“So she is dancing with him, after all,” thought Vansittart, curiously vexed. “Varium et mutabile semper femina!”
CHAPTER IV.
“THE PRELUDE TO SOME BRIGHTER WORLD.”
While the Lancers were being danced to the good old hilarious tunes, which always give an air of boisterous gaiety to a public ball-room, Vansittart, ignoring all further obligations to his home party, went in search of little Mr. Tivett, so that by impounding that gentleman he should make sure of an introduction to Miss Marchant before the next dance.
He found the agreeable Tivett in an anteroom, an apartment much affected by sitters out, and peculiarly congenial to flirtation, where the good little man had found agreeable occupation in pinning up the lace flounce of a portly matron in yellow satin, not too portly to indulge in round dances, which imparted an alarmingly purple shade to the pearly whiteness of her complexion. “Only mother-of-pearl,” as Mr. Tivett said afterwards. “You may be quite happy about your Mechlin, dear lady,” said Tivett, after planting the last pin; “nothing but the stitches gone. No harm done to your lovely lace, I assure you.”
“He was a clumsy bear all the same. How sweet of you, dear Mr. Tivett! Ten thousand thanks. And now I’ll run back to my party, or my young man will be looking for me for the next waltz;” and the lady waddled away pantingly, to be steered carefully round the room by-and-by, in the protecting arm of a tall youth, who had an eye to free luncheons and dinners in the best part of Belgravia.
“You lucky little man,” cried Vansittart, when the lady was gone, “in favour with both youth and age. You save Mrs. Fotheringay’s priceless Mechlin, and you secure your first waltz with the belle of the ball.”
Tivett gave a little conscious laugh, and shook his suède glove at Vansittart airily.
“Pretty girl, that Miss Marchant, ain’t she?” said he, “and not a bit of nonsense about her; naïveté itself. You should have heard her and the sisters prattle in the ’bus, while the Champernownes sat looking thunder.”
“You dog, I believe that bronchitis of yours was all humbug. Come along with me, Tivett; I am going to waylay Miss Marchant, and you must introduce me to her.”