“Oh?” she said. “Tell me, Philip. Suspense makes me ill.”
“You will find out at school tomorrow,” he said, his manner almost teasing for a moment.
“Philip!” she said, exasperated.
“I am pleased to see Lord Holmes still in the ballroom,” he said, looking around the room. “I thought he would have disappeared to the card room long ago. Hereally does not have enough exercise, you know.”
“It is surprising,” Rebecca agreed. “He has even danced twice, once with Lady Langbourne and one—of course—with Maude.”
Philip frowned, his eyes coming to rest on the last-named lady. “Lady Holmes looks like a girl at her come-out,” he said, “and not at all like a matron.”
“And very glad I am of it,” Rebecca said warmly. “She is very young, Philip. Younger than I am, youknow.”
He looked at her. “Yes,” he said, “I suppose you are right. I had not thought of it that way. However, Rebecca,she is a married lady, and I cannot approve the frivolity ofher gown.”
Rebecca too looked at Maude. She had thought the white silk underdress covered with delicate white chantillylace a particularly glorious creation. And it suited its wearer,emphasizing the lovely auburn of her hair and the daintiness of her figure.
“And the neckline is quite indecently low,” Philip continued. “If you were ever to wear something so immodest, Rebecca, I should tear it to shreds and throw it away.”
Rebecca had to bite her lip and turn away. It was a small point and not worth arguing over. But for somereason, she felt more irritated with Philip than she had everbeen before. Why must he always single out Maude forcriticism? Lady Holmes’s behaviour was always abovereproach, as far as Rebecca could see, especially when onerealized that she was not a happy person. And who couldbe happy married to someone like Uncle Humphrey? Itwas easy enough to tolerate him, even to be amused byhim, as an uncle. But as a husband? Maude conductedherself with admirable dignity.
Fortunately for Rebecca, she was saved from further irritation by a new partner, who had signed her card earlierand had now come to claim his set. And she was kept busyuntil after the supper break. She was able to stay awayfrom Philip and the decision about him that she knew shewas going to have to make very soon. She still was notquite sure whether she should break off their betrothal orwhether she should try to continue with her plans to marryhim. But this was neither the time nor the place to worryover such a thorny problem.
And she was able to avoid Christopher. She had seen him frequently, had even danced past him on a number ofoccasions. But somehow she had contrived to avoid looking at him or meeting his eyes in all of that time. She was,of course, aware of him every moment of the evening. Sheknew exactly with whom he had danced. She knew that hedanced both the opening set and the supper dance withHarriet. And she was aware of the fact that neither of themwas at the supper for a full twenty minutes after everyoneelse was sitting down. The evening was warm; severalcouples had left the ballroom through the French doors inorder to stroll in the garden.
Mr. Carver asked her to dance after supper, and Rebecca smiled mischievously at him. It was a waltz, the second of three that the Langbournes had planned for themore daring and fashionable of their guests.
“You are very trusting, sir,” she said. “Are you willing to risk having your toes trodden on when I have had merely one lesson in the waltz?”
“Well, ma’am,” he said, “if you tread on m’foot, I might tread on yours. And I can vouch for th’fact that youwould get th’worst of it.”
Rebecca could feel laughter bubbling up inside her as he rumbled with mirth. “Very well,” she said. “I shallendeavor to keep my feet to myself, sir.”
“You really are a naturally good dancer,” he commented after a minute. “Sometimes waltzing can be suspiciouslylike lugging around a sack of meal.”
“Oh,” Rebecca said, “now you have made me really nervous, sir.”
Mr. Carver was unable to keep up the repartee. The tempo of the waltz was very lively, and soon he wasalmost audibly counting steps. He stopped when they wereopposite the French doors.
“Very sorry, Miss Shaw,” he said. “Bit off a little more than I can chew this time. Dancing ain’t quite mything unless the tempo is slow and sedate. Would you carefor a turn in the garden, ma’am?”
Rebecca smiled. “I should be delighted, sir,” she said. “The smell of the flowers in here was quite lovely at first,but now, I must confess, it has become oppressive.”
They strolled in silence at first across the lawn, Rebecca’s hand resting on the massive and very solid arm of her companion. The night was lit softly by lanterns set in thetrees that bordered the grass.
“Have you made any progress on expanding your school to include girls?” Mr. Carver asked.
“I have not broached the subject for a while,” Rebecca said. “I shall wait until the results of the present schoolare quite obvious and then renew the campaign.”
“Diplomatic,” Mr. Carver said. “Should have come with Sinclair to see you teach, Miss Shaw. Can neverdrum up as much interest as he in such things. Should beashamed of myself.”
“Not at all,” Rebecca said. “I should prefer you to stay away altogether than pretend to a charitable interest thatyou do not really feel. I cannot stand pretension like that.”Her tone was more vehement than she had intended.
“Eh?” Mr. Carver said. “Y’ain’t referring to Sinclair, are you?”
“Yes, actually I am,” Rebecca said. “He came to the school merely to look good, I am convinced. What does hereally care?”
“Eh?” Mr. Carver said again. “Y’don’t know?” He looked away from her. “No,” he said, “seem to remember he mentioned something of the sort. Sorry, Miss Shaw,excuse me. Talking to m’self. Often do it, y’know. Signof advancing senility.” His arm beneath hers shook with the mirth that she was becoming accustomed to.
