'Love me, for I love you,' and answer me 'Love me, for I love you.'—Christina Rossetti.
'Tis the night of the ball, dinner is over and the house party is collected in the hall, waiting the arrival of the guests. The fiddles are scraping away in the drawing-room, where the furniture having been taken away and the carpet removed, the floor looks inviting and 'is perfectly delicious' owns Philippa, having performed a pas seul thereon, before anyone was down. She looks extremely pretty to-night in a quaint, little white satin dress, her hair fluffed all round her head, and tied up with pale green ribbons.
At this moment she is striving in vain to button up one of Chubby's gloves. 'It's awfully good of you,' he says. 'I can't think why they are so tight, what—'
'If I don't button it this time,' she replies, 'I really can't try any more, for I have not got my own on yet, and I know they'll begin to dance in a moment.'
'You'll let me have the first, won't you?' he says.
'Certainly,' she answers, all her attention absorbed in the button which is just half in the button-hole, one little poke and 'there it's done,' she says.
But alas! it is done indeed, for there is an ominous crack, and a large split is seen right across it.
'What a nuisance,' says Helmdon, gazing at the torn article.
'Oh I hope it wasn't my fault,' says Lippa.
'No; not at all, I assure you—'
'Don't waste time then looking at it, fetch another quickly,' and Philippa begins hastily to cover her own bare hands. 'Chubby,' she calls after him, 'they're beginning to dance. I can't keep this one for you, the next one will do just as well, won't it?'
'Quite,' is the reply as he ascends the stairs three steps at a time; while she becomes aware of two men making for her, Harkness and Dalrymple, the former she feels will reach her first, and she has no desire to dance with him: so she suddenly feels that she ought to be nearer her sister-in-law, and edging her way through the crowd gains her chaperon's side, a second before Jimmy comes up.
'May I have this?' he says eagerly, and receiving an affirmative, he leads her off to the ball-room, where the "Garden of Sleep" waltz is echoing through the well-lighted apartment, and the air is fragrant with the scent of many flowers. Already a goodly crowd is there, mammas, elderly spinsters, girls of all sizes and ages, in satin, silks, and tulle; old men, middle-aged men, young men and mere boys are all collected there. In a second Dalrymple and Philippa join in the giddy dance; for what is more giddifying (if I may use such a word), than waltzing in a room full of people who have not summoned up courage enough to begin, round and round they go, till Miss Seaton at length says, 'I think I really must stop although the best part of the tune is just coming. We can't be like the river, can we, going on forever:'
'Men may come and men may go,' 'But I go on forever.'
She murmurs more to herself than to him, as they make their way to the conservatory, and then, 'Do you like poetry?' she asks.
'Pretty well, I don't read much of it.'
'I am so fond of it,' replies Philippa, settling herself comfortably on a sofa surrounded by cushions, 'I could read it all day.'
'Ah, you see you have more time to do what you like, but when a fellow has been at work all day, he doesn't feel inclined for poetry, you've got nothing to do except to read and do fancy work, I suppose.'
'That's a mistake that all men make, they think that girls have nothing to do all day, when they have quite as much as men if not more; you don't know anything about them. And I think poetry is the most restful thing to read when one's tired, you see our minds soar to higher things than yours, you study the Racing Calendar and the newspapers, don't you?'
'Generally, not always,' admits Jimmy.
'The Racing Calendar, versus Tennyson, Longfellow, or Mrs Browning; but I don't believe you're half listening to me,' says she, for he is gazing straight in front of him.
'I assure you I was,' he protests, 'I am in a crowd now, may I not muse on the "absent face that has fixed" me.'
'No, certainly not, you ought to be thinking of me,' this in a slightly aggrieved tone.
'How do you know I wasn't,' gazing at her earnestly.
'I'm not absent,' and then Philippa seeing what might be implied, blushes a rosy red, and rising says, 'We must go back now, I promised Lord Helmdon this dance, and he'll never find me here. Ah! there he is.'
'Are you so anxious to dance with him?' asks Jimmy in a would-be indifferent tone.
'Yes, of course,' she replies, 'I like him so much, don't you?'
'Oh, yes,' replies Dalrymple with equal indifference. And so the evening wears on and Miss Seaton is congratulating herself at having eluded Captain Harkness, when she suddenly finds him standing before her.
'Won't you give me a dance?' he says in his suave tone. 'I have been trying to speak to you all the evening—'
'Have you?' she replies, and not knowing quite how to get out of it. 'You may have the next one if you like,' she says.
'May I really? Then I shall find you somewhere about here?'
