Nothing was more unusual than a ball at Penton. The family festivities were usually of the gravest kind. Solemn dinner-parties, duties of society, collections of people who had to be asked, county potentates, with whom Alicia and her husband had dined, and who had to be repaid. Nothing under fifty, unless it might be by chance now and then a newly married couple added in the natural progress of events to the circle of the best people, ever appeared at that luxurious but somewhat heavy table. Mr. Russell Penton chafed, but endured, and talked politics with the squires, and did his best to relieve the ponderous propriety of their wives. He was good at making the best of things; and when he could do nothing more he put on a brave face and supported it. But now, for once in a way, youth was paramount. The young people from Penton Hook, who had little acquaintance with the other young people of all the county families who were invited, had not so much as heard of what was in store for them; and Ally reflected, when she did hear, that it was something like an inspiration which had induced her mother to provide her with that second evening dress, which was quite suitable for a first ball. It was very simple, very white, fit for her age, her slim figure, and youthful aspect. But it was not for Ally that the ball was given. “I believe it is my ball,” Mab had told her. “It is my first visit to Penton since I was a child, and now that I am out Aunt Alicia thinks that something has to be done for me. Are you ‘out’? but you must be, of course, or you would not have been asked for to-day.”
“I don’t know whether I am out or not,” said Ally, with a blush; “but I don’t think mother, if she knew, would have any objection. I am eighteen. I have never been at a ball before. Perhaps I may not dance in the right way.”
“Oh, nonsense,” said Mab, “whatever way you dance you have only to stick to it and say that is the right way.”
The two girls were alone, for Walter had just been mysteriously called out of the room. And though Ally’s thoughts followed her brother with anxiety, wondering what could be wanted with him, yet the novelty of the scene and the companionship of a girl of her own age so warmed her heart, that she forgot the precautions and cares which had been so impressed upon her, and began to talk and to act by natural impulse without thought.
“I should never have the courage to do that,” she said; “I have never even seen people dancing. We had a few lessons when we were children, and sometimes we try with Wat, just to see, if we ever had a chance, how we could get on. Anne plays and I have a turn, or else Anne has a turn and I play.”
“Is Anne your only sister?”
“Oh, no,” cried Ally, with a laugh at the impossibility of such a suggestion; “there are two in the nursery. We are two boys and two girls, grown up; and the little ones are just the same, two and two.”
“How unfair things are in this world,” said Mab; “to think there should be so many of you and only one of me!”
“It is strange,” said Ally; “but not perhaps unfair: for when there is only one your father and mother must seem so much nearer to you—you must feel that they belong altogether to you.”
“Perhaps. Mamma died when I was born, so I never knew her at all. Papa is dead too. Don’t let us talk of that. I never think of things that are disagreeable,” said Mab, “what is the use? It can’t do you any good, it only makes you worse thinking. Tell me about to-night. Who will be here? are they nice? are they good dancers? Tell me which is the best dancer about, that I may ask Uncle Gerald to introduce him to me.”