IN TWO PARTS.

PART I.—SUNSHINE.

CHAPTER IV.—MISS ANGELA FAITHFUL.

One evening in the fourth week of our hero's stay in town, he took up a book while he was waiting for his chop, and a card fell on the floor. This card he discovered was to admit the bearer to a ball about to be held in the neighbourhood. When the landlady appeared, he asked if the card belonged to her. She said she had been looking everywhere for that card; they had had some to dispose of, and they had sold all but this one; a customer had wanted it, but as she could not find it, he had procured one elsewhere. Would Mr Webb like to buy it himself?

Mr Webb thanked her, but declined.

'Oh, well,' said she, 'it will be of no use now to us, as the ball begins at nine o'clock this evening. Perhaps you will accept this ticket, and make use of it?'

This, after a little consideration, Isaac was happy to do. It would pass away a few hours, and it would lead to no expense, as he observed that the ticket included refreshments. He did not suppose he should dance; he never had done such a thing, but there was no telling, if once his blood was up. So at eight o'clock Isaac donned a clean paper collar, took his well-tried friends, his gray thread gloves, and walked leisurely to the place of entertainment. He arrived there about nine; and on presenting himself and his ticket, he was directed to the Master of the Ceremonies, a dapper little man with a short dress coat and very tight pumps, who did not seem capable of standing still for a minute. He received Isaac's name and ticket, and danced off with him to the ballroom; and throwing open the door, announced in a very shrill voice, 'Isaac Webb, Esquire, ladies and gentlemen.'

The ladies and gentlemen addressed consisted of an antique female in black silk mittens, and two youths elegantly attired in suits from Moses's establishment, one of whom was whistling a 'fast' tune, and the other sauntering about with his hands in his pockets. Each of them seemed particularly careful to give the mittened lady a wide berth, thus testifying to all whom it might or might not concern that they were not all members of the same party. Now these persons were evidently not au fait with the usages of polite society; for of course they ought not to have been in their places at the time named on their tickets, but should have been there at half-past nine at the earliest. But here they were, listening to the tuning and consequent grating of two violins and a harp, placed on a small platform at one end of the ballroom. A violoncello was also expected (so the Master of the Ceremonies in a whisper through the door informed the company), but had not yet arrived.

In the course of the next quarter of an hour several more squires and dames were announced; and the arrivals kept on increasing until half-past nine, by which time (the violoncello having put in an appearance and all things being ready) the Master of the Ceremonies (Mr Hoppe by name) opened the ball by the announcement of a polka. That individual seemed to take a particular interest in Isaac; perhaps on account of his countrified appearance, for Mr Batfid's productions had not been designed or intended for a ballroom; or perhaps because he was a complete stranger. At all events, he now suggested that Isaac should lead out the antique lady, to whom Mr Hoppe would be happy to introduce him, and polk with her. But Isaac declined the honour, saying that he 'was much obliged, but that he would wait a bit;' so the lady and himself were among the few who kept their seats.

Almost immediately afterwards the door was opened, and Miss Faithful and her niece Miss Angela Faithful, were announced. Miss Faithful looked about fifty-five or sixty years of age; she was tall and slight, and had evidently been a beauty in her day. Such was her niece now; there could be no two opinions about it. Even Isaac, who had no great appreciation of feminine charms, was sensible of it the instant she entered the room. She was tall, and her figure was beautifully shaped; she had dark hair and eyes, a brilliant complexion, and features almost faultless. Moreover, she was dressed quietly, but in excellent taste. Before Miss Angela Faithful had been in the room many minutes, Isaac became aware of a peculiar sensation wholly unknown to him. Unqualified admiration it certainly was; but anything more? Well, he could hardly tell. He certainly felt interested in her, and desirous of a better acquaintance. But he did not know how this was to be done. Of course the most natural and proper thing to do was to obtain an introduction, and ask her to dance; but for the first time in his life Isaac Webb did not feel unlimited confidence in his own powers. And the feeling was reasonable; for to attempt to dance in public without having learned either a step or a figure, is, to say the least, a hazardous and serious undertaking.

The two ladies did not remain alone many minutes, for while Isaac was observing them (at all events one of them), a young man advanced, with whom they were probably acquainted, for he took a seat beside them, and at the next dance—a quadrille—walked off with Miss Angela on his arm to join the set. Isaac watched them take their places, and watched her through every figure of the (to him) incomprehensible dance; and when it was ended, his eyes followed her round the room and back to her seat. Her partner then left her; but his place was almost immediately filled by a lean young man with yellow hair, who was brought up and introduced by Mr Hoppe. Again Isaac watched her take her place by her partner—this time in a waltz; and as he put his arm round her waist, and she placed her hand on his shoulder, Isaac thought he should like to be in a similar position; and as the yellow young man did not excel in the mazy dance, Isaac fancied he could make quite as good a performance of it. But he let the next dance begin; and towards the end of it he made his way to Mr Hoppe, and requested the favour of an introduction to Miss Faithful.

