Читать книгу Three Bright Girls - Annie E. Armstrong - Страница 4

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That quarter of an hour before dinner, which to people who are used to it is generally rather a bore than otherwise, is quite an amusement to Doris, whose only experience of dinner-parties hitherto has been a bird's-eye view, obtained by hanging over the balustrade, of the guests filing into the dining-room. To-night the girl feels all the importance of being for the first time an actual participant in the entertainment; and flushed with the consciousness of her own dignity in having to assist her mother in receiving their friends, and the proud knowledge that she is wearing a properly-made dress, she feels there is at last some advantage in being the eldest girl of the family. A long peal at the bell, and Doris rushes hastily across to her mother.

"Do you really wish me to talk to every one, mother, and divide my attentions between them all, as I have seen you doing?"

"Yes, dear, of course. You will soon take it up and get accustomed to the ways of society. I want you to see a little in your own home before coming out next season, so that you may gain a little experience; otherwise I should not let you dine with us at your age. I don't know, I am sure, what your aunt will say to what I suppose she will call my injudicious haste in bringing you forward. She considers eighteen quite the correct age for introducing girls, but six months the other side—"

"Dr. and Mrs. Benson," announces Rankin; and Mrs. Merivale, followed by her daughter, goes forward to receive the first guests. The rector takes immediate possession of his host, and getting him on to the rug before the fire enters into an animated discussion with him on the prime minister's speech of the previous night; dashing into it so suddenly that Doris, who is standing by, is inspired with the idea that they must have begun this conversation some time during the same day somewhere, and having perhaps been interrupted, have now taken it up again at the exact point at which they left off. Mrs. Merivale and the rector's wife being seated together on a sofa talking softly about their respective families, Doris roams about the room a little until another loud peal at the bell causes her to retire a little behind her mother's chair, in order to be in readiness when the next visitors are announced. This time it is Colonel and Mrs. Danvers and almost close upon them are ushered in Mrs. and Mr. Hugh Horton and Captain Hall, as if they had all come together. There is quite a buzz of conversation in the room now, and Doris finds herself seated by Mrs. Danvers, with Captain Hall and Hugh standing before them, laughing and chatting as if she had been accustomed to this sort of thing all her days.

"Well, how do you think you will like your first dinner-party, Doris?" inquires Hugh, going round and leaning over her chair.

"O, I think it will be jolly. I am enjoying it all so far; only if mother sends me down with one of the old fogies the dinner part of the performance will be awfully dull. You take me down, Hugh, do; then we can discuss the tableaux and the party, you know. We have got a lot settled to-night, and the carpenter is coming to-morrow to see about arranging the room. It only remains to be decided which we shall choose."

"All serene!" replies the young fellow. "I'll take you down if I can, Doris; but your mother may have other views for me, you know. Ah! here come some more. I say, Doris, is Honor coming down to-night?"

"No—that is, yes," hurriedly answers Doris, rising as the door is thrown open, and "Mr. and Mrs. Paget" and "Lady Woodhouse" are announced.

"Why, bless my heart, child, what does this mean?" exclaims the latter lady, bearing down upon her niece, and lifting her eye-glass.

"What does what mean, aunt?" inquires Doris demurely, and meeting the astonished stare of her aunt with unmoved gravity.

"Why, your being down here, dressed up in a gown which I am quite sure Miss Renny was never guilty of making. You are never going to dine?"

"Yes, I am, aunt, of course, or I shouldn't be down here at all. Mother says she means me to appear a little at home before really coming out. She wants me to get a little into the ways of society."

"Ways of fiddle-sticks, I should say!" rejoins Lady Woodhouse tartly. "In my young days one was never seen or heard of until properly introduced. Let me see, how old are you, child—seventeen, eighteen?"

"Seventeen and a half, aunt."

