Читать книгу The Quiver 12/ 1899 - Anonymous - Страница 10

Table of Contents

The Vandaleur function was over, and for a long time to come the young women of that part must feel a certain flatness in their days, as one does when an event eagerly expected is over and done with.

For the sisters the function had been a series of triumphs, to all appearance. They had been, as Miss Spencer put it, "dressed as befitted their position." They had not had, after all, to call in Mrs. Cullen's Nancy, for on the Christmas Eve a delightful box had come for each of the débutantes, with Miss Spencer's love.

Pamela's contained a rather short-waisted frock of lilac silk, with a fichu of chiffon tied softly round the shoulders.

Sylvia's gown, made somewhat similarly, was of white satin, and her innocent face and golden head rose out of it a vision of loveliness.

It would be hard indeed to say which was the most beautiful girl that night; but Sylvia held her little court, or rather augmented it during the evening, while Pamela's, somehow, seemed to melt and fall away.

Miss Spencer found a comfortable seat for herself in one of the long galleries after dinner, and remained there, while one or another of her old cronies and admirers came up to talk with her.

She was almost as great a success in her way as Sylvia, of whom she caught glimpses now and again, waving her immense fan where she stood in the centre of the gallery, and playing with the conversation about her much as one plays at battledore and shuttlecock.

"The child will do," said Miss Spencer to herself, when Sir John Beaumont, an old admirer of hers, had gone to fetch her some refreshment. "Wonderful how she makes all those men look so delighted with her and themselves! It reminds me of a girl who could do that. Who was it? And what happened afterwards?... Ah! Pamela," she said, speaking aloud, "so you have come to see what I am doing."

"To stay with you awhile, Miss Spencer," said Pamela, creeping into the shadowy corner beside her.

"And where are all the beaux, my dear? It is not as if your heart was elsewhere."

Pamela smiled a wan little smile.

"I'm tired, Miss Spencer. I can't keep it up like Sylvia."

"Hoity-toity, tired! No, you can't be tired. It will be years before there is another event like this. Let me call Mr. Wandesforde over there to take you to hear this Dublin singer, Madame Squallini, or whatever the woman's name is. All the people have gone trooping off to the music-room to hear her."

"Please don't, dear Miss Spencer, I would so much rather sit here by you. I have heard a great many fine singers already."

"Why, what's come to you, Pam? You used to be as full of fun as Sylvia. Now you are like a girl whose lover has gone away—I know how such a one would feel—and has never come back to her."

Sir John Beaumont returned at this moment.

"I don't know whether your father or your sister is in the greatest demand, Miss Graydon," he said. "I heard peals of laughter as I passed the sitting-room, and, looking in, I saw your father delighting them. He's a charming fellow, upon my word. He's wasted on rusticity."

"Indeed, Sir John, I suppose the rustics ought all to be plain and stupid," said Miss Spencer.

"Ah, my dear lady," murmured the old gentleman, "that would be to do without you."

"Oh, I daresay; you always had a pretty speech ready. And what about Pam here?"

"Miss Pamela belongs to the country, as lilies and roses do."

"She likes to bloom in the shade," said Miss Spencer, a bit irritably. "What do you think of a girl who prefers to sit in the corner rather than hold a court as her younger sister is doing?"

"It's cruel to the young fellows, Miss Pamela—that's what it is."

"It isn't as if she were an engaged girl."

"Ah! that would be rough on the young fellows, before they had more than a chance of seeing her."

Pamela listened to this brisk interchange between her elders with a faint smile. She certainly looked tired, and as the evening went on she held her quiet place by Miss Spencer, who was very animated, and talked enough to cover her silence.

Once she had realised that Pamela was really tired and wanted to sit still, her kindness of heart was aroused. She even waved off the swains who came at intervals to coax Pamela out of her corner.

At last the evening, which Pamela had felt endless, was really drawing to an end.

"You poor dears," said Sylvia, standing over them, and still waving her great fan, "I'm afraid I've been keeping you out of your beds an unconscionable time."

"Hear her!" cried Miss Spencer. "You'd think we were her grandmothers."

"Only Pam," said Sylvia. "I've been watching you. You didn't seem to find it dull."

Miss Spencer laughed, well pleased.

"I'm afraid we're much of a muchness," she said; "but your sister here, I'm disappointed in her. I think she has a headache, poor child. It isn't as if she had a lover now."

Pamela did not answer, but walked meekly by Miss Spencer's side, with Sir John Beaumont murmuring his old-world compliments in her ear.

Sylvia went on before, surrounded by a phalanx of black coats, which escorted her to Miss Spencer's carriage.

Pam listened to all the gay good-nights with a throbbing head and an extreme flatness and dulness of spirit.

"Graydon'll be up all night," said Miss Spencer as they rolled away. "He enjoyed himself immensely and added to the enjoyment of others. Your father's well-fitted to shine in society, girls. 'Tis a pity, as Beaumont says, he should be shut up here."

"Didn't he propose Mr. Vandaleur's health beautifully after dinner?" said Sylvia. "I sat where I could see him, and all the time he had a twinkle in his eye."

"He ought to be in Parliament himself," said Miss Spencer emphatically. "Vandaleur isn't worth a rush."

"But what was the matter with Pam?" asked Sylvia. "Why, Pam's asleep!"