“Granddaddy sent his compliments and regrets, but he says he is really too rheumatic to go out to dances,” answered Betty, slipping out of the rockaway.
“Nonsense, nonsense!” shouted the Major, who was big and florid and handsome. “The Colonel is as able to shake a leg as ever he was, by George! I hope Cesar has brought the fiddle, because we are reckoning upon him.”
“Yes, sirree,” answered Uncle Cesar, with important emphasis. “I got some rheumatiz, too, same like ole Marse, but mine is in my legs, thank God A’mighty, and ain’t tech my bow arm yet, praise the Lamb!”
Betty tripped up the steps, and Major Lindsay gallantly escorted her into the wide hall.
Within this great hall were Christmas mirth and cheeriness, and laughter and bright eyes and gay smiles. The house, following the plan of most houses of eastern Virginia, had a splendid great hall, big enough for a ball-room, and always used for dancing; for the people of Virginia are inveterate dancers, and a house is but poorly provided which cannot furnish space for balls. Holly wreaths were everywhere, and over each door was a sprig of mistletoe, causing the ladies to scamper through the doorways with little shrieks of laughter, while the gentlemen used strategies to intercept them.
Already dancing had begun, though the orchestra was by no means complete without Uncle Cesar. But the impatient young feet could not wait. Isaac Minkins, a saddle-colored person, who combined the profession of driving a fish-cart in the day-time and fiddling in the evening, was the director of the orchestra, and his sole assistant, until Uncle Cesar arrived, was a coal black youth who also helped on the fish-cart, and who performed upon the concertina, or, as the negroes call it, the “lap organ.” Uncle Cesar, who was quickly hustled into the hall, promptly tuned up and played second fiddle.
By that time Betty had run upstairs, thrown off her cloak, taken one hasty but satisfactory view of herself in the mirror, and was stepping daintily down the staircase. Now, Betty, who was a scheming and designing creature, knew exactly how to descend the stairs into the dancing hall. This descent down the fine staircase in full view of the assembled company was an effective part of the programme, and the artful Betty, with an outspread fan in one hand and holding up her filmy white skirts with the other just enough to show her little white satin slippers, was the prettiest picture imaginable. So thought Lieutenant John Hope Fortescue of the United States Army, and several other admirers, both old and new. As Betty came down the stairs with what appeared to be unstudied grace, but was not, her soft eyes swept the dancers below, and she nodded and smiled back at those who recognized her. But she did not see Fortescue until she was almost at the last step, when he came forward and took her hand. He had been strikingly handsome in uniform, and he was scarcely less so in his well fitting evening clothes, although Betty, like all women, had a secret hankering for uniforms.
“Good evening, Miss Beverley,” said Fortescue, and Betty gave a pretty little start of real surprise.