Dame Tourtelot, who chanced to be present, wore a long face, which (it is conceivable) the hearty old Squire enjoyed as much as the dancing. But Mrs. Elderkin must have looked with a warm maternal pride upon the fine athletic figure of her boy, as he went twirling down the floor, with that graceful figure of Adèle.
Upon the very midst of it, however, the Doctor and Miss Johns came like a cloud. The fingers of Rose rested idly on the keys. Adèle, who was gay beyond her wont, alone of all the company could not give over her light-heartedness on the instant: so she makes away to greet the Doctor,—Miss Johns standing horrified.
"New Papa, you have surprised us. Phil was showing me some new steps. Do you think it very, very wrong?"
"Adaly! Adaly!"
"Ah, you dear old man, it isn't wrong;—say it isn't wrong."
By this time the Squire has come forward.
"Ah, Doctor, young folks will be young folks; but I think you won't have a quarrel with Mrs. Elderkin yonder. My dear," (addressing Mrs. Elderkin,) "you must set this matter right with the Doctor. We must keep our young people in his good books."
"The good books are not kept by me, Squire," said the parson.
Reuben, who had been loitering about Rose, and who, to do him justice, had seen Phil's gallant attention to Adèle without one spark of jealousy, was specially interested in this interruption of the festivities. In his present state of mind, he was most eager to know how far the evening's hilarity would be imputed as a sin to the new convert, and how far religious severities (if she met any) would control the ardor of Adèle. The Doctor's face softened, even while he talked with the charming errant,—Reuben observed that; but with Aunt Eliza the case was different. Never had he seen such a threatening darkness in her face.
"We have interrupted a ball, I fear," she said to the hostess, in a tone which was as virulent as a masculine oath.