Nell, of Shorne Mills Part 38

"And--you didn't feel faint? You look rather pale now!" he said apprehensively. "Would you rather not dance?"

"No, no; I would rather dance!" she replied, with a kind of feverish impatience. "I--I think I am cold." She s.h.i.+vered a little. "I shall be all the better for a dance!"

She went round like one moving in a dream; her eyes looking straight before her in a fixed gaze, her lips curved with a forced smile. After a moment or two she grew warmer; the blood began to circulate, a hectic flush started out on her cheeks.

Any one seeing her would have thought she was enjoying herself amazingly; would not have suspected that her heart was racked by agony; that the music was beating upon her brain, inflicting pain with every stroke; that she longed, with an aching longing, to be in the dark, in her own room, alone with her unspeakable misery.

One talks glibly enough of women's sufferings; but not one of us ever comes near gauging them, for the G.o.ds who have denied them some things have granted to the least of them the great power of enduring in silence, of smiling while they suffer, of murmuring commonplaces while the iron is cutting deeper and deeper into their souls. The n.o.bler the woman the greater this power of hers; and there was much that was n.o.ble in poor Nell. And as she danced, those who looked at her were full of admiration or envy. She was so young; her loveliness was so untainted by the world; the delicate droop of the pure lips was so childlike, while it hinted of the deeper nature of the woman, that many who regarded her and then glanced at the professional beauty, mentally accorded Nell the palm.

And among them was Drake. He had gone straight to the smoking room, had lit a cigarette, and, pacing up and down, had, with stern lips and frowning brows, revolved the problem which fate had set him.

He swore under his breath, after the manner of men, as he went over the scene with Luce. What devil of ill chance had sent her down there? And why--why had she changed her mind? Was it really true that she--cared for, him still? He could scarcely believe it; and yet the caress of her hand, the look in her eyes, the--the--kiss----He flung the cigarette away--for he had bitten it in two--and fumed mentally. And what did she mean, think? Was it possible that she thought he could go back to her?

He laughed grimly, in mockery of the idea. Why, even if there had been no Nell, he could not have gone back to Luce. And there was Nell! Yes, thank G.o.d! there was Nell, his dear, sweet, beautiful Nell! His girl love, the girl who was like a pure star s.h.i.+ning in G.o.d's heaven compared with a flame from--yes, from the nethermost pit. Love! He, who now knew what love meant, laughed scornfully at the idea in connection with Lady Luce. Pa.s.sion it might be--but love! And she had left him with a kiss, as if she were convinced that she had recovered him! Oh, it was d.a.m.nable, d.a.m.nable!

Why--why, she might even behave in the ballroom as if--as if she had a right to claim him! She might even tell the Chesneys that--that----

He strode out of the smoking room in time to see the Chesney party taking their departure. As Lady Luce shook hands with the hostess and murmured her thanks for "a delightful evening"--and for once they were genuine and no idle formula--he saw her glance round the room as if in search of some one; but he drew back out of sight.

Then, when they had gone, he reentered the ballroom and his eyes sought Nell. She met them, and he smiled, but rather anxiously, with a feeling of disquietude; for there was----Was there something strange in the expression of her face? But as she smiled back--can one imagine what that smile cost Nell?--he drew a breath of relief, found a partner, and joined in the dance.

By this time the party had reached the after-supper stage, and the waltzes had grown faster. A set of lancers had been danced with so much spirit and enjoyment that it had been encored. Some of the men were talking and laughing just a little loudly, and the women's faces were flushed with the one gla.s.s of champagne which is generally all they permit themselves, the spell of the music, and the excitement of rapid and rhythmical movement. Couples found their way into the anterooms and recesses, or sat very close together in corners of the great, broad staircase.

Some of the men had boldly deserted the ballroom and retreated to the smoking room, where they could play whist and drink and smoke: "Must wait for my womenfolk, you know."

d.i.c.k, at this, his first dance, was enjoying himself amazingly. He had gone steadily through the program, and as steadily through most of the dishes at supper, and he was now flirting, with all a boy's ardor, with a plump little girl, the niece of Lady Maltby.

