It came to be voted by public acclamation that Rachel Ray was the belle of the evening. I think this was brought about quite as much by Mrs Butler Cornbury’s powerful influence as by Rachel’s beauty. Mrs Butler Cornbury having begun the work of chaperon carried it on heartily, and talked her young friend up to the top of the tree. Long before supper her card was quite full, but filled in a manner that was not comfortable to herself — for she knew that she had made mistakes. As to those spaces on which the letter R was written, she kept them very sacred. She was quite resolved that she would not stand up with him on all those occasions — that she would omit at any rate two; but she would accept no one else for those two dances, not choosing to select any special period for throwing him over. She endeavoured to explain this when she waltzed with him, shortly before supper; but her explanation did not come easy, and she wanted all her attention for the immediate work she had in hand. “If you’d only give yourself to it a little more eagerly,” he said, “you’d waltz beautifully.”

“I shall never do it well,” she answered. “I don’t suppose I shall ever try again.”

“But you like it?”

“Oh yes; I like it excessively. But one can’t do everything that one likes.”

“No; I can’t. You won’t let me do what I like.”

“Don’t talk in that way, Mr Rowan. If you do you’ll destroy all my pleasure. You should let me enjoy it while it lasts.” In this way she was becoming intimate with him.

“How very nicely your house does for a dance,” said Mrs Cornbury to Mrs Tappitt.

“Oh dear — I don’t think so. Our rooms are so small. But it’s very kind of you to say so. Indeed, I never can be sufficiently obliged —”

“By the by,” said Mrs Cornbury, “what a nice girl Rachel Ray has grown.”

“Yes, indeed,” said Mrs Tappitt.

“And dances so well! I’d no idea of it. The young men seem rather taken with her. Don’t you think so?”

“I declare I think they are. I always fancy that is rather a misfortune to a young girl — particularly when it must mean nothing, as of course it can’t with poor Rachel.”

“I don’t see that at all.”

“Her mother, you know, Mrs Cornbury — they are not in the way of seeing any company. It was so kind of you to bring her here, and really she does look very nice. My girls are very good-natured to her. I only hope her head won’t be turned. Here’s Mr Tappitt. You must go down, Mrs Cornbury, and eat a little bit of supper.” Then Mr Tappitt in his blue waistcoat led Mrs Cornbury away.

“I am a very bad hand at supper,” said the lady.

“You must take just one glass of champagne,” said the gentleman. Now that the wine was there, Mr Tappitt appreciated the importance of the occasion.

For the last dance before supper — or that which was intended to be the last — Rachel had by long agreement been the partner of Walter Cornbury. But now that it was over, the majority of the performers could not go into the supper-room because of the crowd. Young Cornbury therefore proposed that they should loiter about till their time came. He was very well inclined for such loitering with Rachel.

“You’re flirting with that girl, Master Walter,” said Mrs Cornbury,

“I suppose that’s what she came for,” said the cousin.

“By no means, and she’s under my care; therefore I be you’ll talk no nonsense to her.”

Walter Cornbury probably did talk a little nonsense to her, but it was very innocent nonsense. Most of such flirtations if they were done out loud would be very innocent. Young men are not nearly so pointed in their compliments as their elders, and generally confine themselves to remarks of which neither mothers nor grandmothers could disapprove if they heard them. The romance lies rather in the thoughts than in the words of those concerned. Walter Cornbury believed that he was flirting and felt himself to be happy, but he had uttered nothing warmer to Rachel than a hope that he might meet her at the next Torquay ball.

“I never go to public balls,” said Rachel.

“But why not, Miss Ray?” said Walter.

“I never went to a dance of any description before this.”

“But now that you’ve begun of course you’ll go on.” Mr Cornbury’s flirtation never reached a higher pitch than that.

When he had got as far as that Luke Rowan played him a trick — an inhospitable trick, seeing that he, Rowan, was in some sort at home, and that the people about him were bound to obey him. He desired the musicians to strike up again while the elders were eating their supper — and then claimed Rachel’s hand, so that he might have the pleasure of serving her with cold chicken and champagne.

