Margaret, with her gentle voice, turned to him and said that Shakspeare was very great authority; and that such love as he depicted in his lighter plays she dared say could be fed very well upon music. That she thought, after all, he put it as a question, not as a remark, but that she would ask Harriet, who was a great reader of Shakspeare.
"No, don't," said Mr. Humphries uneasily, "Miss Conway would only laugh."
But Harriet, having caught the word love, insisted on the question being referred to her, and as soon as she could speak for laughing, "Look you, Mr. Humphries," she said, "music is the food of love, and love is the food of fools; but if you have any curiosity to hear the line in question it is this,—
'If music be the food of love, play on.'"
Mr. Humphries thanked Harriet, made several gestures expressive of great confusion, and then resumed his dialogue with Margaret.
"Do you think, Miss Capel," he continued, "that anybody can love twice?"
"No, Mr. Humphries," returned Margaret quietly.
"No, Miss Capel?" said Mr. Humphries uneasily.
"I think not," replied Margaret smiling at the question.
"But then, Miss Capel, if one is prevented from marrying one's first love, what can one do?"
"Those who think love necessary must remain, single you know, Mr. Humphries; but most people will marry some one else."
And so completely did she feel that love with her was past for ever, that she discussed the topic with as much calmness as if she had been fifty years old.
"But one would not like to keep single for ever, you know, Miss Capel," said Mr. Humphries.
Margaret highly amused at the idea of being selected as a confidante on such short notice, merely laughed at this declaration; which Mr. Humphries enforced by one of his widest smiles thereby disclosing, the only beauty he possessed; namely, a singularly fine set of teeth.
It was almost dark when they arrived before the Manor House, but Harriet insisted that there was light enough to see some remarkably curious birds, which were kept in a part of the ornamental grounds.
Mr. Gage and Margaret could not but follow, although he represented to her the imprudence of hanging over a pond at sunset after being heated with riding.
The pond turned out to be a very pretty lake with little rocky dwellings for the water-fowl.
Harriet stood almost in the water feeding them with bread, which she had provided herself with at the house; she offered some to Margaret, but Mr. Gage urged so strongly the danger of remaining in the damp, that Margaret, a little frightened, complied.
Harriet laughing at her caution remained with Mr. Humphries making ducks and drakes, to the great surprise of the water-fowl.
Mr. Gage, as usual, to relieve his feelings, paid the most careful attention to Margaret; selected the dryest paths for her; insisted on disencumbering her of her riding whip, which might weigh a quarter of an ounce; admired its agate handle, pitied the troublesome draperies in which she was enveloped, and pointed out, as they went along, the most beautiful parts of the land-scape; all the while with his moustache so close to the rim of her hat, that any one looking from the windows, might have imagined, with some show of reason, that he intended to salute her.
Mr. Singleton seemed surprised to see Margaret enter the drawing-room without her friend; but on hearing where she had left her, he laughed heartily, and said it was all right; for that Humphries was the best fellow in the world, and if a young lady were to run off with him, she would never be sorry for it afterwards.
Just as dinner was announced, Harriet hurried into the room followed by Mr. Humphries, still attired in her riding habit; threw her hat on an ottoman, put her hand on her uncle's mouth to stop the remonstrance he was beginning to make, and desired him to find her a beau.
Mr. Singleton turned to look for George Gage, but he, in the same moment, offered his arm to Margaret and led her off. Harriet saw the manœuvre by which he avoided being her neighbour at dinner; she willingly accepted the arm of Mr. Humphries, transferred herself to the opposite side of the table, just under Mr. Gage's eye, and then began a very systematic flirtation with her partner. She talked to him of dogs and horses until he became really animated, and so engrossed that he could hardly be made to understand that Mr. Singleton wished to take wine with him. She complimented him on his choice in those articles until she so overpowered him with pleasant confusion that he repeatedly threatened to disappear under the table-cloth, and she suffered him to talk upon choir singing, opera singing, glee singing, and all other singing, with an eager interest that was sufficiently visible to the whole table.
Margaret glanced uneasily at Mr. Gage, who had placed himself beside her. Once or twice, when Harriet was most animated, he glanced at her and her companion with an air of some surprise and curiosity, but with a more complete appearance of indifference than might have been expected. It was plain that he was not quite so much the slave of her flexible moods as Harriet would fain have made him.
And Margaret thought with a sigh, that these two persons, so strongly and constantly attached, would go through life without ever coming to an understanding, because each was too proud to let the other see how unchanged their first feelings had remained.
