Mrs. Arnold's ball was in full swing when Nancy and her aunt arrived. Nancy did not look well, to Miss Metoaca's concern, who tersely advised her to pull herself together, or else stay at home. If she had followed the latter course, Miss Metoaca would have been bitterly disappointed, for she greatly enjoyed going to parties and watching Nancy's belleship.
Nancy much preferred staying quietly at home. Dull care dogged her footsteps; Goddard's pathetic face haunted her memory. Do what she could; go where she would, she could never banish from her mind his halting, passionate words spoken on that never-forgotten day in Winchester. After all, did she wish to?
Mrs. Arnold's spacious new house was filled with members of the cabinet and their wives; some of the foreign ministers and their secretaries, and Washington's residential circle, which consisted of about forty-five persons, all told, who religiously attended each other's parties, and occasionally went to the President's levees, and the entertainments of the diplomatic corps and the cabinet officers. A "social column" in the daily paper was never heard of; but, notwithstanding, each person knew when the other was giving a party or entertaining house guests. Occasionally a paragraph was slipped in the National Intelligencer, saying: "Miss H—— attended Mrs. R——'s reception," but even that was considered very bad form, though initials only were given.
Mrs. Arnold received Nancy and her aunt with some reserve. She did not want her nephew to marry Nancy, but still less, with true feminine inconsistency, did she want him to be jilted by such a chit of a girl. She also stood very much in awe of Miss Metoaca's ready wit and formidable tongue.
Nancy was immediately carried off by an impatient partner for the next dance, and Miss Metoaca was left chatting with Senator Warren and Lord Lyons, the British minister. Mrs. Arnold, flushed with her labors as hostess, stopped near them, and the Englishman turned at once and complimented her on the decorations of her ball-room.
"I am delighted you approve of my taste, your Excellency," she said complacently. "Have you seen our new oil painting which my husband has just purchased at Goupil's in New York?"
"No, I have not had that pleasure," replied the diplomat courteously.
"Then come with me. You, too, Miss Metoaca, and Senator Warren. I would very much like your opinion of the painting. It is called 'Jupiter and Ten.' What 'Ten' has to do with it is beyond me. There are not ten figures in the picture; nor did we pay ten dollars for it."
By that time they had reached the painting, a fine work by a famous artist. Underneath, on the brass name plate, were the words: "Jupiter and Io."
"The technique is fine," murmured Lord Lyons feebly, adjusting his monocle. Whereat Mrs. Arnold beamed with delight.