Sir Hugh listened to this doctrine with every desire to give it credit; and though the occupations of the toilette left him alone the whole of the assembly day, he was as happy in the prospect of their diversion, as they were themselves in its preparation.
When the young ladies were ready, they repaired to the apartment of the baronet, to shew themselves, and to take leave. Edgar and Lionel were waiting to meet them upon the stairs. Indiana had never yet looked so lovely; Camilla, with all her attractions, was eclipsed; and Eugenia could only have served as a foil, even to those who had no pretensions to beauty.
Edgar, nevertheless, asked Camilla to dance with him; she willingly, though not without wonder, consented. Lionel desired the hand of his fair cousin; but Indiana, self-destined to Edgar, whose address to Camilla, she had not heard, made him no answer, and ran on to present herself to her uncle; who, struck with admiration as he beheld her, cried, ‘Indiana, my dear, you really look prettier than I could even have guessed; and yet I always knew there was no fault to be found with the outside; nor indeed with the inside neither, Mr. Mandlebert, so I don’t mean anything by that; only, by use, one is apt to put the outside first.’
Lionel was now hurrying them away, when Sir Hugh calling to Edgar, said: ‘Pray, young Mr. Mandlebert, take as much care of her as possible; which I am sure you will do of your own accord.’
Edgar, with some surprise, answered, he should be happy to take whatever care was in his power of all the ladies; ‘but,’ added he, ‘for my own particular charge to-night, I have engaged Miss Camilla.’
‘And how came you to do that? Don’t you know I let them all go on purpose for the sake of your dancing with Indiana, which I mean as a particular favour?’
‘Sir,’ replied Edgar, a little embarrassed, ‘you are very good; but as Lionel cannot dance with his sisters, he has engaged Miss Lynmere himself.’
‘Pho, pho, what do you mind Lionel for? not but what he’s a very good lad; only I had rather have you and Indiana dance together, which I dare say so had she.’
Edgar, somewhat distressed, looked at Camilla: ‘O, as to me,’ cried she, gaily, ‘pray let me take my chance; if I should not dance at all, the whole will be so new to me, that I am sure of entertainment.’
‘You are the best good girl, without the smallest exception,’ said Sir Hugh, ‘that ever I have known in the world; and so you always were; by which I mean nothing as to Indiana, who is just such another, except in some points; and so here’s her hand, young Mr. Mandlebert, and if you think you shall meet a prettier partner at the ball, I beg when you get her there, you will tell her so fairly, and give her up.’
Edgar, who had hardly yet looked at her, was now himself struck with the unusual resplendence of her beauty, and telling Camilla he saw she was glad to be at liberty, protested he could not but rejoice to be spared a decision for himself, where the choice would have been so difficult.
‘Well then, now go,’ cried the delighted baronet; ‘Lionel will find himself a partner, I have no doubt, because he is nothing particular in point of shyness; and as to Camilla, she’ll want nothing but to hear the fiddlers to be as merry as a grig, which what it is I never knew: so I have no concern,’ added he, in a low voice, to Edgar, ‘except for little Eugenia, and poor Mrs. Margland; for Eugenia being so plain, which is no fault of her’s, on account of the small-pox, many a person may overlook her from that objection; and as to Mrs. Margland, being with all these young chickens, I am afraid people will think her rather one of the oldest for a dancing match; which I say in no disrespect, for oldness gives one no choice.’
CHAPTER II
New Characters
The dancing was not yet begun, but the company was met, and the sprightly violins were employed to quicken their motions, when the Cleves party entered the ball room. They were distinguished immediately by a large party of officers, who assured Lionel, with whom they were acquainted, that they had impatiently been expected.
‘I shall recompense you for waiting,’ answered he, in a whisper, ‘by introducing you to the rich heiress of Cleves, who now makes her first appearance from the nursery; though no! upon farther thoughts, I will only tell you she is one of our set, and leave it to your own ingenuity to find her out.’