'Do you mean the old lady?' asked the Master of the Ceremonies; 'because if you do, I warn you she is as deaf as a beetle, and if you talk so as to make her hear, you will have all the people in the room stand still to listen to you.'

'I mean the young lady,' said Isaac; 'and just tell me,' he added, 'the proper thing to say when you ask a person to dance.'

'We commonly say,' replied Mr Hoppe: '"May I have the honour of dancing this quadrille with you, if you are not engaged?" But gentlemen may vary it according to taste.'

'All right; of course,' returned Isaac. Whereupon they walked to where Miss Angela Faithful, just left by her last partner, was sitting. Mr Hoppe went through the introduction; and Isaac, who, to tell the truth, felt very ill at ease, repeated the formula given him by the Master of the Ceremonies. Angela looked at her list of engagements, hoping to find she was bespoken for this dance, without remembering the fact; but such was not the case; so with a whispered 'With pleasure,' she took his arm, and they stood up in a polka.

When the dance commenced, Isaac never felt so uncomfortable in his life. Where to put his feet he didn't know, and where to turn he didn't know. If he turned one way, it was evidently contrary to his partner's expectations, for they pulled different ways; if he turned another, he ran a-muck into another couple; and this on one occasion was nearly attended with serious consequences; and it was only by tearing a rent in his partner's dress that he was able to save himself a sprawl upon the chalked floor. To the spectators the performance was very diverting. To see this long clumsy yokel floundering about with so handsome and graceful a girl and so good a dancer, put one in mind, as a gentleman remarked to his neighbour, of the Beauty and the Beast. At length, after two or three turns round the room, Isaac was obliged to give in; not indeed through any feeling that he was making an exhibition of himself (for of that he was wholly unconscious), but from sheer inability to keep his footing any longer. With his head in a whirl, he conducted his partner to a seat and fell into one himself. At the end of a few minutes, she retired from the ballroom to get the rent in her dress made whole; and when she was gone, Isaac sought out Mr Hoppe, and asked him if he could tell him who the lady was and whence she came.

Mr Hoppe could only inform him that she lived somewhere in Holloway with her deaf aunt, her present chaperon; that her father and mother were dead; and that the only relative she had nearer than the aforesaid aunt, that he knew of, was a brother living abroad.

Isaac hinted about money.

'Oh,' said the little man, rather amused, 'she is not badly off in that respect; for she has a nice little bit from her mother, and considerable expectations from her aunt, I have heard.'

O Isaac, you are a deep dog! But you had no idea that on the other side of the canvas partition by which you were standing were a pair of ears, intently taking in every word that passed—the possessor of those ears being Miss Angela Faithful. No, Isaac; you simply thought that here was the very object you were in quest of, and that you must pursue the subject further.

CHAPTER V.—OUR HERO IS FULFILLING HIS DESTINY.

In a few minutes after the foregoing conversation, the fair subject of it returned to the ballroom somewhat flushed, thereby heightening the effect of her charms, as Isaac acutely observed. She returned to her original seat beside her aunt, and in lieu of conversation smiled once or twice upon that lady. It was indeed of no use to talk, as Mr Hoppe had remarked, and the usual medium of communication—a slate and pencil—had been forgotten and left at home.

Isaac arose from his seat in order to obtain a better view of his charmer; for as certain reptiles are said to be influenced by dulcet sounds, so was that wily creature Isaac Webb under the spell of female beauty. And not merely beauty. 'A nice little bit' from a mother, and 'considerable expectations' from an aunt, formed a most delightful tout ensemble and subject for reflection. So he stood and watched her for a few minutes with his hands in his pockets, and nervously balancing himself first on one leg and then on the other, until at length he began to flutter himself, as it were, towards his siren; just as a sombre moth beats about a strong light ere it offers itself up, a willing victim, on the pyre of its own supineness. Besides, Isaac was the more attracted towards her by reason of the furtive glances which the young lady cast in his direction; for although she was surrounded by a number of young men—other moths of varied hue—still their attentions did not seem to satisfy her; and so it happened that Isaac finally took unto himself what appeared to be (even to his unsophisticated mind) a half-bashful, yet a wholly meaning and appealing glance, and joined the circle of admiring swains. He speedily, with Miss Angela's co-operation, found himself near her, and when opportunity offered, volunteered to conduct her to the refreshment buffet—an invitation that was promptly accepted; so he in triumph led her off, to the no small surprise and vexation of his jealous rivals. Arrived at the buffet, he handed, with the most feeble attempt at graceful politeness, such comestibles and beverages as his fair partner would partake of, with no further mishap than the breakage of a wine-glass and the imperilling of a large glass epergne by collision with his elbow, and the consequent vibration of the structure to its very foundation. The light repast now under discussion brought to his recollection the more important one of supper; and our hero, who had become quite a gallant by this time, broached the subject to his companion, assuring her with all the warmth of which he was capable that 'he was certain he wouldn't be able to swallow a morsel unless she was by him to give his food a relish,' and as he beautifully expressed himself in metaphor, 'sharpen his appetite like a strop does a razor.'