Lady Woodhouse holds up her hands in horror. "Not even eighteen! What is the world coming to? But there, your mother is one of the most injudicious women I know, and always will be, I suppose. Well, Mr. Hugh Horton, and how are you? I suppose you two young people are going down together, eh?"

"No such luck, I'm afraid. I believe I'm to take one of the other ladies—Mrs. Danvers, in fact."

"Nothing of the sort!" exclaims this energetic lady. "I have made up my mind you shall take me, young man. Go over and tell your mother, Doris, that I insist upon going down with Mr. Hugh Horton. Then we will see if we can't contrive to sit next to you and your escort. Mind now, child, when you see me leaving the room, you follow; then we shall manage, I daresay. Ah! here comes Sir Peter—last, as usual. Now I suppose the party is complete. Run, Doris, or you will be too late."

Almost before Sir Peter has greeted his host and hostess, the door is once more thrown wide, and the announcement "Dinner is served" brings the assembled guests to their feet. Doris is standing obedient, close by her aunt, who has already taken forcible possession of Hugh, when a cheery, manly voice from behind says "Now, Miss Doris, your mother tells me I am to have the honour of taking you in to dinner on this auspicious occasion of your first appearance in public;" and Colonel Danvers stands before her with smiling face and outstretched hand.

"I couldn't come and speak to you before," he explains, "for your father and the rector pinned me at the other end of the room and dragged me into a political discussion."

"O, I am so glad I am to sit beside you!" exclaims Doris with genuine pleasure. "I was dreadfully afraid it would be Captain Hall; and he is so stupid, you know. It takes him about five minutes to get out the most ordinary remarks with his silly affected drawl."

"Now, Doris;" and Lady Woodhouse turns to leave the room, closely followed by Colonel Danvers and her niece, Mrs. Merivale and Sir Peter Beresford bringing up the rear. As Doris and the colonel turn the corner of the stairs a smart wrap on the former's head causes them to look up to the flight above, where they descry Molly, armed with a battledore, hanging over the balustrade. "Hush! don't say anything. How is Doris behaving?" she says with breathless inconsistency. Colonel Danvers looks up laughingly and nods a greeting. "O, pretty well, considering;" and Doris adds, "Do go away, Molly. Did you actually dare to rap my head with that thing?" But Molly, seeing that her mother is close at hand, disappears mysteriously, and there is much scuffling and giggling heard on the next landing, where evidently the others are collected also.

Although Doris finds herself seated between Hugh and her favourite the colonel, she is so dazzled and confused with the brightness of the scene and the incessant flow of talk that she at first sits perfectly silent.

With the assistance of Colonel Danvers she gravely studies her ménu, he explaining the meaning of some of the elaborate names of the dishes, which to her, fresh from the school-room, are as Greek.

Presently Mrs. Benson, who is on the other side of the colonel, takes up his attention for a time; and as Hugh and Lady Woodhouse are now carrying on a spirited conversation on her right, Doris quietly takes a look all round the table.

There is old Mr. Paget sitting next to Mrs. Horton, with his table-napkin tucked up over his shirt-front, looking as if he had not tasted food for the last month, such undivided attention is he giving to his soup; Mrs. Danvers is carrying on a rather one-sided flirtation with Captain Hall; and good-natured Mrs. Paget is talking with all her might to old Sir Peter, who is looking worried to the last degree by the palpable exertions of the good lady to make herself agreeable and entertaining.

"Why, how quiet we are!" suddenly remarks the colonel, looking down at the bright face beside him.

"Yes, I should think so," says Doris laughing. "It's a terrible ordeal, the responsibility of having to keep one's self in order, you know, and do all that is right and nothing that is wrong. Do you remember your first dinner-party?" she continues.

"Yes, I remember it only too well; I have reason to, I assure you."

"Why? Did anything dreadful happen?"

"Well, yes; I thought it dreadful. What! no champagne?"

"I don't know that mother would like me to have it; I told her to 'hail' when anything important was likely to happen, but she is so taken up with Sir Peter that I believe she has forgotten all about me. Never mind, I'll telegraph to father."

