“Well, time will show. I am glad you tell me he positively is not married,” concluded Mrs. Falconer: “as to the rest, we shall see.”
CHAPTER XXVI.
The evening appointed for Mrs. Falconer’s ball at length arrived; and all the neighbouring gentry assembled at Falconer-court. They were received by Mrs. Falconer in a splendid saloon, newly furnished for this occasion, which displayed in its decorations the utmost perfection of modern taste and magnificence.
Mrs. Falconer was fitted, both by art and nature, to adorn a ball-room, and conduct a ball. With that ease of manner which a perfect knowledge of the world and long practice alone can give, she floated round the circle, conscious that she was in her element. Her eye, with one glance, seemed to pervade the whole assembly; her ear divided itself amongst a multitude of voices; and her attention diffused itself over all with equal grace. Yet that attention, universal as it seemed, was nicely discriminative. Mistress of the art of pleasing, and perfectly acquainted with all the shades of politeness, she knew how to dispose them so as to conceal their boundaries, and even their gradation, from all but the most skilful observers. They might, indeed, have formed, from Mrs. Falconer’s reception of each of her guests, an exact estimate of their rank, fashion, and consequence in the world; for by these standards she regulated her opinion, and measured her regard. Every one present knew this to be her theory, and observed it to be her practice towards others; but each flattered themselves by turns that they discovered in her manner a personal exception in their own favour. In the turn of her countenance, the tone of her voice, her smile or her anxiety, in her distant respect or her affectionate familiarity, some distinction was discerned peculiar to each individual.
The Miss Falconers, stationary at one end of the room, seemed to have adopted manners diametrically opposite to those of their mother: attraction being the principle of the mother, repulsion of the daughters. Encircled amongst a party of young female friends, Miss Falconers, with high-bred airs, confined to their own coterie their exclusive attention.
They left to their mother the responsibility and all the labour of doing the honours of her own house, whilst they enjoyed the glory of being remarked and wondered at by half the company; a circumstance which, far from embarrassing, seemed obviously to increase their gaiety.
The ball could not begin till the band of a regiment, quartered in the neighbourhood, arrived. Whilst they were waiting for the music, the Miss Falconers and their party stationed themselves directly opposite to the entrance of the saloon, so as to have a full view of the antechamber through which the company were to pass—no one passed uncensured by this confederacy. The first coup-d’oeil decided the fate of all who appeared, and each of the fair judges vied with the others in the severity of the sentence pronounced on the unfortunate persons who thus came before their merciless tribunal.
“But I am astonished the Percys do not make their appearance,” cried Miss Georgiana Falconer.