Chapter III: Courting Society

"We laugh heartily to see a whole flock of sheep jump because one did so; might not one imagine that superior beings do the same by us, and for exactly the same reason?"—GREVILLE.

THAT same evening, Neville Adams and his sister were entertaining some friends at Aylesdere, as they had styled the new house.

Mr. and Mrs. Adams were away at Bournemouth, so the young people were rejoicing in entire freedom from restraint, and being even more determined than their parents to mount the social ladder, were making the best of their opportunities to cultivate certain new acquaintances, whose patronage, as they were well aware, would be advantageous to them. This being the first "party" they had given, they were somewhat excited about it, and Neville was already on his way home when Joseph passed him on his return from seeing Daddy safe.

Walter Anderson—the companion who had made such a sneering remark on Joseph's knight-errantry—had gone on to fetch his violin, upon which difficult instrument he flattered himself he had attained considerable proficiency.

Cicely Anderson, who bore a striking resemblance to her brother, and one or two other girl friends were already in the drawing-room with Mina when Neville came in, and the latter was hovering about in a state of nervous uncertainty, making himself generally agreeable and wishing that some of the gentlemen of the party would turn up. He had not long enjoyed this comfortable state of things, however, when a pretentious knock announced an arrival.

"That's not 'Walter,' surely," cried Neville, starting up. "It must be—but let's wait and see." And walking slowly back to the piano with affected indifference, he began to look over the music which Cicely had brought.

Time was when Neville would not have hesitated a moment about opening the door to "any" of his friends; but things had changed since then. The door which surmounted the imposing flight of steps at Aylesdere opened into a spacious well-lighted entrance hall, and Neville's recent introduction into the interiors of such "upper class" establishments had taught him that it was customary for the servant to answer all knocks.

It had "not" taught him that when a man spends some hundreds a year more than he has been in the habit of doing, it makes him smaller instead of greater, if it forces him to subject every impulse of friendship or inclination to its arbitrary rules and fashions, since true greatness consists in freedom from all rules save that of conscience.

But Neville had special reasons for wishing to be duly ceremonious on this particular occasion. Amongst those whom he had asked to make one of their number that evening was a young man whose father held a decidedly good position in the town. To secure his acquaintance and obtain an entrance into his circle would be a splendid advance, and he was therefore desirous of making the best possible impression. Nor was Mina one whit behind him in this respect; she did not, however, wish Cicely and her other friends to divine her thoughts, so she feigned ignorance.

"You 'are' provoking, Neville," she exclaimed. "You might say who it is."

"I might say wrong," returned Neville. "There is a stout oaken door between me and the object of my conjectures."

"But you know whom you have asked. Is it Joe Tomlinson? Or Ned Burleigh? Or Mr. Willis?"

Neville shook his head with an air of profound secrecy.

"None of them," he said; "though Mr. Willis is coming another time. He said he should have been delighted to have done so this evening, only he had a prior engagement. It's—never mind who it is. Wait and see."

Cicely looked from one to the other with evident interest. At the commencement of her acquaintance with Mina, she had been the "greater" of the two, now she was glad to creep into society under the latter's wing, grateful at not being cast off.

Mina was not unobservant of the effect produced on her, as well as on the other two girls, who had already drawn themselves up, as if they expected some one of well-nigh royal importance. She, too, gave a turn to her drapery, and posed herself so as to show off to greater advantage the bangles which glittered on her wrist. Silver had only just come into vogue at the time, and Mina was very proud of the set which her father had given her on her birthday.

"You 'are' disagreeable, Neville!" she whined, with a pretence pout, as she arranged them.

But at the same moment, the door was flung open, and the servant announced, "Mr. Horace Grandpont."

Mina's anticipations were fulfilled. The newcomer was a tall, fair young man, with high, narrow shoulders, and clothes of a decidedly fashionable cut. In the ordinary course of description, the countenance takes precedence of figure and attire, but the two facts above referred to form such a concise index to his character, that it is advisable to mention them first. The weak, contracted shoulders betokened, if not actual contempt for athletics, at least such total want of practical acquaintance with them that physical strength and power of usefulness evidently had no place in the owner's idea of what a man should be; whilst the precise set of his clothes, and the dandyfied style of his neckcloth, in which glittered a diamond pin, proclaimed him one with whom appearance had far more weight than worth. As to his features, they were of a somewhat aristocratic stamp, as was also his complexion—if lack of colour is any proof of high birth. His eyes were moderately large, but pale and lustreless, whilst the expression of his mouth, shaded by a delicate moustache, was weak and conceited in its stereotyped affability.

