“Oh, how glad I am! It has been so stupid lately. I do want to dance again dreadfully. How I wish I could go to a ball every night in the week!”
Judith was surprised at Jacqueline’s eagerness about the party. Mrs. Temple had first said decidedly that Jacqueline should not go, at which Jacqueline threw her hands up to her face and burst into such a passion of stormy weeping that Mrs. Temple was completely puzzled, and so was Judith.
“But, my child, you are not strong enough!”
“I am!—I am!” cried Jacqueline. “I will ask Dr. Wortley if I can’t go to the party. I am sure I will cry myself ill if I don’t go; and I am so well and strong.”
Mrs. Temple, who had got a little indulgent to Jacqueline since her illness, agreed to leave it to Dr. Wortley. The next time he came over to pay a friendly visit, Jacqueline took him off to herself, and came back triumphant. Dr. Wortley had agreed. The old doctor had a queer look in his face.
“I consented, madam,” he said to Mrs. Temple, “because this young lady promised me that she would make herself ill if she did not go; and I have known young women to keep that promise. She has given me her word she will be very prudent—will not overexert herself; and Mrs. Beverley is to watch her.”
“And I’ll come home the instant Judith proposes it!” cried Jacqueline.
Mrs. Temple finally agreed, upon condition that the weather was fit. For some days before the party it threatened to be very unfit. Dark clouds overhung the sky, and a biting March wind swept over the bare fields and through the somber aspens and Lombardy poplars, as yet leafless and wintry, around the house. Jacqueline seemed to have but one idea in her head, and that was the party. She haunted the windows where the cutting wind came in through the open chinks and crannies, until Judith warned her that she would soon begin to cough again, and worse, if she did not take care of herself. She pestered Simon Peter with asking for weather signs. When the morning broke, cloudy and overcast, Jacqueline was almost in despair; she could eat no breakfast, but sat at the table watching the clouds. Presently the sun came out upon the dreary landscape, and the sun in Jacqueline’s eyes came out too. From the deepest gloom she passed to the wildest gayety. Her eyes shone; and taking little Beverley into the great, empty drawing-room, she waltzed around with him, singing and capering about until the boy, like herself, was in a gale of good humor. Judith had never ceased being puzzled by it. Still another obstacle, though, seemed to arise in Jacqueline’s path. General Temple had a suspicion of gout, and declared that the party was out of the question for him. At this, Jacqueline looked so pale and disappointed that even Mrs. Temple’s heart melted toward her.
“But I can take care of Jacqueline, mother,” said Judith; “we are safe, you know, with Simon Peter on the box, and we will come home before twelve o’clock.”