While this was passing, Indiana, fluttering with all the secret triumph of conscious beauty, attended by Edgar, and guarded by Miss Margland, walked up the room, through a crowd of admiring spectators; in whom a new figure, without half her loveliness, would have excited the same curiosity, that her extreme inexperience attributed solely to her peculiar charms. Camilla and Eugenia followed rather as if in her train, than of her party; but Lionel kept entirely with the officers, insisting upon their guessing which was the heiress; to whom, while he purposely misled their conjectures, he urged them to make their court, by enumerating the present possessions of Sir Hugh, and her future expectations.
Camilla, however, passed not long unnoticed, though the splendor of Indiana’s appearance cast her at first on the back ground; a circumstance which, by impressing her with a sensation of inferiority, divested her mind of all personal considerations, and gave to her air and countenance a graceful simplicity, a disengaged openness, and a guileless freedom from affectation, that rendered her, to the observant eye, as captivating upon examination, as Indiana, from the first glance, was brilliant and alluring. And thus, as they patrolled the room, Indiana excited an unmixt admiration, Camilla awakened an endless variety of remark; while each being seen for the first time, and every one else of the company for at least the second, all attention was their own, whether for criticism or for praise. To Indiana this answered, in fulfilling her expectations; by Camilla, it was unheeded, for, not awaiting, she did not perceive it; yet both felt equal satisfaction. The eyes of Camilla sparkled with delight as she surveyed all around her the gay novelty of the scene; the heart of Indiana beat with a pleasure wholly new, as she discovered that all surrounding her regarded her as the principal object.
Eugenia, meanwhile, had not even the negative felicity to pass unobserved; impertinent witticisms upon her face, person, and walk, though not uttered so audibly as to be distinctly heard, ran round the room in a confused murmur, and produced a disposition for sneering in the satirical, and for tittering in the giddy, that made her as valuable an acquisition to the company at large, who collect for any amusement, indifferent to its nature, as her fair cousin proved to the admirers of beauty, and her sister to the developers of expression. She was shielded, however, herself, from all undeserved mortifications, by not suspecting any were meant for her, and by a mind delightedly pre-occupied with that sudden expansion of ideas, with which new scenery and new objects charm a youthful imagination.
When they had taken two or three turns up and down the room, the saunterers were called upon to give place to the dancers. Edgar then led out Indiana, and the master of the ceremonies brought Major Cerwood to Camilla.
Eugenia, wholly left out, became the exclusive charge of Miss Margland; she felt no resentment of neglect, for she had formed no species of expectation. She looked on with perfect contentment, and the motley and quick changing group afforded her ample entertainment.
Miss Margland was not so passive; she seized the opportunity of inveighing very angrily against the mismanagement of Sir Hugh: ‘If you had all,’ she cried, ‘been taken to town, and properly brought out, according to my advice, such a disgrace as this could never have happened; everybody would have known who you were, and then, there is no doubt, you might have had partners enough; however, I heartily hope you won’t be asked to dance all the evening, that he may be convinced who was in the right; besides, the more you are tired, the more you may see, against another time, Miss Eugenia, that it is better to listen a little to people’s opinions, when they speak only for your own advantage, than to go on with just the same indifference, as if you had no proper person to consult with.’
Eugenia was too well amused to heed this remonstrance; and long accustomed to hea
r the voice of Miss Margland without profit or pleasure, her ear received its sound, but her attention included not its purpose.
Indiana and Camilla, in this public essay, acquitted themselves with all the merits, and all the faults common to a first exhibition. The spectators upon such occasions, though never equally observant, are never afterwards so lenient. Whatever fails is attributed to modesty, more winning than the utmost success of excellence. Timidity solicits that mercy which pride is most gratified to grant; the blushes of juvenile shame atone for the deficiencies which cause them; and awkwardness itself, in the unfounded terrors of youth, is perhaps more interesting than grace.
Indiana could with difficulty keep to the figure of the dance, from the exulting, yet unpractised certainty of attracting all eyes; and Camilla perpetually turned wrong, from the mere flutter of fear, which made her expect she should never turn right. Major Cerwood, her partner, with a view to encourage her, was profuse in his compliments; but, as new to what she heard as what she performed, she was only the more confused by the double claim to her attention.
