colours Siloama always was, and dressy to the day of her death. Anyhow, the brocade was handsome enough to please any one! Miss Bethesda smoothed down the shining folds, examined her white silk mitts carefully, and glanced up at the clock, to see how much longer she had to wait. Nearly seven! Folks would most likely be on time, Miss Bethesda thought, with a grim smile; curiosity could hurry the laziest folks that ever forgot to draw their breath! She reckoned every old podogger in the village would turn out to see Bethesdy Pool make a fool of herself; but let 'em come! There'd be more than one fool to-night, if things went as they should! 'Twas strange, though, that she hadn't heard no word from—
Here her meditations were interrupted; for the door at the end of the ballroom flew open and revealed a tall young man, wrapped to his eyes in fur, who rushed forward and took her hand, and tried to say something, and failed egregiously.
"Will Newell!" cried Miss Bethesda, "do you mean to tell me this is you? For gracious sake, what do you want? Didn't you get my note?"