Mrs. Bunce and her niece had been almost the last of the guests to arrive, and had been long detained in the cloak-room by those finishing touches to their adornment over which it is by no means the young or the beautiful who spend the longest time. In the present case it was the treacle-coloured chevelure of the aunt which had come askew under the hoods and wrappings she had worn upon her head, and her cap secured in its place by many a hairpin required to be removed before the other invention could be adjusted. She lingered over minor embellishments till the other occupants had left the room, when she found some pretext to send away the attendant also. Then she sprang to the door and locked it, and turning to Betsey with startling vehemence, made her promise by all she held sacred never on any pretext to reveal or divulge what she was presently to behold. Betsey has kept her promise.
Whatever awful rite may have supervened has remained unknown. The maid at the keyhole saw moving figures, but what they were doing she could not tell, though the time allowed for observation was ample during which she was kept outside. Eventually the door was unbarred, and Mrs. Bunce came forth with the dignified self-possession of a well-dressed woman, Betsey followed, looking pale and anxious, as the inquisitive waiting-maid discerned, and with the far-off look in her eyes which the books tell us is worn by those who have come through a new experience.
They were so long of getting down stairs that Mrs. Jordan had left the doorway, in which she had been standing to receive her guests, and was now by a fireplace with some of her friends. It was necessary for Mrs. Bunce to cross the room, at some risk to herself from passing dancer's, in order to pay her respects. Betsey followed as well as she was able, but she did not reach the presence of her hostess.
From beyond the radius of a dowager in truffle-coloured satin drifting easily onwards in the same direction, in whose wake Betsey had found it safe and easy to steer her course among the throng--from out of the unknown region, which the bulk of truffle-coloured satin concealed, there came a whirlwind of palest blue, with silver chains and bangles tossing among curling hair, and smiles and dimples, revolving wildly with the music, and with a shock and a little cry there came into her arms--who but Muriel Stanley! The meeting was of the briefest. They had scarcely time to ejaculate each other's names ere Muriel's cavalier had his partner well in hand again, and they were gone, Betsey looking after them with all her eyes. It was Randolph Jordan who was dancing with Muriel, looking, as Betsey phrased it, "fit to kill," in his evening suit. One of Betsey's beaux! How engagingly she looked at him, and after him, out of her boiled gooseberry eyes--throwing glances of fascination which I fear fell short, or were not understood--with a simper on her round fat cheeks, and lips parted in smiles, displaying slab-like teeth.
"Whoever was that we cannoned off just now?" said Randolph, when his partner stopped for breath, "Curious looking person to meet at a party. Who is it? You seemed to know her."
"That was my cousin, Miss Bunce. You know her too--quite ready to know her out at St. Euphrase you seem. In your own house I should have thought you would know every one."
"There, now, I've put my foot in it. She's your cousin, she's all right of course. Don't be vexed, Muriel. But what makes her wear that horrid gown? I never saw anything like it."
Something stole into Muriel's eyes as she thought of the "geranium poplin," and how very superior its wearer intended to be when she put it on--"made with a tablier and cut square"--but she checked the impulse, and only said: "Poor Betsey must feel herself a stranger here; I do not think she knows a soul but those she has met at St. Euphrase. I think I shall sit down now. No! Not another turn, I feel quite tired. Go and ask Betsey; you will do me a favour if you will, and then introduce a few gentlemen to her. Help her to enjoy herself. It must be dreadful to be so alone in a room full of people."
"You are hard on me, Muriel, to deprive me half my dance and then hand me over to--to-- If she were quietly dressed, it would not be so bad. She used to look quite passable at St. Euphrase in her cotton gowns; but the sumptuous apparel is really too dreadful. Every one will observe us. And see! I do declare she is ogling somebody up in this part of the room. Just look. Did you ever see such facial contortions? and what a mouthful of teeth! Like an amiable hyena, or the show-window at a tombstone factory."
"I am fond of my cousin Betsey, Randolph. If you do not hurry away to her she will lose this dance, and I shall be disappointed."