“Why, little Jacky,” she cried, “how glad I am to see you out again! You must let me see your little feet tripping about as if you had never been ill.”
Jacqueline responded with a faint smile. Suppose she should not be asked to dance?
Judith, taking in at once this universal shyness shown toward Jacqueline, did not move from her side. People came up and spoke to them civilly enough, but chiefly the older people. Out in the hall beyond, the black fiddlers were scraping, and Jacqueline could see a large quadrille forming. But no partner appeared for her. Until the very last she hoped desperately. Never before had Jacqueline, in the few parties she had been to in her short life, failed to be asked to dance—she was so pretty, so undeniably captivating. She turned two despairing dark eyes and two pale cheeks on Judith. It was indeed cruel and heart-breaking. Jacqueline’s evident anguish almost took away Judith’s self-possession.
“Perhaps you will have better luck next time, dear,” she whispered.
“No,” replied Jacqueline, trembling, “I feel it. I know what it means. They all know it. Heavens! what do they think I am?”
The quadrille was soon over, but the time seemed interminable to Judith and Jacqueline. Some of the dancers, flushed and excited, were walking around the hall, while others, more indefatigable, whirled around in a waltz. It was all quite plain to Jacqueline, watching them with strange and miserable eyes. Was she then barred out forever from those people, and all for Freke, while even the happiness of being with him was denied her? Mrs. Sherrard, seeing Jacqueline sitting so still and quiet by Judith, came over to them.
“My dear, I see you are not dancing; shall I get you a partner?”
Mrs. Sherrard’s sharp eyes saw something was amiss.
“No, please, Mrs. Sherrard,” cried Jacqueline, in an eager voice. “I promised Dr. Wortley not to dance much; perhaps I will dance a little after a while.”
But she did not. Nobody came near her to ask her; and even to Judith it was plain that people avoided them both. Most of the county people they knew came up and talked a little, but there was a changed atmosphere around them. Judith looked wonderingly at these people. In all the years they had lived in that county there had been nothing but neighborly kindness, good-will, and friendliness; and now, not one among them, seemed to feel the slightest spark of pity or charity for Jacqueline. They had all condemned her unheard. What version of the story had got abroad, she could not tell; but it was enough to blast the friendship of generations.