stranger?” was the inquiry on every lip. It was even put – lispingly of course – by the J.’s and the L.’s and the B.’s.
Mrs Girdwood would have given a thousand dollars to have satisfied their curiosity – to have spited them with the knowledge that her daughter was dancing with a lord!
Chapter Eleven.
Ball-Room Emotions
In addition to the “bar” at which you settle your hotel account, the Ocean House has another, exclusively devoted to drinking.
It is a snug, shady affair, partially subterranean, and reached by a stairway, trodden only by the worshippers of Bacchus.
Beyond this limited circle its locality is scarcely known.
In this underground region the talk of gentlemen, who have waxed warm over their cups, may be carried on ever so rudely, without danger of its reaching the delicate ears of those fair sylphs skimming through the corridors above.
This is as it should be; befitting a genteel establishment, such as the Ocean House undoubtedly is; adapted also to the ascetic atmosphere of New England.
The Puritan prefers taking his drink “on the quiet.”
On ball nights, the bar-room in question is more especially patronised, not only by the guests of the House, but outsiders from other hotels, and “the cottages.”
Terpsichore is a thirsty creature – one of the best customers of Bacchus; and, after dancing, usually sends a crowd of worshippers to the shrine of the jolly god.
At the Ocean House balls, drink can be had upstairs, champagne and other light wines, with jellies and ices; but only underground are you permitted to do your imbibing to the accompaniment of a cigar.
For this reason many of the gentlemen dancers, at intervals, descended the stairway that led to the drinking-saloon.
Among others was Maynard, smarting under his discomfiture.
“A brandy smash!” he demanded, pausing in front of the bar.
“Of all men, Dick Swinton!” soliloquised he while waiting for the mixture. “It’s true, then, that he’s been turned out of his regiment. No more than he deserved, and I expected. Confound the scamp! I wonder what’s brought him out here? Some card-sharping expedition, I suppose – a razzia on the pigeon-roosts of America! Apparently under the patronage of Girdwood mère, and evidently in pursuit of Girdwood fille. How has he got introduced to them? I’d bet high they don’t know much about him.”
“Brandy smash, mister?”
“Well!” he continued, as if tranquillised by a pull at the iced mixture and the narcotic smell of the mint. “It’s no business of mine; and after what’s passed, I don’t intend making it. They can have him at their own price. Caveat emptor. For this little contretemps I needn’t blame him, though I’d give twenty dollars to have an excuse for tweaking his nose!”
Captain Maynard was anything but a quarrelsome man. He only thought in this strain, smarting under his humiliation.
“It must have been the doing of the mother, who for a son-in-law prefers Mr Swinton to me. Ha! ha! ha! If she only knew him as I do?”
Another gulp out of the glass.
“But the girl was a consenting party. Clearly so; else why should she have hung fire about giving me an answer? Cut out by Dick Swinton! The devil?”
A third pull at the brandy smash.
“Hang it! It won’t do to declare myself defeated. They’d think so, if I didn’t go back to the ball-room! And what am I to do there? I don’t know a single feminine in the room and to wander about like some forlorn and forsaken spirit would but give them a chance for sneering at me. The ungrateful wretches! Perhaps I shouldn’t be so severe on the little blonde I might dance with her? But, no! I shall not go near them. I must trust to the stewards to provide me with something in the shape of a partner.”
He once more raised the glass to his lips, this time to be emptied.
Then, ascending the stairs, he sauntered back to the hall-room.
He was lucky in his intercession with the gentlemen in rosettes. He chanced upon one to whom his name was not unknown; and through the intercession of this gentleman found partners in plenty.
He had one for every dance – waltz, quadrille, polka, and schottishe – some of the “sweetest creatures” on the floor.
In such companionship he should have forgotten Julia Girdwood.
And yet he did not.
Strange she should continue to attract him! There were others fair as she – perhaps fairer; but throughout the kaleidoscopic changes of that glittering throng, his eyes were continually searching for the woman who had given him only chagrin. He saw her dancing with a man he had good reason to despise – all night long dancing with him, observed by everybody, and by many admired.
In secret unpleasantness Maynard watched this splendid woman; but it was the acmé of bitterness when he saw her give ear to the whisperings of Richard Swinton, and lean her cheek upon his shoulder as they whirled around the room, keeping time to the voluptuous strains of the Cellarius.
Again occurred to him the same thought: “I’d give twenty dollars to have an excuse for tweaking his nose!”
He did not know that, at less cost, and without seeking it, he was near to the opportunity.
Perhaps he would have sought it, but for a circumstance that turned up just in time to tranquillise him.
He was standing by the entrance, close to a set screen. The Girdwoods were retiring from the room, Julia leaning on the arm of Swinton. As she approached the spot he saw that her eyes were upon him. He endeavoured to read their expression. Was it scornful? Or tender?
He could not tell. Julia Girdwood was a girl who had rare command of her countenance.
Suddenly, as if impressed by some bold thought, or perhaps a pang of repentance, she let go the arm of her partner, dropping behind, and leaving him to proceed with the others. Then swerving a little, so as to pass close to where Maynard stood, she said, in a hurried half-whisper:
“Very unkind of you to desert us!”
“Indeed!”
“You should have come back for an explanation,” added she, reproachfully. “I could not help it.”
Before he could make reply she was gone; but the accent of reproach left tingling in his ear was anything but disagreeable.
“A strange girl this!” muttered he, in astonished soliloquy. “Most certainly an original! After all, perhaps, not so ungrateful. It may have been due to the mother.”
Chapter Twelve.
“Après le Bal.”
The ball was almost over; the flagged and flagging dancers rapidly retiring. The belles were already gone, and among them Julia Girdwood. Only the wallflowers, yet comparatively fresh, were stirring upon the floor. To them it was the time of true enjoyment;