"No, you need not do that!" exclaims the colonel, as well as he can for laughing. "Say 'yes' the next time it comes round, and I will take the responsibility. There, I see Rankin looking this way, I'll beckon him. Some champagne for Miss Doris, please," he says, and in another moment her glass is filled with the sparkling, foaming wine, at which she looks half frightened however.

"Well, now, what were you going to tell me about your first dinner-party?" she asks. "What dreadful thing was it that happened?"

"Well, I must tell you that I had to take a severe-looking old dowager in to dinner that evening. She was very rich, I suppose, for I remember that the flashing of her diamonds made me quite nervous, especially as she had a sharp way of suddenly turning round to speak to one with a kind of jerk, which made me jump, and more than, once I nearly dropped my spoon or fork, or whatever it chanced to be. I must also mention that this good lady was also very fat and very ugly. Well, matters went on pretty well altogether until dessert. I had just had my glass filled with port, when suddenly a voice on my right said, 'Mr. Danvers, may I trouble you to crack these filberts for me?' I turned so suddenly, that before I saw what I was doing my elbow had overturned the glass of port, and away it went in one remorseless stream down the old lady's gown. I was so horrified at the awful catastrophe that I sat helpless, as if stunned, and the old lady was just about to pour forth a torrent of wrathful reproaches on to my defenceless head, her eyes meanwhile flashing as much as her diamonds, when a man sitting on the other side of her (a fellow of about my own age now) suddenly jumped up, seized a decanter of sherry, and saying hastily, 'Allow me, madam,' he quietly and deliberately poured a good half of its contents upon the gown where the darker wine had left a deep red stain."

"Good gracious!" exclaims Doris with wide-open eyes, "was that to take the old lady's attention from off you?"

"Well, yes and no," says Colonel Danvers taking up a pear and slowly peeling it with great nicety; "but the fact is I didn't wait to see, for the much ill-used lady, on receiving what she thought to be an insult added to the injury she had sustained, flew, so to speak, at this gentleman, one Major Carpenter; and seeing that for the moment my very existence was forgotten, I must confess that I was cowardly enough to slip out of my place unperceived and into the hall, where a good-natured young footman, who had seen the whole thing, I suppose, opened the library door, remarking as he did so, 'There's a nice fire in here, sir.' You see, I couldn't go into the drawing-room when even the ladies had not left the table."

"Poor old lady!" says Doris, cracking nuts perseveringly; "she must have been put out with such outrageous behaviour on the part of two gentlemen. Now, don't you think so?"

"Well, I don't know. You say 'poor old lady,' but you never give a thought to the agonies of mind which I suffered. You are rather hard on me, I think."

"Well, but you were rather cowardly, by your own confession you were, to run off and leave Major Carpenter to bear the full brunt of the old lady's displeasure. O yes, it certainly was very bad of you!"

"Ah! yes, I suppose it was," says the colonel, leaning back in his chair; "and yet, Doris, since that time I have stood before a cannon's mouth without flinching. I have ridden across an open plain with, not cannon, but shot of all description 'to right of me' and 'to left of me,' without so much as a friendly shrub to protect me from the sight of the enemy. Oh! I assure you, that was a very warm position in more senses than one. However, here I am still, safe and sound; but I verily believe if I spilt a glass of port upon another old lady's dress I should feel just as inclined to turn coward and run away as ever, for the truth must be told, Doris, ever since that eventful night I have felt a mortal antipathy, not unmixed with fear, in the company of fat, cross old ladies."

Doris sits silent for a few seconds, giving her attention to the pear which Colonel Danvers has just put upon her plate. Then she says, "You haven't told me yet what your friend threw the sherry upon the dress for?"

