“My dear—I nearly expired with embarrassment! I was purple with agitation. As a candid friend, tell me truly—has it spread to my nose?”
Somebody recited; someone sang a song; somebody introduced a new game; somebody showed card tricks; a budding artist took lightning portraits of host and hostess and a few of the leading guests, and presently supper was announced before Christabel had had time for her turn.
“Never mind! It will be even better afterwards! I intended it to be afterwards,” she said, smiling mysteriously, as she was led down to supper by the oldest and most important man in the room. Miles eagerly appropriated Cynthia, and Betty’s partner was one Mr Ned Rendell, the only brother of the houseful of girls, a somewhat lofty and self-satisfied gentleman, who let her see that he considered her a mere child more plainly than was altogether polite. Not being possessed of Jill’s youthful love of good things to eat, she was thankful when it was time to return to the drawing-room, where Christabel was already awaiting her turn, with an eagerness which had been lacking in any other performer.
“Put your chairs against the wall, please—quite against the wall! I need all the room I can get,” she directed, waving her hands to right and left in masterful fashion. “That’s better! Move that table, please. I don’t want to knock it down. I shall want someone to help me. Mr Ross, will you be so kind? We must have a musical accompaniment, too. A little slow music—Agatha knows what I mean. Begin at once, please!”
A meaning glance passed between the sisters as Agatha obediently seated herself on the piano-stool and struck up—a waltz tune! When, presto! Christabel and her partner were whirling round the room, while she laughed a merry defiance at Nan, and nodded to the assembled guests to follow her example.
In a trice the floor was covered with dancers, and for the rest of the evening no other amusement had a chance. Christabel had her way after all! It was safe to predict that Christabel generally would get her own way.
It was in the middle of the final Sir Roger, just as she was curtseying in the centre of the two long lines, that Jill’s pouch played her false, and a meringue, a sausage roll, and a couple of crackers fell on the ground in a sticky heap. Betty wished that the ground would open and swallow her up, and even Jill had the grace to blush, but Mrs Vanburgh came to the rescue with truly delightful understanding.
“Oh—oh, what a pity! You were taking them home for the children—I always did!” she cried sympathetically. “Bring a shovel, Gervase, please, and take away the crumbs. You should have smuggled them into the bedroom, Jill—that’s how I managed. Now then, partner!” and off she went, dancing down the line, and setting everybody else going, so that it was impossible to dwell any longer on the tragic discovery.
Never since the creation of the world, Jill decided, had there lived anyone more deliciously suitable to play the part of hostess to an assembly of young people!