To the company around the table, Mr. Gage appeared to be entirely engrossed by his beautiful neighbour, in whose ear he was whispering a variety of pleasing nothings; while the match between Harriet and Mr. Humphries, long pending and often doubted, was now declared to be finally arranged. They had made and accepted the proposal at the pond, and she was civil to him, at last, in her manners. It was high time that she should be civil to some one—perhaps marriage would improve her—and really she had been out some years, and was glad, no doubt, to take any one who came for ward. So said Mrs. Pottinger and Mrs. Markham; and Harriet's spoilt and wayward temper left no milder impression upon the greater number of her country neighbours.
But Mr. Singleton, when the dessert was set on the table, observed, with some alarm, the flushed cheek and sparkling eye of his niece.
"Hallo, Harriet!" he exclaimed.
"Well, Sir," she replied.
"What is the matter with you?"
"Nothing at all, good uncle; let me recommend you to attend to your claret, instead of staring me out of countenance."
"Don't go and catch cold again—that's all," said Mr. Singleton.
"Never fear, Sir," returned Harriet, shortly.
"Are you subject to colds?" asked Mr. Humphries.
"Not at all. I have one now and then, like other people."
"You have them very badly when they do come," said Mr. Singleton.
"I don't know a greater bore," said Mr. Humphries, "but if you will do what I tell you, Miss Conway—now don't laugh, I will undertake to cure you."
"Thank you, I will be sure to apply to you, when I have any occasion for your skill," said Harriet, glancing at her aunt, who being too deaf to follow the progress of conversation, trusted to the bright eyes of her niece for intelligence of the moment at which it was desirable to make the move. Mrs. Singleton rose, and the ladies flocked into the drawing-room.
Harriet, not caring to remain the whole evening in her habit, went up-stairs to change her costume, while Margaret placed herself beside Mrs. Singleton, and helped her in some of the work she had in hand. She possessed the art of making herself heard by means of a very low and clear intonation; and Mrs. Singleton enjoyed with her a pleasure she had almost surrendered in general; the pleasure of maintaining an unbroken conversation.
"I'll warrant, now," said Harriet, when she returned, "I'll warrant, my good aunt is becoming fonder of that little staid piece of propriety than of me. How say you, Aunt Singleton?"
"Why, niece Harriet," said the old lady, looking up quaintly from her canvass, "if you do not take great care, and behave very well, there is no saying what may happen."
"I defy you, aunt!" said Harriet, suddenly kissing her. "Come here, ma mie," she added, drawing Margaret aside; "were you flirting with George at dinner."
"No, indeed, Harriet," returned Margaret, smiling; "ever since I have known you, he has found it very convenient to be civil when you are present; but I should be silly, indeed, if I could not read through that."
"Ha, ha!" said Harriet. "You are a surprising little creature; for he is not a person to despise. I mean in point of manner and appearance."
"I wish you made that opinion of yours a little more evident," said Margaret, archly.
"Why, you bold little creature," returned Harriet; "advising me to tell a gentleman I admire him. What do you say to that, Aunt Singleton."
"Oh, fie! Niece Harriet," said Mrs. Singleton, shaking her head.
"No, but you don't understand, Aunt Singleton: this is Margaret's plan, not mine."
"Oh fie! Niece Harriet," repeated Mrs. Singleton.
"It is not my plan, is it, Margaret?" said Harriet, laughing. "By the way, do I talk hoarsely?"
"I think you do, a little."
"Then my good uncle is right, and I am going to have a cold: my throat is very uncomfortable. I will tell you what you must do to-night—take my place at the piano with Mr. Humphries. You can sing ten times better than I can."
"But I do so dislike singing in company. People are always bored by good music."
"People, my love, are bored if you sing; but they are enraged if you don't. Choose the least evil."
"Mr. Humphries, Miss Capel will take the first of that fine duet in Norma, 'Qual cor tradisti:' you will then hear the purest mezzo soprano in England."
Mr. Humphries gave a wide smile, and offered his hand to lead Margaret to the piano. Harriet drew a low, easy chair, close to the instrument, wrapped a scarf round her throat, and gave her attention to the singing.
"How greatly you have delighted us all," said Mr. Gage to Margaret, when she left the piano; "you have never before allowed us to know that you were a very beautiful singer."
"Won't you sing something now, Miss Conway?" asked Mr. Humphries.
"I cannot—I have a sore throat coming. You must sing for me," said Harriet.
