In short, Miss Milly Center’s birthday picnic was to be the event of the season. Her spirits rose as she beheld her most becoming dress, and she prognosticated for herself no solemn epoch of repentance and reform, but an auroral dawn of new flirtations with full recovery of all the old, an annus mirabilis of social success and scores of manly hearts trampled under foot.
CHAPTER XIX
MISS CENTER’S BIRTHDAY PARTY AND WHAT OCCURRED
THEREAT
THE fateful day dawned. Fair were the omens of the morning; full their accomplishment as day culminated. Oh, what a parade there was! Chiefly and Chieftainly the Millard sent forth its fleet full of younkers and prodigals and “skarfed barks,” flaggy with dizzy floating of ribbons. Commodore Mrs. Wilkes headed this centre of the squadron. Commodore? I will rather say Admiral of all the grades, red, white, and blue; liberté, égalité, fraternité—these, under her admiral conduct, were to be the watchwords of the day. And now from many a cottage of gentility, from many a sham château, if possible more genteel, they were pouring and thronging in full-sailed bravery toward the rendezvous.
They were landed in a lovely cove near the Dumplings. Mr. Dulger was ardent in his endeavours to aid the Queen of the Day, Miss Millicent, in disembarking; so ardent that Nemesis thought he needed quenching, and so quenched him a little. He slipped knee-deep into the water with a ducking splash. Dunstan handed the lady out, while Peter Skerrett picked Billy up with a mild reproof.
The party was one of many elements; these soon grouped or paired in elemental concord, and all the slopes were gay with the sight of lolly circles, and jocund with the sound of their lively laughter. The band piped unto them and somewhat they essayed to dance upon the undulating sward. It was remarked by the Millarders that Mr. Belden and Mrs. Budlong were absent a long time, and that afterwards he was very devoted to Diana. It was also remarked that Miss Arabella was getting tired of the Frenchman. Dear me! how people do remark things.
Mr. Waddy did not feel out of place at the picnic, because, as a man of the universal world, he was always in place; but he was out of spirits. Tootler wrote no more. Ira was wretched with suspenses and suspicions. Poor old Budlong—here was this wife of his hardly concealing her intrigue with Belden—her second intrigue, and this time not with a blackleg, but with one whom, he feared, was a villain. Belden, too, was intimate with Diana, favoured by Clara; and Ira could not warn them. He had nothing except suspicion. His judgment, sharpened by this, saw Belden as he was—plausible, flattering, laborious to please, cautious of offence, clever, experienced, a man of that very dangerous class who see the better and follow the worse. Mr. Waddy, therefore, seeing Belden’s success, was filled with wrath. The old man Ira began to take control of his lately stoical nature.
“I’m getting dangerous,” he felt; and not all the petting of Mrs. Aquiline, nor all the attentions of the daughtery mothers and nubile daughters, could distract him or make him distracted from this ugly presence of hateful thoughts. He observed that Belden was uneasy when he was by, and concealed his unease by a seeming cordiality. Mr. Waddy began to tingle with a nervous sensation of presentiment that there was to be a crisis, an explanation, a punishment, a vengeance—what and for what he could not yet foresee.
By-and-by, the happy moment arrived for which all other deeds at a picnic are only preparatory. The edible and potable picnic was announced as ready to be eaten and drunk, and a truly Apician banquet it was—thanks to Mrs. Wilkes, experienced giver of dinners and liberal feeder of mankind. Some of the banqueting was very pretty to behold. Fair ladies are not ignoble in the act of taking ladylike provender. But it must also be allowed that some of the banqueting was not so pretty.