33. CHAPTER XXXIII.
ANOTHER TURN IN THE WALTZ.
The music streamed through the rooms in the soft, yearning,
lingering, passionate, persuasive measures of a waltz. Arthur
Merlin had been very intently watching Hope Wayne,
because he saw Abel Newt approaching with Mrs. Van Kraut,
and he wished to catch the first look of Hope upon seeing
him.
Mrs. Bleecker Van Kraut, when she waltzed, was simply a
circular advertisement of the Van Kraut property. Her slow
rising and falling motion displayed the family jewels to the
utmost advantage. The same insolent smoothness and finish
prevailed in the whole performance. It was almost as perfect
as the Paris toys which you wind up, and which spin smoothly
round upon the table. Abel Newt, conscious master of the
dance and chief of brilliant youth, waltzed with an air of delicate
deference toward his partner, and gay defiance toward the
rest of the world.
The performance was so novel and so well executed that
the ball instantly became a spectacle of which Abel and Mrs.
[ILLUSTRATION]
Abel and Mrs. Van Kraut.
[Description: 538EAF. Page 203. In-line Illustration. Image of a couple dancing while people watch.]
Van Kraut were the central figures. The crowd pressed
around them, and Abel gently pushed them back in his fluctuating
circles. Short ladies in the back-ground stood upon
chairs for a moment to get a better view; while Mrs. Dagon
and Mrs. Orry, whom no dexterous waltzer would ever clasp
in the dizzy whirl, spattered their neighborhood with epithets
of contempt and indignation, thanking Heaven that in their
day things had not quite come to such a pass as that. Colonel
Burr himself, my dears, never dared to touch more than
the tips of his partner's fingers in the contra-dance.
Hope Wayne had not met Abel Newt since they had parted
after the runaway at Delafield, except in his mother's conservatory,
and when she was stepping from the carriage. In the
mean while she had been learning every thing at once.
As her eyes fell upon him now she remembered that day
upon the lawn at Pinewood, when he stood suddenly beside
her, casting a shadow upon the page she was reading. The
handsome boy had grown into this proud, gallant, gay young
man, surrounded by that social prestige which gives graceful
confidence to the bearing of any man. He knew that Hope
had heard of his social success; but he could not justly estimate
its effect upon her.
Of all those who stood by her Arthur Merlin was the only
one who knew that she had ever known Abel, and Arthur only
inferred it from Abel's resemblance to the sketch of Manfred,
which had evidently deeply affected Hope. Lawrence Newt,
who knew Delafield, had wondered if Abel and Hope had ever
met. Perhaps he had a little fear of their meeting, knowing
Abel to be audacious and brilliant, and Hope to be romantic.
Perhaps the anxiety with which he now looked upon the waltz
arose from the apprehension that Hope could not help, at
least, fancying such a handsome fellow. And then—what?
Amy Waring certainly did not know, although Lawrence
Newt's eyes seemed to ask hers the question.
Hope heard the music, and her heart beat time. As she
saw Abel and remembered the days that were no more, for a
moment her cheek flushed—not tumultuously, but gently—
and Lawrence Newt and the painter remarked it. The emotion
passed, almost imperceptibly, and her eyes followed the
dancers calmly, with only a little ache in the heart—with only
a vague feeling that she had lived a long, long time.
Abel Newt had not lost Hope Wayne from his attention for
[ILLUSTRATION]
Abel and Hope.
[Description: 538EAF. Page 205. In-line Illustration. Image of a man standing between two women. One woman is large and looks straight ahead, while the other is turned to the side; she is thin and looks towards the ground. The man is facing the thin woman and looking at her.]
a single moment during the evening; and before the interest
in the dance was palled, before people had begun to buzz again
and turn away, while Mrs. Van Kraut and he were still the
spectacle upon which all eyes were directed, he suddenly
whirled his partner toward the spot where Hope Wayne and
her friends were standing, and stopped.
It was no more necessary for Mrs. Van Kraut to fan herself
than if she had been a marble statue. But it is proper to fan
one's self when one has done dancing—so she waved the fan.
Besides, it was a Van Kraut heir-loom. It came from Amsterdam.
It was studded with jewels. It was part of the property.
As for Abel, he turned and bowed profoundly to Miss
Wayne. Of course she knew that people were looking. She
bowed as if to a mere acquaintance. Abel said a few words,
signifying nothing, to his partner, then he remarked to Miss
Wayne that he was very glad indeed to meet her again; that he
had not called because he knew she had been making a convent
of her aunt's house—making herself a nun—a Sister of Charity,
he did not doubt, doing good as she always did—making every
body in the world happy, as she could not help doing,
and so forth.