“Miss Ray is going into supper with me,” said Cornbury.

“But supper is not ready,” said Rowan, “and Miss Ray is engaged to dance with me.”

“Quite a mistake on your part,” said Cornbury.

“No mistake at all,” said Rowan.

“Indeed it is. Come, Miss Ray, we’ll take a turn down into the hall, and see if places are ready for us.” Cornbury rather despised Rowan, as being a brewer and mechanical; and probably he showed that he did so.

“Places are not ready, so you need not trouble Miss Ray to go down as yet. But a couple is wanted for a quadrille, and therefore I’m sure she’ll stand up.”

“Come along, Rachel,” said Cherry. “We just want you. This will be the nicest of all, because we shall have room.”

Rachel had become unhappy seeing that the two men were in earnest. Had not Cherry spoken she would have remained with Mr Cornbury, thinking that to be her safer conduct; but Cherry’s voice had overpowered her, and she gave her arm to young Rowan, moving away with slow, hesitating step.

“Of course Miss Ray will do as she pleases,” said Cornbury.

“Of course she will,” said Rowan.

“I am so sorry,” said Rachel, “but I was engaged, and it seems I am really wanted.” Walter Cornbury bowed very stiffly, and there was an end of his flirtation. “That’s the sort of thing that always happens when a fellow comes among this sort of people!” It was thus he consoled himself as he went down solitary to his supper.

“That’s all right,” said Rowan; “now we’ve Cherry for our vis-à-vis, and after that we’ll go down to supper comfortably.”

“But I said I’d go with him.”

“You can’t now, for he has gone without you. What a brick Cherry is! Do you know what she said of you?”

“No; do tell me.”

“I won’t. It will make you vain.”

“Oh, dear no; but I want Cherry to like me, because I am so fond of her.”

“She says you’re by far — But I won’t tell you. I hate compliments, and that would look like one. Come, who’s forgetting the figure now? I shouldn’t wonder if young Cornbury went into the brewery and drowned himself in one of the vats.”

It was very nice — very nice indeed. This was her third dance with Luke Rowan, and she was beginning to think that the other two might perhaps come off without any marked impropriety on her part. She was a little unhappy about Mr Cornbury — on his cousin’s account rather than on his own. Mrs Cornbury had been so kind to her that she ought to have remained with Walter when he desired it. So she told herself — but yet she liked being taken down to supper by Luke Rowan. She had one other cause of uneasiness. She constantly caught Mrs Tappitt’s eye fixed upon herself, and whenever she did so Mrs Tappitt’s eye seemed to look unkindly at her. She had also an instinctive feeling that Augusta did not regard her with favour, and that this disfavour arose from Mr Rowan’s attentions. It was all very nice; but still she felt that there was danger around her, and sometimes she would pause a moment in her happiness, and almost tremble as she thought of things. She was dividing herself poles asunder from Mrs Prime.

“And now we’ll go to supper,” said Rowan. “Come, Cherry; do you and Boyd go on first.” Boyd was a friend of Rowan’s. “Do you know, I’ve done such a clever trick? This is my second descent among the eatables. As I belong in a manner to the house I took down Miss Harford, and hovered about her for five minutes. Then I managed to lose myself in the crowd, and coming up here got the music up. The fellows were just going off. We’ve plenty of time now, because they’re in the kitchen eating and drinking. I contrived all that dodge that I might give you this glass of wine with my own hands.”

“Oh, Mr Rowan, it was very wrong!”

“And that’s my reward! I don’t care about its being wrong as long as it’s pleasant.”

“What shocking morality!”

“All is fair in — Well, never mind, you’ll own it is pleasant.”

“Oh, yes; it’s very pleasant.”

“Then I’m contented, and will leave the moral of it for Mr Cornbury. I’ll tell you something further if you’ll let me.”

“Pray don’t tell me anything that you ought not.”