"No, neither I have. Well, the sherry it seems, if poured over a ready-made stain of port-wine, takes it out, only leaving a sort of ring round the place, which, I suppose, can be easily removed with a little ordinary cleaning. Somebody explained afterwards to the old lady why Major Carpenter had done it, and in a few days he received a note from her, thanking him for the service he had rendered her on the occasion of Mrs. Mordant's dinner-party, and begging to apologize for any little annoyance she might possibly have shown when the accident occurred. Ever after that evening she designated me as 'that young man, Mr. Danvers,' whilst my friend was 'that charming Major Carpenter.' There's your mother, Doris, signalling for the ladies' departure. You must tell me all about these theatricals in the drawing-room afterwards, will you?"

Arrived upstairs, Doris makes at once for a secluded niche draped with curtains in one of the windows, wherein she knows she will find Honor ensconced, probably with a book.

The book is at a discount this evening, for Regy Horton, a fair, delicate-looking boy of seventeen, has already arrived, and he and Honor are deep in a discussion about some picture they have lately seen, painting being an art of which they are both passionately fond.

"Now this is really delightful!" exclaims Doris, throwing herself on the wide window-seat beside her sister. "We will just keep here by ourselves until the gentlemen come up, and then I will fetch Hugh and Colonel Danvers, and we will all talk over the 27th."

"That's all very well, Doris, but you can't do just as you like to-night, you know. You will have to talk to people; bless you, your duties are not half over yet. Here comes mother now to fetch you. There, didn't I say so?"

"Doris, you must not hide yourself in a corner," remonstrates Mrs. Merivale, coming up to the little group; "you must come and do your share of talking. And have you brought any of your songs down? I shall expect you to sing by and by."

"O, mother, I can't—I can't really! I should sink through the floor. Besides, Molly is not here to accompany me; and she is the only one who can, decently. Honor's a goose at accompaniments."

"Never mind, dear, we will see," says Mrs. Merivale vaguely. "Come, Honor, and you too, Regy; we can't have any more whisperings behind curtains when as yet there is no one to amuse the ladies."

So Doris and Honor are both dragged out of their corner, much to their chagrin, and there is a suspicion of a pout on the rosy lips of the former as the three advance into the middle of the room.

Later on, when the gentlemen have come up, and tea and coffee have been served, Doris, with much mystery, beckons Colonel Danvers over to the little group consisting of herself, Honor, and the two Horton boys.

"You will be the 'old woman,' won't you?" gasps Doris excitedly. "You would do it so beautifully. And you promised, you know, to do anything we wanted; now, didn't you?"

"A very rash promise apparently. May I be permitted to inquire to what 'old woman' you are referring?"

"Why, the 'old woman' who lived in a shoe, to be sure. Honor and I have talked it all over, and if we dress you up in one of nurse's gowns, with an apron and cap, you will look lovely!"

"Upon my word, I feel highly complimented. I hope I shall not be considered inquisitive if I ask whether this old woman was considered handsome or not? By the by," adds the colonel with a crestfallen look, and stroking his moustache, "how shall I dispose of this commodity? You will never be so despotic as to command me to cut it off, will you?"

Both the girls cry simultaneously "Oh, no, of course not!" and Hugh adds reassuringly, "Oh, that's nothing; you can flatten it down easily with a little cosmetic, and it won't show at all if you powder your face after."

"Very well, then. I will undertake to promise anything in that line if one of you girls will consent to be in my custody with a view to receiving the first whipping. Really," adds the colonel laughing, "I don't think the picture will be half bad if there are plenty of children forthcoming and the shoe is well managed. What are your plans concerning it, Hugh?" and the two proceed to enter into a deep discussion relative to the height, depth, and width thereof, when suddenly Honor and Doris are electrified by the sight of Molly entering the room, arrayed in a white frock matching that which Honor wears. Molly has a roll of music under her arm, and with the greatest self-possession in the world she marches up to the grand piano and lays it down. She then stands as if awaiting further orders, with flushed face, bright sparkling eyes, and hair tumbling over her forehead and ears and curling down upon her neck in rather wild but pretty confusion.