Lippa nods, and her partner, an aged baronet, claims her and they go through the intricacies of the lancers. Almost before the next dance has begun, Harkness appears; he dances beautifully and knows it too, but it is not long before he suggests a saunter in the garden.
Philippa consents, and forth they go into the cool night air. A hundred tiny lamps have been placed among the bushes, which shed a subdued light over the scene; charming corners have been arranged to sit in, while the splashing of the fountains mingles with the laughter and conversation of the company.
'What an interminable dance,' thinks Philippa, as having walked a good way round the garden, she finds herself once more outside the ball-room, and the same tune is still being played. She heaves a sigh of despair and raising her eyes meets those of Dalrymple, who is propping himself against a pillar. There is a look of reproach in them, and Lippa, though her conscience tells her she was unkind to him, feels an insane desire to make him jealous, and turns with an adorable smile to Harkness, not having heard a word of what he has just been saying; but he, thinking he has everything in his grasp, smiles, and leads her almost before she is aware, to a secluded corner.
'I—er I have been meaning to say something to you all this evening,' he begins, standing before her with his arms folded.
'Indeed,' replies Miss Seaton lightly, 'it can't be anything of great importance, or you would have said it before.'
'Not important,' this with a little more energy, 'why it is of vital importance; on it hangs the whole fate of my existence, Miss Seaton,' bending towards her, 'er—er Philippa, do you not know, have you not guessed that I love you, that to see you is necessary to my happiness, the first time I saw you—hear me,' as she makes as if to speak, 'you must know it, do you not see it in my eyes?' he is growing melodramatic and Lippa feels inclined to laugh, 'but one word, you love me, do you not, ah!' and he is about to seize her hand when she steps back from him saying,—
'I am afraid, Captain Harkness, you have made a mistake.'
'Mistake,' he replies, 'do you mean that you will not marry me.'
'Yes, I mean that I will not marry you.'
'Not marry me,' it is getting monotonous this repeating of her words, and she makes a movement of impatience, then all of a sudden his expression changes, 'I am afraid I put the question too soon,' he says, coming a little closer and taking hold of her hand, 'but do you love another?'
'Leave go,' she exclaims, 'I think you forget, what—'
'Who is it,' he goes on, not heeding her, 'is it Helmdon or Dalrymple?' he is so close that she can feel his breath on her cheek, 'ah, I can see by your eyes it is Dalrymple?'
This is too much, and with a sudden movement she raises her other hand and gives him a good box on the ear. He is so taken aback that he drops Lippa's hand, and she, thoroughly frightened, rushes down the path into the unlighted part of the garden, and falls headlong into the arms of Jimmy; who, consumed with despair, has sought refuge in solitude.
'I—er I beg your pardon,' says Philippa, starting back, 'I—I—' but sobs check her words.
'What is the matter?' asks he tenderly, his despair having vanished; the gentle tone of his voice makes her cry the more and so he does the thing that comes most naturally to him, without thinking of the consequences, for he puts his arm round her, and kisses her madly; and Lippa without resisting, leans her perturbed little head against his shoulder feeling unutterably happy.
'Why have you been running away from me all the evening?' he asks, when a perfect understanding has been made between them.
'I didn't,' she says indignantly, 'it was you who never came near me.'
A kiss is the answer to this, and then tenderly, 'But what were you crying about just now?'
'I was frightened rather—'
'What at, darling?' asks Jimmy, gazing down at the blushing face, which is being rubbed up and down against his coat sleeve.
'At—at what I'd done,' stammers Lippa.
'Something very dreadful, no doubt,' says he with a look that belies his words.
'Yes, you're quite right,' Miss Seaton answers, 'it was dreadful. I can't think how I did it, shall I have to beg his pardon?'
'His! whose?' asks Jimmy quickly.
'Captain Harkness,' is the whispered reply, while she digs a hole in the gravel path with the heel of her white satin shoe. 'I boxed him on the ear, I hardly knew what I was doing at the moment, and now I can't think how I could do it—you see he'd asked me to marry him.'
'Is that the usual way you refuse your suitors?' says Jimmy laughing. 'What a mercy I had not to suffer the same fate.'
'Now if I remember rightly,' replies Miss Seaton gravely, 'you haven't asked me to marry you.'
'What have I done then?' asks Dalrymple.
'You've told me you loved me, but that isn't a bit the same, you know.'
'No, of course not, but, dearest, you will marry me?'
'Silly boy,' is the reply, while she suddenly reaches up and kisses him, and then disengaging herself from his detaining arm hurries back to the house, whither he follows her a little more slowly.