“I will not promise you yet,” said she, smiling; “but will let you know ere ’tis time to go. And, now, Mr. Lennard, hurry them with our rooms, if you have any compassion for me.”
Mr. Lennard again left them to execute her commands, and soon returning gave them the welcome intelligence that they were ready; and having escorted them to the door, left to betake himself to his, in order to recruit from the fatigue of three days’ travel.
He had not the smallest idea of Edith’s being an inmate of the hotel; or, indeed, of her being any where except in the quiet little village of A——. I really question if a thought had turned toward her, so absorbed had he been in his attentions to Miss Ashton, who, by the bye, though ever graceful and lady-like, was sometimes exacting in her demands.
Well, he went to sleep, and when he awoke from his refreshing nap, the room was shrouded in the dimness of twilight, and a tap at his door made him spring from the bed, and throwing on his coat, gave entrance to a servant, who brought lights, water, etc., as he had given orders, at that hour, and also a little perfumed billet, with “Miss Ashton’s compliments, and would be happy to accept of Mr. Lennard’s escort to the ball.”
At nine, he was at Mrs. Ashton’s door, where he was joined by the party, ready to enter the saloon.
Have you ever been at Old Point Comfort? If you have, ’tis needless for me to attempt to describe that spacious saloon, with its corridors on each side—large enough to contain with ease at least five hundred, without incommoding each other, by jutting elbows, or pinched feet, or by making the belle concerned about the appearance of her costume, as she mingles in the mêlée, or what would appear a crowd in any common sized room. What a coup d’œil struck our party as they entered the west door from the piazza. No garden ever gleamed more brightly with clustering flowers than did that gas-lit, lofty saloon, with its pillars, flowers and mirrors reflecting its extensive range and gay groups, making it look still larger and better filled. The splendid band from the garrison was in full play, wafting strains of delicious music over the illumined and perfumed scene. There were groups of fair forms and lovely faces, that would task the most skillful artist to depict, and match in their rich complexions and brilliant robes even Titian’s exquisite coloring. Fragments of conversations, and jets of sparkling—now murmuring—laughter would fall from their ruby lips, like snatches of delicious music. And there, in other groups, could be seen distinguished statesmen and orators—here the merchant, forgetful for the nonce of his schemes of profit, as he looked on his superbly bedecked wife or fascinating daughter; there the author, whose honeyed eloquence linked his readers’ hearts to his name with chains of gold, and caused many a pulse to throb as wildly as now beat the hearts of those young houries who grace this glad scene. Dancing had not as yet commenced.
A buzz of general admiration now follows a group who have just entered. It consisted of four persons, two ladies and their escorts, en character à la Cracoviene. Upon one, in particular, of that well dressed quartette did the eye rest in amaze at her radiant beauty of form and feature, and the exquisite grace of her undulating step reminding one of the dip of a sea-gull—so easy, so light, so gliding in its motion. Her cavalier was tall, thereby making the form which leaned on his arm almost petit by comparison. Her short, full skirt of white silk, with scarlet ribbons—tight-fitting jacket of velvet, of the same brilliant dye, with its buttons and embroidery of silver—scarlet boots, à la polka, and small velvet cap, with white marabouts, completed the costume, which exactly suited the arch look of the beautiful Edith. Her luxuriant tresses of light brown were braided in wide plaits, and tied en nœuds, with ribbons to match in color her jacket.
Charles fairly started, for—unchanged, except that added years but increased her loveliness, and that her coquettish dress and the dazzling light made her look still more ethereal and fairy-like—’twas his own Edith! Yes, the truant heart, which had been straying, like a thought of the mind, was instantly brought back to its allegiance; and the deep tone with which he uttered “Edith!” had all the fervor and tenderness of the moonlight trysting scene.
A pang, too, very much like jealousy, came to annoy him, at this crisis, when he saw her dispensing her smiles to the knot of gentlemen who almost surrounded her party, and seemed soliciting her hand for the polka quadrilles they were about forming. How inconsistent are those very same “lords of creation.”
There was Charles fuming and chafing, internally, because Edith by some magnetic attraction had not been able to single him out amid that crowd of five hundred!—and he had for a few brief hours past almost forgotten her existence. He determined to get clear of Bel as soon as politeness would allow, and claim from Edith her recognizance. At the same time, however, thoughts of writing a tiny note, and conveying it to her privately, crossed the “almost twilight of his brain;” for he was fearful that the young, untrained girl, who had never mingled in European courts, and been the admiration of mustached barons and stripling lords, might be apt to get up a scene.