"Dear me, I am very sorry," said Mr. Humphries, "then I am afraid you won't be able to hunt on Thursday."
"Not a chance of it," replied Harriet. "Evan, are those new books ever coming down from London?"
"I am sorry I cannot inform you; but I am not a prophet even in the small Highland way of second sight. Only that as all the ladies are wishing to get the new novels first, one may presume that some among them are doomed to be disappointed."
"I shall send you up to town for Coningsby," said Harriet.
"There is nothing at all unreasonable in that," replied her brother calmly. "But, perhaps, it would be cheaper for me, and quite as rapid for you, if you were to order it of the T– bookseller."
"I have a great many books at home, Miss Conway, if you want any-thing to read," said Mr. Humphries.
"I am much obliged; you are all kindness," returned Harriet very gravely, "I dare say you read a great deal."
"No, not so much as you would think," said Mr. Humphries, all unconscious of irony; "what with hunting, and shooting, and angling—I am very fond of angling—the whole year passes away. But my mother is always reading."
"Said mother," said Harriet, pulling Margaret close to her, and wheeling her chair a little out of the circle, "said mother has a dower-house to which to retire whenever the seal marries; so don't let the vision of a cross old woman always reading 'Nelson's Fasts and Festivals' deter you; if you have a mind."
"Oh, Harriet! you should not make me laugh before all the people."
"No, you stand it vastly well; you look very demure I assure you. His name is William."
These last words pronounced in a very pathetic tone of voice, rather tended to discompose the tranquillity upon which she had complimented her friend; but Margaret took the chair at a sufficient distance to protect her from Harriet's provoking asides. George Gage and Mr. Humphries came and talked to her; the other young ladies occupied the piano in turn, and so the evening passed.
CHAPTER IV
Young ladies, sir, are long and curious
In putting on their trims; forget how day goes
And then 'tis their good morrow when they are ready.
I warrant ye a hundred dressings now
She has surveyed—this and that fashion looked on,
For ruffs and gowns.
WOMEN PLEASED.
Margaret was hardly awake the next morning, before she received a message from Harriet requesting to see her as soon as she was dressed, and having hastened this ceremony, she found her friend sitting up in bed very flushed, very hoarse, but evidently much pleased with something.
"Do not kiss me, ma mie," said she, holding Margaret at arm's length, "you shall not catch this cold; but look here—your ticket for the T– ball. I was so afraid they might be all gone, as the ball takes place the day after to-morrow; but one of my few friends sent me this, so now set Mrs. Mason to work as fast as possible.
Margaret was young enough to feel elated at the thought of a ball; her eyes sparkled as she received the ticket, but recollecting the state of her friend, evidently on the borders of a severe cold, she strongly urged that they should give up all idea of the ball, it was of no consequence; certainly not worth running any risk.
Harriet was always positive in what she undertook, and she would not hear of a single objection. She meant to keep her room until they set off to the ball. She had not caught a cold but a chill, which was a very different thing; so she thrust a small bunch of keys into Margaret's hand, and told her to run down as the chapel bell was ringing, and to take her post at the breakfast table.
Mr. Humphries was at prayers, and accompanied her from the chapel. He mustered courage to pay her some awkward compliment upon her regular attendance. But Margaret, who was very reserved upon any subject connected with the feelings, said quietly, that she was very glad to take advantage of so good a custom, and then hastened to pay her respects to Mrs. Singleton and to commence her task of tea-making.
When Mr. Gage came in, he looked surprised to see Margaret in Harriet's place, coldly expressed his regret when he was told the reason; commended Miss Capel's superior prudence of the preceding evening, and then sat down quietly to his breakfast, and appeared to dismiss the subject from his mind.
During the day all the people who had been staying in the house, dropped off, one by one. Mr. Evan Conway took himself to some friend's house at the other end of the county. Mr. Gage and Mr. Humphries went out riding; and Margaret devoted herself to her friend.
At dinner, Mr. Gage did not condescend to make the commonest enquiries respecting Harriet's progress, which Margaret thought very ill-bred. But Mr. Humphries made up for his want of civility.
Mr. Singleton, who was very fond of this young man, made the approaching ball, an excuse for asking him to stay in the house for a short time; and Mr. Humphries, nothing loth to exchange for a while the crabbed society of his honoured mother for that of two pretty and accomplished women, accepted with readiness.