Edgar, meanwhile, was most assiduous to aid his fair partner. Miss Margland, though scarcely even superficial in general knowledge, was conversant in the practical detail of the hackneyed mode of forming matrimonial engagements; she judged, therefore, rightly, that her pupil would be seen to most advantage, in the distinction of that adulation by which new beholders would stamp new value on her charms. From the time of his first boyish gallantry, on the ill-fated birth-day of Camilla, Indiana had never so much struck young Mandlebert, as while he attended her up the assembly-room. Miss Margland observed this with triumph, and prophesied the speediest conclusion to her long and weary sojourn at Cleves, in the much wished-for journey to London, with a bride ready made, and an establishment ready formed.
When the two first dances were over, the gentlemen were desired to change partners. Major Cerwood asked the hand of Indiana, and Edgar repaired to Camilla: ‘Do you bear malice?’ he cried, with a smile, ‘or may I now make the claim that Sir Hugh relinquished for me?’
‘O yes,’ answered she, with alacrity, when informed of the plan of change; ‘and I wish there was any body else, that would dance with me afterwards, instead of that Major.’
‘I dare believe,’ said he, laughing ‘there are many bodies else, who would oblige you, if your declaration were heard. But what has the Major done to you? Has he admired you without knowing how to keep is own counsel?’
‘No, no; only he has treated me like a country simpleton, and made me as many fine speeches, as if he had been talking to Indiana.’
‘You think, then, Indiana would have swallowed flattery with less difficulty?’
‘No, indeed! but I think the same things said to her would no longer have been so extravagant.’
Edgar, to whom the sun-beams of the mind gave a glow which not all the sparkling rays of the brightest eyes could emit, respected her modesty too highly to combat it, and, dropping the subject, enquired what was become of Eugenia.
‘O poor Eugenia!’ cried she, ‘I see nothing of her, and I am very much afraid she has had no better partner all this time than Miss Margland.’
Edgar, turning round, presently discerned her; she was still looking on, with an air of the most perfect composure, examining the various parties, totally without suspicion of the examination she was herself sustaining; while Miss Margland was vainly pouring in her ears observations, or exhortations, evidently of a complaining nature.
‘There is something truly respectable,’ said Edgar, ‘in the innate philosophy with which she bears such neglect.’
‘Yet I wish it were put less to the proof;’ said Camilla. ‘I would give the world somebody would take her out!’
‘You don’t think she would dance?’
‘O yes she would! her lameness is no impediment; for she never thinks of it. We all learnt together at Cleves. Dancing gives her a little more exertion, and therefore a little more fatigue than other people, but that is all.’
‘After these two dances then—’
‘Will you be her partner?’ interrupted Camilla, ‘O go to her at once! immediately! and you will give me twenty times more pleasure than I can have in dancing myself.’
She then flew to a form, and eagerly seated herself where she perceived the first vacancy, to stop any debate, and enforce his consent.
The dance, which had been delayed by a dispute about the tune, was now beginning. Edgar, looking after her with affected reproach, but real admiration, asked the hand of Eugenia; who gave it with readiness and pleasure; for, though contented as a spectatress, she experienced an agreeable surprise in becoming a party engaged.
Camilla, happy in her own good humour, now looked at her neighbours; one of which was an elderly lady, who, wholly employed in examining and admiring the performance of her own daughters, saw nothing else in the room. The other was a gentleman, much distinguished by his figure and appearance, and dressed so completely in the extreme of fashion, as more than to border upon foppery. The ease and negligence of his air denoted a self-settled superiority to all about him; yet, from time to time, there was an archness in the glance of his eye, that promised, under a deep and wilful veil of conceit and affectation, a secret disposition to deride the very follies he was practising. He was now lounging against the wainscoat; with one hand on his side, and the other upon his eye-lids, occupying the space, without using the seat, to the left of Camilla.