How could any young lady take upon herself the responsibility of a hungry gentleman's enforced fast? Angela felt that she could not, so promised to accompany Isaac to supper; reminding him, moreover, that he must engage her for the dance immediately preceding that gastronomic event. This her admirer pledged himself to do; swallowing with a gulp the fears that would intrude themselves as to what the effect of the dance would be upon his appetite. All he hoped was that it wouldn't be a waltz, a polka, or a schottische; and in this frame of mind he returned with his partner to the ballroom.

'I have been looking for you, Angela; will you sing a song?'

Isaac turned round, and recognised in the speaker the young man who had been Angela's partner in her first dance that evening. He bowed slightly to her companion as he paused for her reply.

'With the orchestral accompaniment?' she asked.

'Certainly, if you prefer it,' he answered; 'but a piano has been brought in, and your voice may possibly feel more at home with that.'

'But I do not like to be the first to begin,' she urged diffidently.

'Oh, never mind about that; there is no one here can do it better, I'll engage; and if it will add to your courage, I will play the accompaniment, or turn over the leaves for you, whichever you like.'

'O no; you must accompany me. But it was the merest chance that I brought any songs with me.' With that, she bowed to her late partner, took the young gentleman's arm, and walked over to the piano.

In a few minutes her voice rose above the chat and murmur of the ballroom, and the purity of its tone and the unaffected and pleasing manner of the singer, enforced silence even among those who were not music-lovers. Among these Isaac might certainly be included; for beyond the performances on a harmonium in Dambourne End church on Sundays and an occasional German band or barrel organ on week-days, his opportunities of hearing music had been exceedingly limited. But perhaps it was this very ignorance of the subject that caused him now to drink in with the greatest delight—an almost exaggerated delight—every note and every word that fell from the charming songstress's lips. The composition itself was of no particular merit; it was simply a melodious English ballad; but the voice and manner of the singer, assisted by the tasteful execution of the accompaniment, seemed to fascinate all present, and a unanimous burst of applause at the conclusion testified to their appreciation of the performance.

And now dance and song followed each other in quick succession, and Isaac was unable to get near Angela, or even to catch her eye, for she had been so much sought after, and had joined in almost every dance. She was indeed the belle of the evening; and many eyes other than those of Isaac followed her as she threaded the intricacies of the Lancers or Caledonians, or was whirled along by her partner in the giddy waltz or polka.

As for Isaac, he had, to his great comfort, remained quite unnoticed, except on one or two occasions, when his fascinated gaze had led him from his vantage-ground against the wall, and he had found himself among the dancers. On each of these occasions he had suffered much, having been severely jostled by one couple, his favourite corns trodden on by a second, and himself finally sent back with a bound to his former position against the wall by a third. Nor did he obtain sympathy from any of them—nothing but scowls.

CHAPTER VI.—A PRESSING INVITATION.

At length Mr Hoppe, in obedience to a previous request from Isaac, came to inform him that at the conclusion of the next dance—a quadrille—there would be an adjournment for supper. Our hero took this opportunity of asking about the gentleman by whom Angela's song was accompanied.

'I can give you no account at all, sir,' said the Master of the Ceremonies; 'though there are not many gents in this neighbourhood that I have not some knowledge of.'

Isaac meanwhile looked about for Angela, and soon discovered her sitting with her aunt and the unknown gentleman.

'You come to claim your engagement,' she said, as she rose and took his arm.

'You look tired,' remarked Isaac, feeling he must say something, and the fact of her looking tired and flushed having struck him first. 'Besides,' he thought, 'women like to be told they look tired.'

