"Is Cynthia going to dance with Mr. Preston?"
Molly had scarcely time to answer before she herself was led off by
her partner. She could hardly attend to him or to the figures of the
quadrille for watching for Cynthia among the moving forms.
Once she caught a glimpse of her standing still--downcast--listening
to Mr. Preston's eager speech. Again she was walking languidly among
the dancers, almost as if she took no notice of those around her.
When she and Molly joined each other again, the shade on Cynthia's
face had deepened to gloom. But, at the same time, if a physiognomist
had studied her expression, he would have read in it defiance and
anger, and perhaps also a little perplexity. While this quadrille had
been going on, Lady Harriet had been speaking to her brother.
"Hollingford!" she said, laying her hand on his arm, and drawing him
a little apart from the well-born crowd amid which he stood, silent
and abstracted, "you don't know how these good people here have been
hurt and disappointed with our being so late, and with the duchess's
ridiculous simplicity of dress."
"Why should they mind it?" asked he, taking advantage of her being
out of breath with eagerness.
"Oh, don't be so wise and stupid; don't you see, we're a show and a
spectacle--it's like having a pantomime with harlequin and columbine
in plain clothes."
"I don't understand how--" he began.
"Then take it upon trust. They really are a little disappointed,
whether they are logical or not in being so, and we must try and make
it up to them; for one thing, because I can't bear our vassals to
look dissatisfied and disloyal, and then there's the election in
June."
"I really would as soon be out of the House as in it."
"Nonsense; it would grieve papa beyond measure--but there's no
time to talk about that now. You must go and dance with some of
the townspeople, and I'll ask Sheepshanks to introduce me to a
respectable young farmer. Can't you get Captain James to make himself
useful? There he goes with Lady Alice! If I don't get him introduced
to the ugliest tailor's daughter I can find for the next dance!" She
put her arm in her brother's as she spoke, as if to lead him to some
partner. He resisted, however--resisted piteously.
"Pray don't, Harriet. You know I can't dance. I hate it; I always
did. I don't know how to get through a quadrille."
"It's a country dance!" said she, resolutely.
"It's all the same. And what shall I say to my partner? I haven't
a notion: I shall have no subject in common. Speak of being
disappointed, they'll be ten times more disappointed when they find I
can neither dance nor talk!"