Abel rattled on, he did not know why; but he did know
that his Uncle Lawrence, and Amy Waring, and Mr. Merlin
heard every thing he said. Hope looked at him calmly, and
listened to the gay cascade of talk.
The music was still playing; Mr. Van Boozenberg spoke to
Lawrence Newt; Amy Waring said that she saw her Aunt
Bennet. Would Mr. Merlin take her to her aunt?—he should
return to his worship in one moment. Mr. Merlin was very
gallant, and replied with spirit that when her worship returned
—here he made a low bow—his would. As they moved away
Amy Waring laughed at him, and said that men would compliment
as long as—as women are lovely, interpolated Mr.
Merlin. Arthur also wished to know what speech was good
for, if not to say the sweetest things; and so they were lost
to view, still gayly chatting with the pleasant freedom of a
young man and woman who know that they are not in love
with each other, and are perfectly content not to be so, because—whether
they know it or not—they are each in love
with somebody else.
This movement had taken place as Abel was finishing his
scattering volley of talk.
“Yes,” said he, as he saw that he was not overheard, and
sinking his voice into that tone of tender music which Hope
so well remembered—“yes, making every body in the world
happy but one person.”
His airy persiflage had not pleased Hope Wayne. The
sudden modulation into sentiment offended her. Before she
replied—indeed she had no intention of replying—the round
eyes of Mrs. Van Kraut informed her partner that she was
ready for another turn, and forth they whirled upon the floor.
“I jes' sez to Mrs. Dagon, you know, ma'am, sez I, I don't
like to see a young man like Mr. Abel Newt, sez I, wasting
himself upon married women. No, sez I, ma'am, when you
women have made your market, sez I, you oughter stan' one
side and give the t'others a chance, sez I.”
Mr. Van Boozenberg addressed this remark to Lawrence
Newt. In the eyes of the old gentleman it was another instance
of imprudence on Abel's part not to be already engaged
to some rich girl.
Lawrence Newt replied by looking round the room as if
searching for some one, and then saying:
“I don't see your daughter, Mrs. Witchet, here to-night,
Mr. Van Boozenberg.”
“No,” growled the papa, and moved on to talk with Mrs.
Dagon.
“My dear Sir,” said the Honorable Budlong Dinks, approaching
just as Lawrence Newt finished his remark, and
Van Boozenberg, growling, departed:
“That was an unfortunate observation. You are, perhaps,
not aware—”
“Oh! thank you, yes, I am fully aware,” replied Lawrence
Newt. “But one thing I do not know.”
The Honorable Budlong Dinks bowed with dignity as if he
understood Mr. Newt to compliment him by insinuating that
he was the man who knew all about it, and would immediately
enlighten him.
“I do not know why, if a man does a mean and unfeeling,
yes, an inhuman act, it is bad manners to speak of it. Old
Van Boozenberg ought to be sent to the penitentiary for his
treatment of his daughter, and we all know it.”
“Yes; but really,” replied the Honorable Budlong Dinks,
“really—you know—it would be impossible. Mr. Van Boozenberg
is a highly respectable man—really—we should lapse
into chaos,” and the honorable gentleman rubbed his hands
with perfect suavity.
“When did we emerge?” asked Lawrence Newt, with such
a kindly glimmer in his eyes, that Mr. Dinks said merely,
“really,” and moved on, remarking to General Arcularius
Belch, with a diplomatic shrug, that Lawrence Newt was a
very odd man.
“Odd, but not without the coin. He can afford to be odd,”
replied that gentleman.
While these little things were said and done, Lawrence
moved through the crowd and somehow found himself at the
side of Amy Waring, who was talking with Fanny Newt.
“You young Napoleon,” said Lawrence to his niece as he
joined them.
“What do you mean, you droll Uncle Lawrence?” demanded
Fanny, her eyes glittering with inquiry.
“Where's Mrs. Wurmser—I mean Mrs. Dinks?” continued
Lawrence. “Why, when I saw you talking together a little
while ago, I could think of nothing but the young Bonaparte
and the old Wurmser.”
“You droll Uncle Lawrence, aren't you ashamed of yourself?”
It was an astuter young Napoleon than Uncle Lawrence
knew. Even then and there, in Mrs. Kingfisher's ball-room,
had Fanny Newt resolved how to carry her Mantua by a sudden
coup.