"Good gracious!" exclaims Doris aside to Honor, "what can it mean?"

"It is very plain to me what it means," replied Honor. "Didn't you see the music she brought in with her? That music is yours, my dear,—your songs; and mother has sent for Molly to play the accompaniments. So now you can't escape."

"Well, I really call that mean of mother!" exclaims Doris. "Molly, why weren't you in bed and asleep, you wretched child, like any other reasonable being? then you couldn't have come down, you know."

"Mother sent me a message not long ago," replies Molly promptly, "to say I was to get dressed and to look out some of your nicest songs, and come down when I was sent for. So of course I was arrayed in my white frock, with more speed than elegance, I'm afraid, for my sash is all awry, and I can't reach round to do it for myself; and," she adds, lowering her voice mysteriously, "I have actually come down in odd shoes. Look!" holding out first one foot and then the other. "One rosette is nearly twice as large as the other, and I verily believe one shoe is kid and the other patent leather! It is—look! Then it is your shoe I caught up, Honor, and that accounts for it pinching so horribly; why will you persist in having such small feet? Well, I must take care not to show both feet at once, and then it will be all right—they're both nice shoes of their kind."

"Why didn't you go back and change them?" inquires Doris turning over the songs.

"I never knew they were odd until I was on the landing outside the door, and Rankin, as soon as he saw me, threw the door wide open, so I couldn't do anything but walk in and make the best of it."

"Doris, will you sing us something, dear?" says Mrs. Merivale from the distance; and Doris, somewhat reassured by her feeling of complete confidence in her young accompanist, resigns herself to her fate with a tolerably good grace. Gounod's graceful little chanson 'Au Printemps' is the first the girls select from the goodly pile which Molly has brought down, and the effective accompaniment with the fresh young voice soon draw an appreciative group round the piano. 'The Sands of Dee' is next placed upon the stand by Colonel Danvers, and Molly, nothing loth, starts off at once with the prelude without ever consulting Doris's inclination in the matter.

DORIS SINGS "THE SANDS OF DEE."

One or two other songs quickly follow, and then some of the guests take their leave, while one or two, Colonel Danvers and old Sir Peter being amongst the number, go up and speak kindly to Molly, who, now that her duties are over, is standing a little abstractedly by the piano, running her fingers noiselessly up and down the keys.

"What a pity the Hortons had to leave so early," says the colonel to Molly. "With you here to accompany so well we might have prevailed on Hugh to sing. I do so like of all things to hear his tenor voice in 'Molly Bawn,' and also the immortal 'Sally in our Alley.'"

"One would think he could sing nothing else," remarks Molly, "by the way in which he persists in dosing us with those two, and especially the former. I am always wanting him to learn others—there are such heaps of pretty tenor songs—but it's no use; he will keep on with those and other old ones. He says none of the new songs can hold a candle to them, but I don't know—I believe it is laziness, really."

The example of the first departures being quickly followed by others, the room is soon cleared of all the guests, save Sir Peter Beresford, who being passionately fond of music, begs his hostess to allow Molly to sit up five minutes longer that she may play him one more piece.

Mrs. Merivale looks doubtfully from Molly to the clock and then back again.

"Well, sit down, Molly, and play something to Sir Peter—you know which are his favourites,—then you must all three run away off to bed instantly. Here is Doris yawning behind her fan, and Honor looks whiter than her frock, if anything. I don't know what father will say, I am sure."

"O, let them stay a bit longer," says indulgent Mr. Merivale, and crossing over to the piano he seats himself beside his three girls, and listens with no little pride to Molly's musicianly playing. The piece ended, Mrs. Merivale keeps to her word, and hardly allowing Sir Peter time to thank Doris and Molly for the musical treat which he declares they have given him, she bids her daughters say "good-night," and with a kiss to each, dismisses them.