He was one of those vain characters ever ready to barter patronage for the small coin of homage, unaware all the while that such homage is itself nothing more than a species of spurious patronage bestowed for the sake of what it will purchase.

Mr. Horace Grandpont entered the room with a fashionable bow, and having shaken hands with Neville, who hastened forward to meet him with tell-tale "empressement," allowed himself to be presented to Wilhelmina and the others.

"Delightfully mild weather, this!" he remarked to Neville, as he seated himself.

Neville was on the point of replying, when the knocker went again—this time less ostentatiously. Mina betrayed no symptoms of suspense, but Cicely's eyes brightened.

"That is Walter," she said, in a timid undertone.

But it proved otherwise. The opening door disclosed to view a short, dark, Merry-Andrew faced fellow, by name Tom Rawlinson, who came into the room all smiles and hilarity, but subsided into a state of diffident quiescence upon being introduced to Horace Grandpont. Apparently the latter was to be the lion of the party, and every one else was going to forfeit their own self-esteem for the privilege of bowing down to him.

Before he had fairly said, "How d'ye do?" another knock announced Walter, who made up the sum-total of the visitors expected.

"Where is the instrument, Pattie?" inquired Neville, with a view to breaking the silence which succeeded his entrance.

"Out in the hall," replied Walter, in the same mild undertone as his sister had made use of.

"Too modest to bring it in?" remarked Horace Grandpont encouragingly. "What is it? A German concertina?"

"A violin," replied Walter impressively, a trifle hurt at the banter implied in the other's question.

"'Fiddle-de-dee sang clear and loud,
And his trills and his quavers astonish'd the crowd,—'"

quoted Tom Rawlinson under his breath. "Why didn't somebody remind me to bring my banjo?"

"And with a tambourine and bones, we might have had the Christy Minstrels," cried Mina. "I could play the tambourine, I'm sure," and flinging out her hands after the manner of the Italian women whom she had seen in the streets, she shook them until her bangles jingled merrily.

"My great-grandfather's hand-organ would have been the brightest thought, after all," said Tom Rawlinson, whose spirits were fast recovering from the shock of his introduction to the "lion." "It only takes one at a time to grind that, which is an advantage in such a limited company as the present, because the rest can listen and throw coppers. There isn't a cat we could metamorphose into a monkey, I suppose—'Jacopo,' with a frilled shirt and tall hat?"

"Had your great-grandfather really a hand-organ, Mr. Rawlinson?" asked Cicely, in her interest forgetting her constraint, as well as the absurdity of the idea.

She was a pretty-looking girl when behaving naturally; a fair-haired, simple English girl with wonderfully truthful eyes and an unaffected ring in her voice. Tom thought so, as she looked up at him.

"Didn't you know?" he replied, with mock seriousness. "Used to go round for coppers just before the invention came out. I could show you his photo at home, monkey and all. He was a handsome young fellow then; used to attract crowds of people, and make so much money that he had to carry his bag to the Bank of England every evening to get the pennies changed for gold. They were the big, old-fashioned copper ones in those days, you know, and they say it was the weight of them that caused his death."

"For shame, Tom!" cried Neville. "He's only gammoning you, Cicely. Never believe Tom's flights of imagination. You only need examine his chronology to know that his stories won't hold together."

Cicely coloured uncomfortably. But her brother came to the rescue.

"Talking about crowds and great-grandfathers," he said, "Neville and I witnessed an exciting scene as we came across the market-place;—Joseph Adams defying the imps of the wicked one on behalf of old Daddy David. One of them had twisted his cap off, and it was making swift acquaintance with aerial regions, whilst the old fellow's hair streamed in the wind."

Joseph was the last person in the world whom it was advisable to make the topic of conversation just then. But most of the young people cried shame on Daddy's tormentors, whilst Cicely, who had always felt an interest in her old playmate since the days when they all attended the National School together, cried out,—

"It's just like Joseph to take his part, too. I remember he always sided with the weak ones at school."

Neville bit his lip and gave Mina a glance which plainly said, "For goodness' sake stop that girl's tongue!"

His horror may readily be imagined when Horace Grandpont inquired,—

"Pray, who may this Joseph be? He seems a born hero."

But Neville had risen. "You sing, Grandpont!" he said. "I suppose your songs are waiting in modest retirement along with the violin. Mina, open the piano."

Mina rose to comply, followed by Horace Grandpont, who politely anticipated her every movement, and Neville went for the music, leaving the question unanswered. Whilst Cicely—feeling instinctively that she had made an unfortunate blunder—turned to Ada and Lizzie Williams, who as yet had scarcely spoken a word.