“I’ve done all I could to get up this party on purpose that we might have you here.”

“Nonsense.”

“But I have. I have cared about it just because it would enable me to say one word to you — and now I’m afraid to say it.”

She was sitting there close to him, and she couldn’t go away. She couldn’t run as she had done from the stile. She couldn’t show any feeling of offence before all those who were around her; and yet — was it not her duty to do something to stop him? “Pray don’t say such things,” she whispered.

“I tell you that I’m afraid to say it. Here; give me some wine. You’ll take some more. No? Well; shall we go? I am afraid to say it.” They were now out in the hall, standing idly there, with their backs to another door. “I wonder what answer you would make me!”

“We had better go upstairs. Indeed we had.”

“Stop a moment, Miss Ray. Why is it that you are so unwilling even to stay a moment with me?”

“I’m not unwilling. Only we had better go now.”

“Do you remember when I held your arm at the stile?”

“No; I don’t remember anything about it. You ought not to have done it. Do you know, I think you are very cruel?” As she made the accusation, she looked down upon the floor, and spoke in a low, trembling voice that almost convinced him that she was in earnest.

“Cruel!” said he. “That’s hard too.”

“Or you wouldn’t prevent me enjoying myself while I am here, by saying things which you ought to know I don’t like.”

“I have hardly thought whether you would like what I say or not; but I know this: I would give anything in the world to make myself sure that you would ever look back upon this evening as a happy one.”

“I will if you’ll come upstairs, and —”

“And what?”

“And go on without — without seeming to mind me so much.”

“Ah, but I do mind you. Rachel — no; you shall not go for a minute. Listen to me for one moment.” Then he tried to stand before her, but she was off from him, and ran upstairs by herself. What was it that he wished to say to her? She knew that she would have liked to have heard it — nay, that she was longing to hear it. But she was startled and afraid of him, and as she gently crept in at the door of the dancing-room, she determined that she would tell Mrs Cornbury that she was quite ready for the carriage. It was impossible that she should go through these other two dances with Luke Rowan; and as for her other engagements, they must be allowed to shift for themselves. One had been made early in the evening with Mr Griggs. It would be a great thing to escape dancing with Mr Griggs. She would ask Cherry to make her apologies to everybody. As she entered the room she felt ashamed of herself, and unable to take any place. She was oppressed by an idea that she ought not to be walking about without some gentleman with her, and that people would observe her. She was still very near the door when she perceived that Mr Rowan was also coming in. She determined to avoid him if she could, feeling sure that she could not stop him in anything that he might say, while so many people would be close around them. And yet she felt almost disappointment when she heard his voice as he talked merrily with someone at the door. At that moment Mrs Cornbury came up to her, walking across the room on purpose to join her.

“What, all alone! I thought your hand was promised for every dance up to five o’clock.”

“I believe I’m engaged to someone now, but I declare I don’t know who it is. I dare say he has forgotten.”

“Ah, yes; people do get confused a little just about this time. Will you come and sit down?”

“Thank you, I should like that. But, Mrs Cornbury, when you’re ready to go away, I am — quite ready.”

“Go away! Why I thought you intended to dance at least for the next two hours.”

In answer to this, Rachel declared that she was tired. “And, Mrs Cornbury, I want to avoid that man,” and she pointed out Mr Griggs by a glance of her eye. “I think he’ll say I’m engaged to him for the next waltz, and — I don’t like him.”

“Poor man; he doesn’t look very nice, certainly; but if that’s all I’ll get you out of the scrape without running away.” Then Mr Griggs came up, and, with a very low bow, struck out the point of his elbow towards Rachel, expecting her immediately to put her hand within it.

“I’m afraid, sir, you must excuse Miss Ray just at present. She’s too tired to dance immediately.”

Mr Griggs looked at his card, then looked at Rachel, then looked at Mrs Cornbury, and stood twiddling the bunch of little gilt playthings that hung from his chain. “That is too hard,” said he; “deuced hard.”

&............