Miss Holdup was disappointed in perceiving that Matilda did not act as if she were much pleased, or much flattered, by her partiality; but this she imputed to pride, and being very proud herself, she concluded that, on a little farther acquaintance, it would only render them better friends. Besides, she observed that Ellen was at present the dearest friend of Matilda; and although she considered this a degrading choice, yet she had patience to wait, and cunning enough to aid, the time when Matilda should see the superiority of such a girl as herself to poor Ellen, whom she concluded to be simple, because she perceived her to be modest and mild.
In the blithesome round of gaiety inspired by dancing, designs and airs of all kinds were for a time forgotten, and the sprightly movements of the feet kept pace with the hilarity of heart which banishes, for a time, all those unnatural combinations which disgrace the ingenuous breast of early life; but when a pause was given for the purpose of refreshment, various little parties were formed for conversation, and Miss Holdup contrived to monopolize Matilda, in a way that was painful to Ellen, disrespectful to the rest of the party, and embarrassing to her who was thus singled out; who became, with some, an object of envy, because the most fashionable girl distinguished her; with others, one of contempt, for the same reason. It will be readily conceived that Miss Holdup was never insignificant: where she did not attract admiration, she never failed to excite contempt: and as the party were, of course, for the most part amiable and well-educated children, whom Mr. and Mrs. Harewood held up as examples to their own, so the greater number, by many, regarded this young lady as a weak, ridiculous girl, whose appearance excited surprise and disgust, and whom nothing but good manners could prevent them from laughing at; and Matilda felt herself involved, from her union with her, in that kind of snare which, of all others, was the most galling to her, as from her very cradle she could never endure to be laughed at.
Mrs. Harewood perceived, from the expression of her countenance, that she laboured under very considerable vexation, and she was at times afraid that, by some irritating expression or haughty toss, Matilda would tarnish the honours of the day, by giving a pang to the heart of that fond and still happy parent, whose eyes were continually bent upon her, but who wished to see her act on the present occasion, without those influences her more immediate presence was likely to inspire. While with all the anxiety of a true friend, this good lady watched Matilda, a quick rattling sound was heard against the windows, and Matilda, a little surprised by the sound, and desirous of escaping the tedious and affected conversation of Miss Holdup, inquired what it was that she heard.
“Quiz the West Indian,” said the younger Euston; “she never saw it hail before.”
With a very grave face, the elder immediately came up to her, and told her it was raining comfits—“If you please,” said he, “you may see them through the windows, for it is not dark, though the moon is clouded.”
Matilda went eagerly to the window, for she was curious to observe a phenomenon entirely new to her. She soon perceived thousands of little balls, that fell as hard as stones, lying on the ground and the window frames, and she was desirous of examining them further; but just as she was turning to make inquiries of her friend Edmund, young Euston interrupted her, by saying—“Well, Miss Hanson, you now see the comfits; would you like to taste them? if you please, I will get you a spoonful.”
“I should like to have a few certainly,” replied she, “and will feel obliged to you to procure me some of them.”
“Hush, hush!” said the young ones to each other, all desirous to see how Matilda would look, many merely from that love of play which is inherent at their age, others from a malicious spirit which is too frequently blended with a passion for fun. Mr. Harewood apparently took no notice, but he hovered about them, and had the satisfaction of hearing several girls condemn the Eustons, and profess an intention of saving Matilda from swallowing the cold hailstones.
“You may be easy,” said Edmund, as they stood consulting together on the subject, when in ran the youth with eagerness, crying—“Here is a spoonful of beautiful comfits; now open your mouth and shut your eyes—that is the way to taste them in perfection.”
“Thank you, sir; I do not want to eat them; I know they must be snow, some kind of condensed snow, or ice, and I wished to examine them.”