“You may pretend and pretend as much as you like,” said Judy sagely, “but you’re a changed man, and everybody notices it; ten times more cheerful, ten times more anxious to be at home, and always with that glitter in your eye. Poor mamma and poor Val!” and chuckling happily she returned to her former place of observation.
CHAPTER XXVI
THE MISERY OF THE WORLD
The house was only pleasantly filled, and there was no crush anywhere. Shaking hands and bowing to many people on his way, Armour passed through the drawing rooms, the library, and the dining room, where on a long table, pots of delicate maiden hair and slender ferns nodded over dishes of dainty china and glassware heaped high with sweetmeats and every dainty viand possible to procure for the elaborate menu of a ball supper.
The wide hall where the dancing was going on was, in spite of the season of the year, like a bower in its profusion of growing plants and cut flowers, whose heavy rich odors were as incense to the nostrils of his cousin—a woman of tropical tastes.
Everybody seemed to be stirring about. There were no dull groups along the walls and the ripple of conversation and laughter was a constant one; and no one was in need of special entertainment he was happy to observe. This was the result of Mrs. Colonibel’s invariable custom of doubling the number of her young lady guests by members of the opposite sex, the usual proclivity of men to look on at a dance rather than to engage in it, being well known to her. So Armour was free to enjoy himself in his own way, and feeling no responsibility for the present as a host he joined a knot of people who were watching the dancers from a doorway.
The musicians were playing sweetly and with no lapses into braying discordancy a new waltz, “Vive la Canada.” The whole house was flooded with their strains, so strong and soul-stirring, yet so well-modulated that those in the near library were not disturbed by them.
Patriotism it was probably that made the blood stir so strangely in Armour’s veins, and his face flush so dark a crimson. His eyes were fixed on Vivienne, who was dancing with the tallest man in the garrison, an officer of the Royal Engineers. Armour noticed that they made frequent pauses, and speculated a little about it, whether it was owing to the awkwardness of her partner, or to her own inclination not to keep on her feet during the entire progress of a round dance. Of the amount of attention that she was attracting she appeared to be quite unconscious, but that she was quite well aware of it, he was fully persuaded.
“Accept my felicitations on the subject of your ward,” said a roguish voice in his ear; “your reward perhaps I should call her, considering the satisfactory termination of your cares on her behalf.”
Armour put out a hand to one of Valentine’s merry friends, who was a frequent visitor at Pinewood. “She’s fairer than the moon in all her glory—that’s from the Bible isn’t it?” pursued the young man; “or perhaps one shouldn’t use the word fair in connection with one so dark. Royal touch-me-not style, but fascinating. Hey nonny! wish I had a million and was good enough shot to wing Macartney. Au revoir, I’m engaged for the next polka—must look up my partner.”
The waltz had ceased and a group of men surrounded the place where Vivienne stood, her white velvet gown gleaming like a snowdrop against the crimson curtain behind her. She seemed to be listening rather than talking and Armour was struck as Camperdown had been by her slight ceremonious air of reserve and by the absence of any girlish eagerness of delight in this her first ball.