She was "just out," and d.i.c.k had danced three dances in succession with her before she remembered that she was committing a breach of etiquette.

"Dance again with you? Oh, I couldn't!" she said, when d.i.c.k, with inward tremors but an outward boldness, begged for the fourth. "I mustn't--I really mustn't!"

"Why not?" demanded d.i.c.k innocently.

"If you weren't such a boy you wouldn't ask," she retorted severely, but with a smile lurking in her bright young eyes.

"I bet I'm as old as you are," he said.

"Are you? I don't think you are. You look as if you'd just come from school. I'm----No, I won't tell you. It was just a trick to learn my age. But if you must know why I won't dance again with you, it is because no lady ought to dance three times in succession with a man."

"But I'm only a boy, which makes all the difference, don't you see?"

said d.i.c.k navely. "n.o.body cares what a boy does, you know. Come along."

She pretended to eye him severely.

"No; I won't 'come along.' And I think it's very rude of you not to take an answer."

"All right," he said cheerfully. "Then will you come and have some supper?"

"Why, it isn't half an hour ago since we had some."

"Then come and see me eat some more," he suggested.

"Thank you; but I am never very fond of seeing animals fed, even at the Zoo!"

"That was rather good," he said, with a grin. "My sister, Nell couldn't have put that one in more neatly."

"Your sister Nell? That's the girl over there, dancing with Captain White? How pretty she is!"

"Think so? Yes, she is, now you mention it. We are considered very much alike."

The girlish laughter, which he had been waiting for, rang out, and, taking advantage of it, d.i.c.k coaxed her into a corner on the stairs, where they could flirt to their hearts' content.

"I wonder whether you'd be offended if I told you that you were the jolliest--I mean nicest--girl I've met?" said the young vagabond, with an a.s.sumption of innocence and humility which robbed the remark of any offense--at any rate, for his hearer, whose eyes sparkled.

"Not at all. And I wonder whether you'd mind if I told you that I think you are the rudest and most--most audacious boy I ever met?"

"Not the least in the world, because it's no news--I mean that I'm--what was it--the rudest and most audacious? I have a sister, you know, and she deals in candor, candor in solid blocks. But what a mission my condition opens up before you, Miss Angel!"

"A mission?" she asked reluctantly, young enough to know that she was going to be caught somehow.

"Yes," he said, with demure gravity. "The mission of my reformation. If you think me so bad to-night, I don't know, I really don't, what you would have thought of me yesterday, before I had had the advantage of your elevating society. Now, Miss Angel, here is a chance for you--the great chance of your life! Continue your elevating influence. Your cousin has asked me to a rabbit shoot to-morrow."

"You'll shoot somebody. They really ought not to allow boys to carry guns----"

"Who's rude now?" he asked, with a grin. "I was going to say, when you interrupted me, that if you came out with the luncheon party, I should have the opportunity of a lesson in--in deportment and manners. See?"

"I shouldn't think of coming," she declared promptly.

"Oh, yes, you will," he said teasingly, and with an air of conviction.

"Women always do what they wouldn't think of doing."

"Really!" she retorted, with mock indignation. "There is only one thing I can do, and it is my duty. I shall tell your sister----Oh, look!" she broke off suddenly, and with something like dismay in her voice, as she pointed downward.

d.i.c.k leaned over, and saw Nell, sitting on an old oak bench just below them. She was leaning back; her eyes were closed, and her face white.

"Oh, go to her; she is not well. I am so sorry! Go to her at once!"

d.i.c.k ran down the stairs, and the girl followed a step or two, then stood watching them timidly.

"Hallo, Nell! What's the matter?" asked d.i.c.k.

She opened her eyes and rose instantly, struggling with all a woman's courage beating in her heart to renew the fight, to play her part to the end of that never--never-ending night.

"Nothing, nothing. I am just a little tired, I think."

At this moment Drake came up.

"This is my dance, Nell," he said. His face, his voice were grave, for his soul was still disquieted within him. "I have been looking for you----"