Mrs. Drysdale did not vouchsafe a word, only gave her one look, stepped back, and called her daughter in a tone that scared Bella more than all the rest, and the three sailed down-stairs. That is, the lady sailed; but Bella went with the tread of an angry young lion, while the parlor boarder at Miss Willoughby’s slipped after as best she could.
The next thing she knew, she was being introduced to a radiant vision, and feeling the warm touch of a kind hand, and looking into clear brown eyes, and hearing Mrs. Jasper King say, “I am very glad to see you, Miss Strange.” And then, despite the crowd pressing her, and that Bella was picking her by the sleeve, the kind hand retained her trembling one, “I want to see more of you. Come up and speak to me later,” said Mrs. King, and she smiled; and that cut deepest of all.
Grace broke away from her friends, and made a dive for oblivion. Anywhere—perhaps behind a sheltering palm, till the Drysdales were ready to go home; she could watch and slip out then. Instead, however, of reaching such a haven, she ran against a tall young man in the hall, and not stopping to beg pardon, rushed on.
“Hello!” exclaimed Mr. Charley Swan startled out of his politeness, and following her after the rebound, “anything I can do for you, Miss Strange?”
The sound of this name only added to Grace’s terror, and he had some difficulty in gaining her side.
“If you please, I’d advise you to stop. People don’t run about in this way, you know, at receptions; knocking folks down, and all that. Now, what’s the trouble?” He stood squarely in front of her, and between annihilating with his looks a curious youth who was taking this all in, and preserving a calm exterior for the rest of the throng surging through the hall, he still gave her a penetrating glance.
“Oh, I’m so wretched!” gasped Grace, all caution thrown to the winds, and clasping her hands.
“Not altogether festive,” said Charley Swan, “that’s a fact. Well, now that orchestra’s going to play, thank Heaven for that. You just take my arm—Miss—Miss Strange, and we’ll get out of this mob.”
He had to slip Grace’s hand himself within his arm. There it lay, and shook like a leaf. Charley piloted her into the large conservatory opening into the library, and somehow she found herself in a quiet corner with just room enough for another person on the rattan seat.
“Now, that’s what I call comfort,” he said, not looking at her, to give her time to recover herself. “Mrs. King is a perfect marvel in the flower line, and her music. Did you know that all these orchids are given her by Mr. King the father? Gracious! don’t I wish some old gentleman would take a fancy to me, and pet me with bank-notes and smother me in orchids. Look around a bit, Miss Strange.”