Miss Margland, perceiving what she regarded as a fair vacancy, made up to the spot, and saying, ‘Sir, by your leave,’ was preparing to take possession of the place, when the gentleman, as if without seeing her, dropt suddenly into it himself, and, pouring a profusion of eau suave upon his handkerchief, exclaimed: ‘What a vastly bad room this is for dancing!’
Camilla, concluding herself addressed, turned round to him; but, seeing he was sniffing up the eau suave, without looking at her, imagined he meant to speak to Miss Margland.
Miss Margland was of the same opinion, and, with some pique at his seizing thus her intended seat, rather sharply answered: ‘Yes, sir, and it’s a vast bad room for not dancing; for if every body would dance that ought, there would be accommodation sufficient for other people.’
‘Incomparably well observed!’ cried he, collecting some bonbons from a bonboniere, and swallowing one after another with great rapidity: ‘But won’t you sit down? You must be enormously tired. Let me supplicate you to sit down.’
Miss Margland, supposing he meant to make amends for his inattention, by delivering up the place, civilly thanked him, and said she should not be sorry, for she had stood a good while.
‘Have you, indeed?’ cried he, sprinkling some jessamine drops upon his hands; ‘how horribly abominable? Why don’t some of those Mercuries, those Ganymedes, those waiters, I believe you call them, get you a chair?’
Miss Margland, excessively affronted, turned her back to him; and Camilla made an offer of her own seat; but, as she had been dancing, and would probably dance again, Miss Margland would not let her rise.
‘Shall I call to one of those Barbarians, those Goths, those Vandals?’ cried the same gentleman, who now was spirting lavender water all about him, with grimaces that proclaimed forcibly his opinion of the want of perfume in the room: ‘Do pray let me harangue them a little for you upon their inordinate want of sensibility.’
Miss Margland deigned not any answer; but of that he took no notice, and presently called out, though without raising his voice, ‘Here, Mr. Waiter! Purveyor, Surveyor, or whatsoever other title “please thine ear,” art thou deaf? why dost not bring this lady a chair? Those people are most amazing hard of hearing! Shall I call again? Waiter, I say!’ still speaking rather lower than louder; ‘Don’t I stun you by this shocking vociferation?’
‘Sir, you’re vastly — obliging!’ cried Miss Margland, unable longer to hold silence, yet with a look and manner that would much better have accorded with vastly — impertinent.
&nb
sp; She then pursued a waiter herself, and procured a chair.
Casting his eyes next upon Camilla, he examined her with much attention. Abashed, she turned away her head; but not choosing to lose his object, he called it back again, by familiarly saying, ‘How is Sir Hugh?’
A good deal surprised, she exclaimed, ‘Do you know my uncle, sir?’
‘Not in the least, ma’am,’ he coolly answered.
Camilla, much wondering, was then forced into conversation with Miss Margland: but, without paying any regard to her surprise, he presently said, ‘It’s most extremely worth your while to take a glance at that inimitably good figure. Is it not exquisite? Can you suppose any thing beyond it?’
Camilla, looking at the person to whom he pointed, and who was sufficiently ludicrous, from an air of vulgar solemnity, and a dress stiffly new, though completely old-fashioned, felt disposed to join in his laugh, had she not been disconcerted by the mingled liberty and oddity of his attack.
‘Sir,’ said Miss Margland, winking at her to be silent, though eager to answer in her stead, ‘the mixt company one always meets at these public balls, makes them very unfit for ladies of fashion, for there’s no knowing who one may either dance with or speak to.’
‘Vastly true, ma’am,’ cried he, superciliously dropping his eyes, not to look at her.
Miss Margland, perceiving this, bridled resentfully, and again talked on with Camilla; till another exclamation interrupted them. ‘O pray,’ cried he, ‘I do entreat you look at that group! Is it not past compare? If ever you held a pencil in your life, I beg and beseech you to take a memorandum of that tall may-pole. Have you ever seen any thing so excessively delectable?’
Complete Works of Frances Burney Page 156