Mina had a flexible touch, and knew how to show off in a superficial sort of way. She was not afraid to dash into an extempore prelude, and having a good memory, could play numberless snatches of operatic melodies and popular airs, tra-la-la-ing to them effectively here and there with her voice. When she was tired of playing, Horace brought her his roll of music to select from, and she accompanied him in a song, after which she must needs reward him with a sentimental ballad from her own repertoire.

Meanwhile, Walter having taken out his violin and surreptitiously tuned it up, Cicely was called upon to render the pianoforte part, whilst her brother scraped away in very meritorious though decidedly amateur fashion. Then Tom was asked for a recitation, which he declined to give until Cicely promised to follow it with a song. Cicely was so nervous, however, that her naturally sweet and birdlike voice was almost inaudible; and Mina had the bad taste to set off her failure by following immediately with a second specimen of her own talent.

After this, she and Horace Grandpont kept the music almost entirely in their own hands, until some of the others, becoming tired of being listeners, proposed "proverbs" and "bouts-rhimés" and "consequences." And a long string of games succeeded.

It was getting late, and supper had just been announced, when Tom Rawlinson, who had been showing off his skill in thought-reading, approached Cicely.

"Now, Miss Anderson," he said, "won't you give us another song before we go into the dining-room?"

Cicely tried to excuse herself, not desirous of passing through the ordeal a second time, and Mina was evidently not anxious for the delay. But Tom would not take a refusal, and sat down to accompany her, whilst the others, who had already risen from their seats, stood waiting to pair off.

It was rather trying; but nothing is so hard to do a second time; and Cicely had, moreover, a little tincture of determination in her composition, which sometimes came into prominence in a most unexpected way when she was put upon her mettle.

In the first verse, her tones were decidedly tremulous, and she had evident difficulty in reaching the higher notes. But in the second, she mastered her nervousness, and her voice—entirely free from the affectation and impurity of tone which characterized Mina's—resounded clear and bell-like through the room.

Horace was listening with great interest; all the more so, perhaps, from the fact that Cicely's first attempt had misguided his judgment as to her capabilities.

But, unfortunately for the safe issue of the song, Cicely was a trifle near-sighted. In bending forward to see the words, her arm approached too near the candle, the hanging lace of her sleeve caught fire, and before any one knew what was happening, her arm was enveloped in a sheet of flame.

The song came to an abrupt termination, and Wilhelmina screamed. But Tom sprang up, and seizing Cicely's arm with both hands, crushed out the flames; though not before she was seriously hurt. The mischief did not end there, however. Some loose music, which had been thrown carelessly upon the piano, had ignited from the burning sleeve, and now blazed up.

The room was a scene of confusion. The girls screamed and rushed to the door, and the servants, hearing the noise, came running from the kitchen, whilst Neville, fearing to burn his hands, looked wildly about him for something to beat out the flames with. But Walter, regardless of personal considerations, seized hold of the flaring pile, flung it on the floor, and seizing the hearthrug, soon had the fire under.

"Three pairs of burnt hands!" he exclaimed, when it was safely extinguished. "How did it all come about?"

Nobody knew; it had happened so quickly.

"I suppose I put my arm too near the light in trying to see the words," said Cicely, whose voice was beginning to quiver with the pain of her wrist. "I do not know them very well."

"Then you shall wear glasses to punish you," said her brother, blowing on his own scorched palms.

But Tom saw how Cicely was suffering, and cut this pleasantry short.

"For goodness' sake, don't joke till our burns are bound up," he exclaimed. "Get some oil, somebody; salad—anything," turning to the servants, one of whom rushed to the dining-room and returned with the cruet.

"Now, a handkerchief, anything—quick!" And deftly anointing the poor girl's arm from the contents of the cruet, he bound it carefully round.

It was not a very merry supper-party. The smoke stain on the drawing-room ceiling and the blistered lid of the piano were quite sufficient to damp Neville and Mina's spirits. And although Tom, with his inexhaustible fund of good humour, endeavoured to cut jokes over the awkward manner in which he was obliged to handle his knife and fork, neither he nor Walter could quite forget the smart. Besides this, Mr. and Mrs. Adams had placed a restriction upon the hour to which their entertainments should be kept up, and the limit was already past; therefore, immediately after supper, the guests took leave.

"Thus ends our first party!" remarked Neville, as he repaired to the drawing-room with Mina to survey the damage once more before retiring for the night. "I wonder how the 'pater' will take it. But I say, Mina, that girl must learn a little more discretion if she wishes to be asked with our new set. I don't want Joseph introduced on all occasions."

"I'll represent matters to her," said his sister.

And then they went to their rooms.