III (3)

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He set his chin, squared his shoulders, and tried to look as though he were there by preference. No one now paid any attention to him; the music swung on, and although he had never danced in his life, his toes kept time inside his shoes. He gazed haughtily around him, stared at the dancers as they passed him, and was miserable.

Then the stout lady who had carried off Mary and Helen suddenly appeared again and said:

“What! Not dancing? You’re Jeremy Cole, aren’t you? Come along. I’ll find you a partner.”

He was led away and precipitated at the feet of a very stout lady who stared at him in a frozen way and a frightened little girl. He had a programme in his hand and was going to ask her for some future polka, when the mountainous lady said in a deep bass voice:

“You’d better take her now. She’s been waiting long enough,” staring at the genial introducer as she spoke.

Jeremy led away his victim. He was acutely miserable, but the agony of stumbling, bumping and incoherent whirling did not last long because the band suddenly stopped, and before he knew it he was sitting on the steps of a staircase with his partner and staring at her.

She said not a word; then he saw that she was terrified and pity held him.

“Do you like dances?” he asked hoarsely.

“I’ve never been to one before,” she answered in a convulsive whisper, looking as though she were about to cry.

“Where do you live?” he asked.

“Five, Pemberton Terrace, Polchester,” she answered breathlessly.

“Was that your mother?”

“No. Auntie.”

“How many aunts have you?”

“Five.”

“What a lot! I’ve only one, and it’s quite enough. How many uncles have you?”

“I haven’t got an uncle.”

“I have—a splendid one. Do any of your aunts paint?”

“Auntie Maude does.”

“What does she paint?”

“I don’t know.”

He felt this conversation so stupid that he looked at her in disgust. What was it about girls? Why was there something the matter with all of them? If this was what dances were, he didn’t want any more of them. And it was just then, at that most distressing moment, that the wonderful, the never-to-be-forgotten event occurred. Someone was coming down from the stairs above them and wanted to pass them.

A voice said softly: “Do you mind? Thank you so much.”

Jeremy rose and then looked up. He was staring at the most beautiful lady he had ever conceived of—indeed, far more than he had ever conceived of, because his dreams had not hitherto been of beautiful ladies. He had never thought of them at all. She was very tall and slender, dressed in white; she had black hair and a jewel blazing in the front of it. But more than everything was her smile, the jolliest, merriest, twinkliest smile he had ever seen. He could only smile too, standing against the banisters to let her pass. Perhaps there was something in his snub nose, and the way his mouth curled at the corners that struck her. She stopped.

“Enjoying yourself?” she asked.

“Yes,” he answered, staring at her with all his soul.

“Well, come on,” she said. “There’s the music beginning again.”

That appeal may have been made to the general stair-covered company, but he felt that it was to him.

“Come on,” he said to his partner. At the door of the ballroom he found, to his relief, the massive aunt. “Thank you so much for the delightful dance,” he said, bowing as he had seen others do; then he bolted.

Heaven was on his side because just inside the room, and standing for a moment alone, gazing happily about her, was the lovely lady. Could he? Did he dare? His heart was beating in his breast. His knees trembled. He felt as he did when he was summoned to old Thompson’s study. But the fear lest she should move away or someone should come and speak to her, drove him forward. He was at her side.

“I say,” he muttered huskily, “is anybody dancing with you just now?”

She swung round and looked down at him.

“Hallo!” she said. “It’s you!”

“Yes,” he answered, still choking. “I would like to dance with you.”

“Well, you shall,” she said, and suddenly picked him up and whisked him round. What happened after that he never knew. Once, years before, he had escaped from home, gone to the Polchester Fair and ridden on the merry-go-round, ridden on a wonderful coal-black horse all alone under the stars. Something like that earlier experience was this exquisite happiness, delicious movement in which the golden walls, the blazing lights, the glittering, shining floor had their parts. His feet kept no time, they seemed scarcely to touch the floor, but as the music dipped and swung, so he also, floating like a bird, falling like the dying strain of a song, rising like the flight of a star. Suddenly it ceased; he came to earth, breathless, hot and most wonderfully happy. She led him away, holding his hand, to a corner where there was a palm and a little tinkling fountain; they seemed to be quite by themselves.

“Was that all right?” she asked, laughing and fanning herself with a great fan of white feathers.

He could not speak; he gulped and nodded.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

He told her.

She smiled. “Jeremy. That’s a pretty name.” He blushed with pleasure. “Do you go to school yet? I expect you’re good at football.”

How wonderful of her to know that, to ask about the one game that was near his heart. He told her eagerly about it, how he had played half-back twice for the school and had been kicked in the eye and hadn’t cared, and how next year he hoped to be the regular half-back because Trefusis, who had been half for three years, was going to Eton, and he was very young to be half; he’d only be eleven then—and if he stayed on until he was thirteen——

I’m afraid that he boasted a little.

“Have you got any brothers and sisters?” she asked him.

He told her all about Mary and Helen, and his mother and father and Aunt Amy and Uncle Samuel—especially about Uncle Samuel. And while he talked he stared and stared and stared, never taking his eyes from her face for a single moment. She was laughing all the time and suddenly she said:

“Shall I tell you something, Jeremy?”

He nodded his head.

“This is the very happiest day of my life. I’m so happy that it’s all I can do not to sing.”

“I’m very happy too,” he said. “I didn’t think I’d like dances till you came, but now they’re splendid.”

The cruel music suddenly began, and there, standing in front of them, was a tall, dark man, very fine and straight. The lady rose.

“This is Jeremy,” she said. “And this is Major——”

Jeremy didn’t catch the name. He would wish to hate him for taking her away had he not looked so fine, just, in short, what Jeremy would like to look when he grew up.

“I tell you what,” the lady said, turning round. “Jeremy, you shall take me down to supper. Yes, he shall, Michael. After all, it’s their evening, not ours. Four dances from this. That’s right. Number eleven. Got it? Good-bye.”

She was gone, and Jeremy was staring around him as though in a dream.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           

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