Amanda obeyed, and he rose to receive it; her hand trembled as she presented it. She looked not in his face, but she thought his hand was not quite steady. She saw him lay the cup on the table, and bend his eyes to the ground. She heard Miss Macqueen address him twice ere she received an answer, and then it was so abrupt that it seemed the effect of sudden recollection. Miss Macqueen now grew almost as inattentive to the table as her sisters, and Mrs. Macqueen was obliged to come over to know what they were all about. At length the business of the tea-table was declared over; and almost at the same moment the sound of a violin was heard from an adjoining room, playing an English country dance, in which style of dancing the Macqueens had been instructed in Edinburgh, and chose this evening in compliment to their guests. The music was a signal for universal motion—all in a moment was bustle and confusion. The young men instantly selected their partners, who seemed ready to dance from one room to another. The young Macqueen, who had been so assiduous about Amanda, now came, and taking her hand, as if her dancing was a thing of course, was leading her after the rest of the party, when she drew back, declaring she could not dance. Surprised and disappointed, he stood looking on her in silence, as if irresolute whether he should not attempt to change her resolution. At last he spoke, and requested she would not mortify him by a refusal.
Mrs. Macqueen hearing her son’s request came forward and joined it. Amanda pleaded her headache.
“Do, my dear,” said Mrs. Macqueen, “try one dance; my girls will tell you dancing is a sovereign remedy for everything.” It was painful to Amanda to refuse; but, scarcely able to stand, she was utterly unable to dance; had even her strength permitted her so to do, she could not have supported the idea of mingling in the set with Lord Mortimer, the glance of whose eye she never caught without a throb in her heart, which shook her whole frame. One of the Miss Macqueens ran into the room, exclaiming: “Lord, Colin, what are you about? Lord Mortimer and my sister have already led off; do, pray, make haste and join us,” and away she ran again.
“Let me no longer detain you,” said Amanda, withdrawing her hand. Young Macqueen finding her inflexible, at length went off to seek a partner. He was as fond of dancing as his sisters, and feared he should not procure one; but luckily there were fewer gentlemen than ladies present, and a lady having stood up with his youngest sister, he easily prevailed on her to change her partner.
“We will go into the dancing room, if you please,” said Mrs. Macqueen to Amanda; “that will amuse without fatiguing you.” Amanda would rather not have gone, but she could not say no; and they proceeded to it. Lord Mortimer had just concluded the dance, and was standing near the door in a pensive attitude, Miss Macqueen being too much engrossed by something she was saying to the young lady next to her, to mind him. The moment he perceived Amanda enter, he again approached his partner, and began chatting in a lively manner to her. Amanda and Mrs. Macqueen sat down together, and in listening to the conversation of that lady, Amanda found herself insensibly drawn from a too painful attention to surrounding objects. On expressing the pleasure which a mind of sensibility must feel on witnessing such family happiness as Mrs. Macqueen possessed, that lady said she had reason indeed to be grateful to Heaven, and was truly so for her domestic comforts. “You see us now,” she continued, “in our gayest season, because of my sons’ company; but we are seldom dull. Though summer is delightful, we never think the winter tedious. Yet though we love amusement, I assure you we dislike dissipation. The mornings are appropriated to business, and the evenings to recreation. All the work of the family goes through the hands of my daughters, and they wear nothing ornamental which they do not make themselves. Assisted by their good neighbors, they are enabled to diversify their amusements: the dance succeeds the concert; sometimes small plays, and now and then little dramatic entertainments. About two years ago they performed the Winter’s Tale; their poor father was not then in his present situation.” Mrs. Macqueen sighed, paused a minute, and then proceeded—"Time must take something from us: but I should and do bless, with heartfelt gratitude, the power which only, by its stealing hand, has made me feel the lot of human nature. Mr. Macqueen,” continued she, “at the time I mentioned, was full of spirits, and performed the part of Autolycus. They made me take the character of the good Paulina. By thus mixing in the amusements of our children, we have added to their love and reverence perfect confidence and esteem, and find, when our presence is wanting, the diversion, let it be what it may, wants something to render it complete. They are now about acting the Gentle Shepherd. Several rehearsals have already taken place in our great barn, which is the theatre. On these occasions one of my sons leads the band, another paints the scenes, and Colin, your rejected partner, acts the part of prompter.” Here this conversation, so pleasing to Amanda, and interesting to Mrs. Macqueen, was interrupted by a message from the drawing-room, to inform the latter the rubber was over, and a new set wanted to cut in.
“I will return as soon as possible,” said Mrs. Macqueen, as she was quitting her seat. If Amanda had not dreaded the looks of Lady Martha almost as much as those of Lord Mortimer or Lady Araminta, she would have followed her to the drawing-room. As this was the case, she resolved on remaining in her present situation. It was some time ere she was observed by the young Macqueens. At last Miss Macqueen came over to her—"I declare,” said she, “you look so sad and solitary, I wish you could be prevailed on to dance. Do try this; it is a very fine lively one, and take Flora for your partner, who, you see, has sat in a corner quite discomposed since she lost her partner, and by the next set Colin will be disengaged.”
Amanda declared she could not dance, and Miss Macqueen being called to her place at the instant, she was again left to herself. Miss Macqueen, however, continued to come and chat with her whenever she could do so without losing any part of the dance. At last Lord Mortimer followed her. The eyes of Amanda were involuntarily bent to the ground when she saw him approach:—"You are an absolute runaway,” cried he to Miss Macqueen; “how do you suppose I will excuse your frequent desertions?”
“Why, Miss Donald is so lonely,” said she.
“See,” cried he, with quickness, “your sister beckons you to her. Suffer me (taking her hand) to lead you to her.”