'Do you think so?' she replied with a slight blush, as they walked round the room. 'I should scarcely have thought you would have noticed it; but I am rather tired,' she continued, 'as I have been dancing a great deal; and besides that, I feel excited as well, for I have had a very unexpected pleasure to-day. My dear brother, who has been abroad for some years, returned to London to-day without giving us any notice of his coming. He arrived at our house a very short time before we started here, and as he would not hear of my giving up the ball, he came too.'

'Was it your brother who played for you when you sang?' asked Isaac.

'Yes,' she replied. 'It is an old song we learned together many years ago; and as he is a very ready player, it was no trouble to him to accompany me.'

While they thus conversed, the quadrille had been formed, and now the dance was just about to begin.

'Shall you mind very much if we do not dance this time?' inquired Angela of her companion.

'Not at all,' answered Isaac, much relieved; 'not if I may talk to you instead,' he added shyly.

He had committed himself now to a task far more difficult to him than even dancing a quadrille; for of what topics to choose as conversation with the fair creature by his side, he had not the slightest idea. So they walked on in awkward silence.

'Would you mind making me known to your brother?' Isaac at length asked.

'I will with pleasure,' she returned; and seeing him approach in their direction, she caught his arm, and introduced him to Mr Webb as her brother Herbert, from abroad.

'Very pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr Webb,' said he. And then, after a pause, and with an almost imperceptible glance at Isaac's clothes and general appearance, he continued: 'If it is not a rude question, are you a resident in London, or merely making a short stay in it?'

Isaac hated to be questioned; but he must answer; there was no help for it. 'I am staying for a time here,' he said vaguely, 'but my regular home is in the country.'

'Staying with friends, I suppose?' pursued Mr Faithful, not at all abashed.

'No,' answered Isaac; 'I am staying at a coffee-house.'

'You must find it dull sometimes,' said his irrepressible questioner; 'but I presume you have friends in the neighbourhood, or some business to occupy your time and attention?'

Isaac thought it might save further questioning if he gave a little voluntary information.

'I am staying in London for a few weeks for a little change,' he replied. 'I have no friends here, nor any particular business; but I am used to being much alone, so that I do not find it dull.'

'That will not, I hope, prevent me improving my acquaintance with you. I am at present staying with my aunt; in fact, I only arrived in London this afternoon, so have had no time to seek other lodging, even if I do so at all. But speaking in my aunt's name as well as in my own, I hope you will favour us with a call. You will excuse my card, for I have not one with me; but I daresay aunt has her case in her pocket, as she seldom used to go anywhere without it.—Do you mind feeling for it, Angela?'

She presently returned with a card, to which her brother added his name. 'We shall be glad to see you at any time,' he said, handing it to Isaac; 'but possibly the evening may suit you better than any other time, and if so, you will be more likely to find me in.'

Really, notwithstanding his questions at the commencement of their conversation, he was, Isaac considered, a very agreeable person; for he had given him the very opportunity he sought, the difficulty of obtaining which had exercised his mind during his sojourn by the ballroom wall. He did not consider it singular in the least that Herbert Faithful should have pressed such an invitation upon him, a total stranger. No; he was evidently a man of quick discernment, and had at once probed through, with his mind's eye, a portion of the crust of Isaac's reserve, and had discovered some of the precious metal beneath.

Any further conversation at the time was prevented by a general move towards the supper-room; and Herbert, asking his two companions to wait for him, presently brought up the aunt, and the four went into the supper-room together. During the meal, Herbert made himself particularly agreeable; so much so, that Isaac threw off a little more of the crust of his reserve, even going so far as to mention Dambourne End, and to give out a slight glimmer of his own importance in that place as a landowner. The supper, after the manner of such entertainments, was not a protracted one, and passed off, so far as our party was concerned, with no further contre-temps than was occasioned by Isaac, in the exuberance of his feelings, inadvertently tilting his chair so that he came in contact with the back-comb of a middle-aged lady who was sitting back to back with him, thereby forcing that useful ornament into her scalp. A loud scream was the result; but the lady was more startled than hurt, and after apologies more or less awkward from Isaac, she regained her composure and her appetite, and harmony was restored.

After supper, Angela danced but once, and after singing a duet with her brother, came with him to Isaac to say good-night. He accompanied them and their aunt to their cab; and after promising to call upon them very soon, they drove off, and he returned to the ballroom. But the place was now without any interest for him; so after wondering within himself that his heart should have been so easily and speedily reached, and with a new and indescribable feeling of loneliness upon him, he bade Mr Hoppe good-night, after an ineffectual attempt on that individual's part to get at Isaac's habitation and business; and having made no other acquaintance whatever in the room, he obtained his hat and departed to his coffee-house.