Flora was somewhat uneasy, but the mother was looking on smiling, and expressed her delight in the young midshipman; and Mrs. Rivers, while listening gladly to his praises, watched heedfully, and was reassured to see that dancing was as natural to him as everything else; his steps were light as a feather, his movement all freedom and joy, without being boisterous, and his boyish chivalry as pretty a sight as any one could wish to see.
If the rest of the world enjoyed their dances a quarter as much as did "Mr. May," they were enviable people, and he contributed not a little to their pleasure, if merely by the sight of his blithe freshness and spirited simplicity, as well as the general sympathy with his sister's joy, and the interest in his adventures. He would have been a general favourite, if he had been far less personally engaging; as it was, every young lady was in raptures at dancing with him, and he did his best to dance with them all; and to try to stir up Norman, who, after Meta had been obliged to leave him, and go to act her share of the part of hostess, had disposed of himself against a wall, where he might live out the night.
"Ha! June! what makes you stand sentry there? Come and dance, and have some of the fun! Some of these girls are the nicest partners in the world. There's that Lady Alice, something with the dangling things in her hair, sitting down now--famous at a polka. Come along, I'll introduce you. It will do you good."
"I know nothing of dancing," said Norman, beginning to apprehend that he might be dragged off, as often he had been to cricket or football, and by much the same means.
"Comes by nature, when you hear the music. Ha! what a delicious polka! Come along, or I must be off! She will be waiting for me, and she is the second prettiest girl here! Come!"
"I have been trying to make something of him, Harry," said the ubiquitous Flora, "but I don't know whether it is mauvaise honte, or headache."
"I see! Poor old June!" cried Harry. "I'll get you an ice at once, old fellow! Nothing like one for setting a man going!"
Before Norman could protest, Harry had flown off.
"Flora," asked Norman, "is--are the Walkinghames here?"
"Yes. Don't you see Sir Henry. That fine-looking man with the black moustache. I want you to know him. He is a great admirer of your prize poem and of Dr. Spencer."
Harry returning, administered his ice, and then darted off to excuse himself to his partner, by explanations about his brother, whom everybody must have heard of, as he was the cleverest fellow living, and had written the best prize poem ever heard at Oxford. He firmly believed Norman a much greater lion than himself.
Norman was forced to leave his friendly corner to dispose of the glass of his ice, and thus encountered Miss Rivers, of whom Sir Henry was asking questions about a beautiful collection of cameos, which Flora had laid out as a company trap.
"Here is Norman May," said Meta; "he knows them better than I do. Do you remember which of these is the head of Diana, Norman?"
Having set the two gentlemen to discuss them, she glided away on fresh hospitable duties, while Norman repeated the comments that he had so enjoyed hearing from poor Mr. Rivers, hoping he was, at least, sparing Meta some pain, and wondering that Flora should have risked hurting her feelings by exposing these treasures to the general gaze.
If Norman were wearied by Sir Henry, it was his own fault, for the baronet was a very agreeable person, who thought a first-class man worth cultivation, so that the last half-hour might have compensated for all the rest, if conversation were always the test.
"Why, Meta," cried Harry, coming up to her, "you have not once danced! We are a sort of brother and sister, to be sure, but that is no hindrance, is it?"
"No," said Meta, smiling, "thank you, Harry, but you must find some one more worthy. I do not dance this season; at least, not in public. When we get home, who knows what we may do?"
"You don't dance! Poor little Meta! And you don't go out! What a pity!"
"I had rather not work quite so hard," said Meta. "Think what good fortune I had by staying at home last night!"
"I declare!" exclaimed Harry, bewitched by the beaming congratulation of her look, "I can't imagine why Norman had said you had turned into a fine lady! I can't see a bit of it!"
"Norman said I had turned into a fine lady!" repeated Meta. "Why?"
"Never mind! I don't think so; you are just like papa's humming- bird, as you always were, not a bit more of a fine lady than any girl here, and I am sure papa would say so. Only old June had got a bad headache, and is in one of his old dumps, such as I hoped he had left off. But he can't help it, poor fellow, and he will come out of it, by and by--so never mind. Hallo! why people are going away already. There's that girl without any one to hand her downstairs."
Away ran Harry, and presently the brothers and sisters gathered round the fire--George declaring that he was glad that nuisance was so well over, and Harry exclaiming, "Well done, Flora! It was capital fun! I never saw a lot of prettier or more good-natured people in my life. If I am at home for the Stoneborough ball, I wonder whether my father will let me go to it."
This result of Harry's successful debut in high life struck his sister and Norman as so absurd that both laughed.
"What's the matter now?" asked Harry.
"Your comparing Flora's party to a Stoneborough ball," said Norman.
"It is all the same, isn't it?" said Harry. "I'm sure you are equally disgusted at both!"
"Much you know about it," said Flora, patting him gaily. "I'm not going to put conceit in that lion head of yours, but you were as good as an Indian prince to my party. Do you know to whom you have been talking so coolly?"
"Of course. You see, Norman, it is just as I told you. All civilised people are just alike when they get into a drawing-room."
"Harry takes large views of the Genus homo," Norman exerted himself to say. "Being used to the black and brown species, he takes little heed of the lesser varieties."
"It is enough for him that he does not furnish the entertainment in another way," said Flora. "But, good-night. Meta, you look tired."
CHAPTER XIX.
Let none, henceforward, shrink from daring dreams, For earnest hearts shall find their dreams fulfilled.--FOUQUE.
"I have it!" began Harry, as he came down to breakfast. "I don't know how I came to forget it. The will was to be sent home to Mr. Mackintosh's English partner. I'll go and overhaul him this very morning. They won't mind my coming by a later train, when there is such a reason."
"What is his name? Where shall you find him?" asked Flora.
"I can't be sure; but you've a navy list of that sort of cattle, have not you, Flora? I'll hunt him up."
Flora supposed he meant a directory; and all possible South American merchants having been overlooked, and the Mackintoshes selected, he next required a chart of London, and wanted to attempt self- navigation, but was forced to accept of George's brougham and escort; Flora would not trust him otherwise; and Norman was obliged to go to Oxford at once, hurrying off to his train before breakfast was over.
Flora might have trusted Harry alone. George contributed no more than the dignity of his presence; and, indeed, would have resigned the pursuit at the first blunder about the firm; and still more when the right one had been found, but the partner proved crusty, and would not believe that any such document was in his hands. George was consenting to let it rest till Mr. Mackintosh could be written to; but Harry, outrunning his management, and regardless of rebuffs, fairly teased the old gentleman into a search, as the only means of getting rid of the troublesome sailor.
In the midst of George's civil regrets at the fruitless trouble they were causing, forth came a bundle of papers, and forth from the bundle fell a packet, on which Harry pounced as he read, "Will of Alan Halliday Ernescliffe, Esquire, of Maplewood, Yorkshire, Lieutenant in H. M. S. Alcestis," and, in the corner, the executors' names, Captain John Gordon, of H. M. S. Alcestis; and Richard May, Esquire, M. D., Market Stoneborough.