Margaret passed the evening with Harriet, who appeared much better, and in high spirits. She exhibited to Margaret her ball-dress. A black net, trimmed with clusters of carnations, with all the costly et ceteras of her toilet.
"You are always effective in your dress," said Margaret, looking at the gold net-work which Harriet was to wear on her head.
"That is the secret," said Harriet, "some people love to be in the fashion. Others think it distinguished to be plain; but give me effect. There is a great deal of sly effect in your white crape and blush roses, little one."
For Mason, with her usual prudence, had anticipated the materials for a ball dress, which she was now preparing with much skill and contentment.
Harriet took up her guitar and sang Margaret a Spanish song, then handing her the instrument, she bade her go on with the concert.
Margaret began a Barcarolle—presently a loud knock at the door.
"Olá! what now?" exclaimed Harriet.
"May we come in?" asked Mr. Singleton, putting his head in at the door.
"What is the meaning of We?" asked Harriet.
"Humphries and your humble servant," replied Mr. Singleton, almost shutting his head off in the door as he spoke.
"Well, I don't know! eh, Margaret?—Yes," returned Harriet, glancing round her boudoir. The maid had removed the ball dresses, and the room was very fit for a reception.
Mr. Humphries followed Mr. Singleton with a step much as if he were treading on eggs, and was very sorry for it.
Harriet held out her hand. "How glad I am to see you again, Mr. Humphries. I hope you are come to engage me to dance with you on Thursday."
Mr. Humphries smiled amazingly at this reception.
"Yes. I—I'm glad," he said, by way of reply.
"Well, but about the dancing," said Harriet eagerly.
"Oh! Will you dance the second quadrille with me, Miss Conway?"
"With pleasure, on one condition. That you will tell me who you have engaged for the first?"
A wide smile, but no answer.
"Well, Mr. Humphries, you are not going to be so rude as to refuse my request. I know I am to keep it secret. Come, tell me."
"I can't," returned Mr. Humphries, going through several convulsive movements.
"Is he not ill-natured, uncle Singleton?" asked Harriet, "I am sure I would tell Mr. Humphries, if I knew who was to be my first partner."
"But you will dance with me all the same?" asked Mr. Humphries.
"Well, I will then," said Harriet laughing; "but I am very angry with you."
Margaret had laid down the guitar and was standing in the Tudor window, pulling the dry leaves from the geraniums. Mr. Humphries joined her.
"Gage is down stairs with Mrs. Singleton," he said.
"So I thought," returned Margaret.
"They are playing at chess together."
"Are they, indeed!"
"Do you like chess, Miss Capel?"
"Not very much, Mr. Humphries."
"No more do I."
"Ha! ha! there's sympathy," cried Harriet, leaning back in her chair to gain a full view of them among the geraniums.
Mr. Singleton laughed heartily, and told Harriet not to spoil sport.
Mr. Humphries coloured, and tried to get more effectually behind the flower stands.
"Miss Conway is always laughing at one," he said.
Margaret could not deny it.
"But what I was going to say," remarked Mr. Humphries, coming close to Margaret and whispering. "Will you dance the first quadrille with me?"
"With pleasure," said Margaret, smiling.
"Thank you—you see I could not tell Miss Conway just now, because I did not know myself, till I had asked you."
"No, you could not, indeed."
"Well, I'm going now," he exclaimed, suddenly taking her hand. "God bless you!"
"Did you sneeze, Margaret?" asked Harriet, turning quickly round.
Mr. Humphries was walking fast to the door.
Margaret supposed the explanation was meant as a farewell, for he stopped at the door, said "good night!" accompanied by an extraordinary nod of the head, and vanished.
"That is one of the best fellows that ever lived," said Mr. Singleton, nodding at the door through which Mr. Humphries had departed.
"What do you say to that assertion, Margaret?" asked Harriet, looking mischievously at her.
"I will take Mr. Singleton's word for it," replied Margaret, with her usual calmness.
"But he is not the best dancer that ever lived, Uncle Singleton," said Harriet, laughing, "as Margaret will find to her cost. Come, he has set you a very good example. Vanish! and good night to you. And, uncle," she added, calling him back, "had you not better, in the course of the evening, take an opportunity to ask Mr. Humphries his intentions?"
Mr. Singleton was well used to Harriet's jests; he laughed, shook his head, and left the room.
CHAPTER V
But nature never framed a woman's heart
Of prouder stuff than that of Beatrice;
Disdain and scorn ride sparkling in her eyes,
Misprising what they look on; and her wit
Values itself so highly, that to her
All matter else seems weak.
MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING.
"Well, ma mie, and what is it?" asked Harriet, as Margaret came hastily into her room while she was dressing for the ball. "Any-thing gone wrong with the blush roses."
"I am come about some blush roses," said Margaret, holding out a beautiful bouquet. "I do not know how it is, Harriet, but I found these on my toilet when I went up to dress."
"And who do you think gave me these carnations," asked Harriet, pointing to a splendid cluster of those flowers placed in a glass vase. "The fairies have matched our trimmings, that is all, Margaret. Blush roses for you—carnations for me."
"No, but is it your doing, Harriet?" asked Margaret earnestly.
"Faith, no;" said Harriet laughing, "who do you suspect; Mr. Humphries has not the wit, though you have so barbarously—"
"Harriet! do not accuse me."
"I do not know who would think me worth a bouquet," said Harriet, going composedly on with her toilet; "perhaps young Vesey, or Sir Hawarth Fane. I should not wonder if it were Sir Hawarth. I hope not, though."
"But it is so very disagreeable," said Margaret, "to be obliged to any one for a bouquet. I had much rather not wear it."
"Nonsense, child, it is quite proper—flowers, you know; if it were jewels it would be quite another thing. I dare say, after all, it comes from George Gage; eh! Charlotte?"
"La, Miss Conway! how you do startle one."
"Yes, he bribed you to place these two nosegays on our tables."
"Well, Miss Conway, it is no use denying any-thing to you."
"There, Margaret, now your mind is at rest, go back and dress. What splendid hair you have, child."
Mr. Singleton was loud in his commendations of the two young ladies. He was to accompany them. Mr. Gage and Mr. Humphries went together. It appeared to Margaret that Mr. Singleton was asleep in his corner of the carriage, and she could not forbear whispering to Harriet. "Do be civil to Mr. Gage, to-night."
"Why, so I am always, am I not?" said Harriet, "civil as an orange."
"Oh! not to-day at dinner."
"I am sure I said nothing," said Harriet.
"No, it was your manner."
"Well, he was rude too," returned Harriet, "why did he not ask me to dance?"
"Because," said Margaret, "he took it for granted you would refuse him."
"He had no business to take it for granted," was Harriet's perverse reply; "if he does ask me now, I shall certainly decline."
It was an excellent ball; the room was very prettily got up, and all the families of any consideration, far and near, were present. Mr. Singleton and the two ladies became at once an object of great attention. They were remarkably well dressed, and their style of beauty, so opposite and so distinguished, that every one was employed in passing an opinion upon them. Several people came up to Mr. Singleton, and asked eagerly who was the beautiful girl with the crown of blush roses. Mr. Singleton informed them that she was a Miss Capel—very good family—charming girl —excellent fortune—great friend of Harriet's. Almost all the ladies present disliked Harriet, and were delighted at the opportunity to set up a rival beauty. Had Margaret been poor, this would have been difficult; the men would have called her a pretty girl, and passed on to dance with somebody else; but as it was, Margaret was pronounced the belle of the ball-room, and besieged with requests for her hand from all quarters. She was engaged for the first quadrille, and was quite puzzled to remember and distinguish the numerous applicants for the succeeding dances. Mr. Gage entreated her to remember that her promise to dance with him was of very long standing, and having renewed it for the next waltz, he turned to Harriet, and begged for the honour of her hand. She was talking with her uncle, and just looked round with the words "Engaged, Mr. Gage." He bowed, and stepped back, and one of her numerous acquaintances coming up at the moment, she walked off with him to the dancers.
Margaret danced very quietly and well; Harriet's dancing was superb. She was light as air, and the precision of her steps, and the foreign expression and grace of her movements, excited universal attention.
When waltzing began, and she floated round the room on the arm of a young Spaniard who had just been introduced to her, and who had been staying at Sir Evan Conway's, there was quite a crowd collected to watch her and her partner. Directly Harriet became aware of this, she stopped, retired within the circle with her companion, and there stood talking with him in Spanish until the dance was over. This was not from any feeling of bashfulness, but because she did not choose to exhibit for the amusement of the company.
"In England," as she said haughtily to her partner, "if one dances a little better than a bear, one is actually mobbed in a ball-room!"
As soon as the waltz was over, the young Count led Harriet to her seat, and stood politely by her side, holding her flowers, and talking of the carnations of Andalusia. Harriet selected one of the finest, pulled it out of her bouquet, and gave it him. The Count very respectfully kissed her hand (a common courtesy in Spain), and placed the flower in his coat.
