It was fully half an hour later when Peggy crept along the passage, and took advantage of a quiet moment to slip into the room and seat herself in a sheltered corner. Quick as she was, however, somebody’s eyes were even quicker, for a tall figure stepped before her, and an aggrieved voice cried loudly—
“Well, I hope you are smart enough to satisfy yourself, now that you are ready! You have taken long enough, I must say. What about that first waltz that you promised to have with me?”
Peggy drew in her breath with a gasp of dismay.
“Oh, Rob, I am sorry! I forgot all about it. I’ve been so perturbed. Something awful has occurred. You heard about it, of course—”
“No, I didn’t? What on earth,” began the boy anxiously; but so soon as he heard the two words “Rosalind’s dress!” he shrugged his shoulders in contemptuous indifference. “Oh, that! I heard something about it, but I didn’t take much notice. Spilt some ink, didn’t you? What’s the odds if you did? Accidents will happen, and she has a dozen others to choose from. I don’t see anything wrong with the dress. It looks decent enough.”
Peggy followed the direction of his eyes, and caught a glimpse of Rosalind floating past on the arm of a tall soldierly youth. She was sparkling with smiles, and looking as fresh and spotless as on the moment when she had stepped across the threshold of her own room. Neither face nor dress bore any trace of the misfortune of an hour before, and Peggy heaved a sigh of relief as she watched her to and fro.
“Jolly enough, isn’t she? There’s nothing for you to fret about, you see,” said Rob consolingly. “She has forgotten all about it, and the best thing you can do is to follow her example. What would you think of some light refreshment? Let’s go to the dining-room and drown our sorrows in strawberry ice. Then we can have a waltz, and try a vanilla—and a polka, and some lemonade! That’s my idea of enjoying myself. Come along, while you get the chance!—”
“Oh, Rob, you are greedy!” protested Peggy; nevertheless she rose blithely enough, and her eyes began to sparkle with some of their wonted vivacity. There was something strong and reassuring about Robert’s presence; he looked upon things in such an eminently sensible, matter-of-fact way, that one was ashamed to give way to moods and tenses in his company.
Peggy began to feel that there was still some possibility of happiness in life, and on her way to the door she came face to face with Lady Darcy, who reassured her still further by smiling as amiably as if nothing had happened.
“Well, dear, enjoying yourself? Got plenty of partners?” Then in a whispered aside, “The dress looks all right! Such a clever suggestion of yours. Dear, dear, what a fright we had!” and she swept away, leaving an impression of beauty, grace, and affability which the girl was powerless to resist. When Lady Darcy chose to show herself at her best, there was a charm about her which subjugated all hearts, and, from the moment that the sweet tired eyes smiled into hers, Peggy Saville forgot her troubles and tripped away to eat strawberry ices, and dance over the polished floor with a heart as light as her heels.
One party is very much like another. The room may be larger or smaller, the supper more or less substantial, but the programme is the same in both cases, and there is little to be told about even the grandest of its kind. Somebody wore pink; somebody wore blue; somebody fell down on the floor in the middle of the lancers, which are no longer the stately and dignified dance of yore, but an ungainly romp more befitting a kitchen than a ballroom; somebody went in to supper twice over, and somebody never went at all, but blushed unseen in a corner, thinking longingly of turkey, trifle, and crackers; and then the carriages began to roll up to the door, brothers and sisters paired demurely together, stammered out a bashful “Enjoyed myself so much! Thanks for a pleasant evening,” and raced upstairs for coats and shawls.
By half-past twelve all the guests had departed except the vicarage party, and the sons and daughters of the old squire who lived close by, who had been pressed to stay behind for that last half-hour which is often the most enjoyable of the whole evening.
Lord and Lady Darcy and the grown-up visitors retired into the drawing-room to regale themselves with sandwiches and ices, and the young people stormed the supper-room, interrupted the servants in their work of clearing away the good things, seated themselves indiscriminately on floor, chair, or table, and despatched a second supper with undiminished appetite. Then Esther mounted the platform where the band had been seated, and played a last waltz, and a very last waltz, and “really the last waltz of all.” The squire’s son played a polka with two fingers, and a great deal of loud pedal, and the fun grew faster and more uproarious with every moment. Even Rosalind threw aside young ladylike affectations and pranced about without thinking of appearances, and when at last the others left the room to prepare for the drive home she seized Peggy’s arm in eager excitement.
“Peggy! Peggy! Such a joke! I told them to come back to say good-bye, and I am going to play a twick! I’m going to be a ghost, and glide out from behind the shwubs, and fwighten them. I can do it beautifully. See!” She turned down the gas as she spoke, threw her light gauze skirt over her head, and came creeping across the room with stealthy tread, and arms outstretched, while Peggy clapped her hands in delight.
“Lovely! Lovely! It looks exactly like wings. It makes me quite creepy. Don’t come out if Mellicent is alone, whatever you do. She would be scared out of her seven senses. Just float gently along toward them, and keep your hands forward so as to hide your face. They will recognise you if you don’t.”
“Oh, if you can see my face, we must have less light. There are too many candles, I’ll put out the ones on the mantelpiece. Stay where you are, and tell me when it is wight,” Rosalind cried gaily, and ran across the room on her tiny pink silk slippers.
So long as she lived Peggy Saville remembered the next minutes; to the last day of her life she had only to shut her eyes and the scene rose up before her, clear and vivid as in a picture. The stretch of empty room, with its fragrant banks of flowers; the graceful figure flitting across the floor, its outline swathed in folds of misty white; the glimpse of a lovely, laughing face as Rosalind stretched out her arm to reach the silver candelabra, the sudden flare of light which caught the robe of gauze, and swept it into flame. It all happened within the space of a minute, but it was one of those minutes the memory of which no years can destroy. She had hardly time to realise the terror of the situation before Rosalind was rushing towards her with outstretched hands, calling aloud in accents of frenzied appeal—
“Peggy! Peggy! Oh, save me, Peggy! I’m burning! Save me! Save me!”