The eyes of Jean, the flush and sparkle of her, spoke of her anticipation of unutterable delights. Yet who should know, as she moved through the room with an expression of fine unconsciousness, that this was the first really formal party she had ever attended in her life. Neither her blush nor her dimple betrayed her, although she was perfectly aware that a number of youths in long-tailed coats and black trousers, wearing immaculate white gloves and ties, had stopped talking for several moments to their girl friends in order to glance at Olive and at her. She even saw, without appearing to lift her lids, that a tall, blonde fellow standing near her friend, Margaret Belknap, was deliberately staring at her through a pair of eyeglasses. And at once Jean decided that the young man was extremely ugly in spite of his fashionable clothes and therefore not to be compared to Ralph Merrit or other simple western fellows whom she had known in the past.
Perhaps five minutes were required for this list of Jean’s passing observations in her forward progress toward Miss Winthrop, and yet in the same length of time Olive, who was close beside her, had seen nothing “but a sea of unknown faces.” Even her school companions to-night in their frocks of silk and lace looked unfamiliar. And yet somehow, with Jean’s assistance, she also managed to arrive in front of Miss Winthrop and Jessica Hunt and to pay her respects to them. Then, still sticking close to Jean, she was soon borne off for a short distance and there surrounded by a group of Jean’s girl friends.
Half a dozen or more of them, Gerry Ferrows and Margaret Belknap in the number, had come up with their cousins, brothers and friends to meet Jean Bruce and to fill up her dance card. They were, of course, also introduced to Olive, but as she did not speak, no one noticed her particularly and no one invited her to dance. Jean had not intended to desert Olive, but when the music of the first waltz began she forgot her and marched off with an enthusiastic partner, who had asked Gerry Ferrows to introduce him to the most fascinating girl in the room, and Gerry had unhesitatingly chosen Jean.
There were two or three other girls and young men standing near Olive when Jean had turned away, but a few seconds later and she was entirely alone.
Is there greater anguish than for a shy girl unaccustomed to society to find herself solitary in a crowded ballroom? At first Olive felt desperate, knowing that her cheeks were crimson with shame and fearing that her eyes were filling with tears. Then looking about her she soon discovered a group of palms in a corner of the room not far away and guessed that she could find shelter behind them. Slipping across she came upon a small sofa hidden behind the evergreens, and with a little sigh of thanksgiving sank down upon it. Soon after Olive began to grow serene, for from her retreat she could watch the dancers and see what a good time Jean and Frieda were having without being seen herself. Once she almost laughed aloud as Frieda waltzed by her hiding place—Frieda, who had been a fat, little girl with long plaits down her back just a few weeks ago, now attired in a blue silk and lace, was whirling about on the arm of a long-legged boy who had such a small nose and ridiculous quantity of blonde curls that he might almost have been Frieda’s twin brother. Five minutes later Olive decided that Jean was the belle of the evening and that she would write the news to Jack to-morrow, for apparently every young man in the ballroom was wishing to dance with her. Even the supercilious fellow with the eyeglasses, whom Olive recognized as Margaret Belknap’s much-talked-of Harvard brother, could be seen dancing attendance on Jean.
Twenty minutes, half an hour must have passed by in this fashion until Olive felt perfectly safe in her green retreat, when unexpectedly a hand was laid upon her shoulder and a voice said sternly, “What in the world, child, are you doing hiding yourself in here? When I said you could not stay up in your room to-night it was because I desired you to take part in the dancing; there really isn’t much difference between your being concealed up there or here.”
And then to Olive’s discouragement an absurd catch in her breath made her unable to answer at once.
Olive’s retreat behind the palms had not been unnoticed as she had thought, for both Miss Winthrop and Jessica Hunt had seen first her embarrassment at being left alone and next her withdrawal. In much the same fashion that Jack would have followed, Jessica had wished to rush off at once to comfort Olive, but Miss Winthrop had held her back.
“What is the difficulty about this girl, Jessica, what makes her so unpopular?” she had asked when every one else was out of hearing. “I wish you would tell me if you know any explanation for it.”
But Jessica had only been able to shake her head, answering, “I can’t for the life of me understand. There are a good many little things that Olive does not seem to know, and yet, as she studies very hard, I believe she will soon be one of the honor girls in my class. I have a friend in New York, or an acquaintance rather,” and here Jessica blushed unaccountably, “who seems to know the ranch girls very well. Perhaps I had best ask him if there is anything unusual about Olive.”