It may be supposed how excited all the ladies were. They never had seen in all their lives, such very indecorous behaviour in a public room. They really thought she ought to be desired to withdraw; and their anger was all the more pointed, as the Conde de F. was very distinguished in his appearance—was interesting from having taken an active part in some of the late Spanish squabbles, and was such a waltzer as no Englishman need ever hope to be.
George Gage, who was standing beside Margaret, after looking arrogantly into every corner of the room, said that he had formerly thought the T– ball very respectable, but that really to-night there was hardly a soul that one knew; and such a very—singular—set of beings, that he wondered how the two or three ladies who were present could find a change of partners. That, perhaps, as they knew nobody, Miss Capel would not object to honour him by taking another turn with him, when the next quadrille was over;—there was this advantage in waltzing, that you were not mixed up during the dance with Heaven knows who; and obliged, perhaps, to give your hand to a hair-dresser in passing. Margaret looked very arch during this speech, but she offered no opposition to Mr. Gage's remarks. She was, still, half afraid of him. She could not help seeing that he interrupted himself half-a-dozen times during his speech to bow to different people who had the honour of his acquaintance; and the thought crossed her mind, that a hair-dresser was not very likely to gain admittance to a county ball.
Every moment some one or other was coming up to Harriet to solicit her hand. Some she refused, some she evaded, some she put on her list. She was engaged in a sparkling conversation with the Spanish nobleman, which grew every moment more and more animated.
The Conde had come to the ball solely for the chance of meeting the Senorita, and she seemed determined to make it as agreeable to him as possible.
Mr. Singleton brought Margaret a partner, who had been very eager for an introduction. He was next to Harriet in the Mazourka, which was still rare enough to excite a good deal of attention. Every one not engaged in the figure stood round to watch the dancers. Mr. Gage, with Margaret's bouquet in his hand, leaned against a pillar, following with his eyes the graceful movements of Harriet and the Conde. A party, who had just entered the room, made their way into the front of the circle, and as Margaret was standing while Harriet and her partner were in the centre, the Conde on his knee, and Harriet passing round him, she heard a loud assured voice exclaim, "Heavens, Collins! what a handsome man."
She turned her head, and beheld a large middle-aged woman, with red hair, and a very plain face, extravagantly dressed, and leaning on the arm of a very young man, apparently under twenty. She was in a lace dress of great value, with a gold cord and tassels round her waist, and her arms loaded with bracelets, while the front of her dress was decorated with beetles, locusts, scorpions, and other reptiles in jewellery, after a fashion that was then making a great noise in Paris. The young man held a gold pomander-box and a flaçon, with the lady's bouquet and handkerchief: an elderly man stood a little behind with an Indian shawl over his arm.
"They are foreigners," said Mr. Collins, directing his glass towards Harriet and the Conde.
"Is he not handsome?" asked the lady.
"I think the girl the best looking," returned the young man.
"No—do you? Fan me, Collins, there's a good soul."
Mr. Collins unfurled her fan, fringed with swansdown, and proceeded to fan the "large lady."
"Is there any one here one knows?" said the lady, turning her head a little towards the elderly man.
"No, my dear, I think not," he replied.
"Ah, dear Paris!" said the lady, with a powerful sigh.
"Ah!" returned Mr. Collins.
"Could not we sit down somewhere?" asked the lady.
Way was made for her through the circle, and she sank on a bench. Mr. Collins stood fanning her.
"Do go and look for some ice, Collins, I am perishing with heat," said the lady.
"I'll try," replied the obedient Mr. Collins.
"That's a pretty modest girl—there—with the blush roses," said the lady, addressing her husband.
"Yes, my love," returned the good gentleman.
"What time did you order the carriage?"
"At two, dearest."
"What ice is this, Collins? Pine? Oh! it's pretty good; as well as one can expect in this remote corner of the earth. There, I feel better now."
Mr. Collins obsequiously held her ice-plate. "Will you dance to-night?" he asked, leaning over her.
"Why—I think I will take a few turns when the waltzing begins," she replied.
The Mazourka finished, Margaret went to claim her bouquet of Mr. Gage; but to her dismay, she found him leaning against the pillar in profound thought, and the floor quite strewn with the delicate leaves of her blush roses. He started on seeing her; seemed rather confused, a most unusual thing for him, and began to attempt some apology for his depredations.