Geoffrey Hampstead: A Novel. Jarvis Stinson
both so friendly.
When they arrived in the long conservatory adjoining, Geoffrey held out his hand for her card. He did not ask for it, except perhaps by a look. Having possessed himself of it, he found five successive dances vacant – evidently kept for some one, and he was bold enough suddenly to conclude they had been kept for him. He looked at the card amused, and as he scratched a long mark across all five, he drawled, "May I have the pleasure of – some dances?" And then he mused aloud as he examined the card, "Don't seem to be more than five. Humph! Too bad! But perhaps we can manage a few more, Miss Lindon?"
Nina was accustomed to distribute her favors with a reluctant hand and with a condescension peculiarly her own, and to hear suppliant voices around her. She would be capricious, and loved her power. Even Jack did not count upon continued sunshine, and took what he could get with some thanksgivings. She was a presumptive heiress, and had not escaped the inflation of the purse-proud. But, on the other hand, since her return she had heard a good deal about the various perfections of his friend, and how well he did everything; and from what her girl friends said, she had gleaned that Geoffrey was more in demand than would be confessed. He was not very desirable financially, perhaps, but hugely so because he was sought after. This much would have been sufficient to have made her amused rather than annoyed at his cool way of assuming that she would devote herself to him for an unlimited time, but there was something more about Geoffrey than mere fashion to account for his popularity, and that was the peculiar influence of his presence upon those with whom he conversed.
Thus Nina, if she came to the Dusenalls with the intention of having a flirtation with Geoffrey, which the condition of her card and her acquiescence to his demands confessed, had hit upon a person who was far more than her match, for Hampstead's acquaintanceships were not much governed by rule. As long as a girl diverted him and wished to amuse herself he had no particular creed as to consequences, but merely made it understood – verbally, at least – that there was nothing lasting about the matter, and that it was merely for "the temporary mutual benefit and improvement of both parties." This was a remnant of a code of justification by which he endeavored to patch up his self-respect; but nobody knew better than he that such phrases mean nothing to women who are falling in love and intend to continue in love.
Underneath the careless tones with which he spoke to Nina there was an earnestness and concentration that influenced her. As he gravely handed back her card and caught and held her glance with an intensity in his gray eyes and will-power in his face, she felt, for the first time with any man, that she was not completely at her ease. When obeying the warning impulses that formerly fulfilled the offices of thought women do not often make a mistake. By these intuitions, sufficient at first for self-protection, she knew there was willfulness and mastery in him, and that if she would be true to Jack she should return to him. If change of masters be hurtful to women, this was the time for her to remember about the woman who hesitates. Geoffrey said, "Let us go in and have a dance, Miss Lindon," and she rose with a nervous smile and glanced across to the place where her mother was sitting. But Mrs. Lindon had never been a tower of strength to her, or she might have gone to her. She had a distinct feeling that this new acquaintance was more powerful in some way than she had anticipated, and that everything was not all right with Jack's interests, and she was at one of those moments when a woman's ability to decide is so peculiarly the essence of her character, circumstances, and teaching as fairly to indicate her general moral level. Goethe tells us "to first understand"; but if we can not know the extent of Geoffrey's influence, or how far her unknown French lineage assisted temptation, we would better leave judgment alone. Geoffrey said something in her ear about the music being delicious. She listened for a moment and longed for a dance with him. Rubbish! only a dance, after all! And the next moment she was circling through the ball-room with his arm around her.
The band that played at the Dusenalls' was one that could be listened to with pleasure. It was composed of bottle-nosed Germans who worked at trades during the day and who played together generally for their own amusement. In all they played they brought out the soul of the movement. It was to one of the dreamiest of waltzes that Nina danced with Geoffrey – one of those pieces where from softer cadences the air swells into rapturous triumph, or sinks into despair, and wooes the dancer into the most unintellectual and pleasant frame of mind – if the weather be not too warm.
A cool night breeze was passing through the room, bringing with it the fragrance of the dewey flowers outside, and carrying off the odor of those nauseating tube-roses (which people will wear), and replacing it with a perfume more acceptable to gods and men – especially men.
If Jack "fancied himself" as a dancer, Geoffrey had a better right to do so. His stature aided him also, and men with retreating chins were rather inclined to give him the road. He had a set look about the lower part of his face which in crowds was an advantage to him. It suggested some vis major– perhaps a locomotive, which no one cares to encounter.
In two minutes after they had embarked on this hazardous voyage Nina had but one idea, or rather she was conscious of a pervading sense of pleasure, that ran away with her calmer self. No thought of anything definite was with her, only a vague consciousness of turning and floating, of being admired, of being impelled by music and by Geoffrey. As the dance went on it seemed like some master power that led through the mazes delightfully and resistlessly.
When the music ended, for they had never stopped, she sighed with sorrow. It had been too short. She had yielded herself so completely to its fascination that she seemed like one awakening from a dream. And then her conscience smote her when she thought of Jack, and how in some way she had enjoyed herself too much, and did not seem to be quite the same girl that she had been half an hour before; but these thoughts left her as they walked about and spoke a few words together. While circling the long room she noticed Geoffrey bowing to a tall young lady whose long white silk train swept behind her majestically. There was a respect and gravity in his bow which Nina, with her quick observation, noticed.
"Who is that you are bowing to?" she asked.
"That is Miss Margaret Mackintosh."
"Oh, I think she is perfectly lovely," said Nina, as she looked back admiringly.
"So do I," said Geoffrey.
Nina turned about now with curiosity, in order to meet her again. Miss Mackintosh came down the room once more with a partner who was one of the very young persons who now are the dancing men in Toronto – called the "infants" by a lady (still unwon) who remembers when there were marriageable men to be found dancing at parties. This detrimental with Miss Mackintosh was having an enjoyable time of it. What with the beauty of his partner, her stately figure, gracious manner, and the rapidity with which she talked to him, the little man did not quite know where he was, and he could do little else than turn occasionally and murmur complete acquiescence in what she was saying, while he sometimes glanced at her active face for a moment. In doing this, though, he would lose the thread of her discourse, in consequence of his unfeigned admiration, and, as he was straining every nerve to follow her quick ideas, this was a risky thing to do. Once or twice, seeing him turn toward her so attentively, she turned also and said, "Don't you think so?" and then the little man would endeavor to mentally pull himself together, and with some appearance of deep thought would again acquiesce with unction. Certainly he thought he did think so – every time.
The close scrutiny of Hampstead and Nina did not seem to affect her as she passed them with her face unlifted and earnest. She did not seem to have any side eyes open to see who were regarding her. When the handsome dress that had made such a cavern in her allowance money was trodden on, she gathered it up with an active movement – not seeming to notice the unpleasantness, nor for a moment abating the earnestness of her conversation. Her idea seemed to be to prevent the dress from interrupting her rather than to save it. One could see that, once on, the dress was perhaps not thought of again, that it was not the main part of her pleasure, but was lost in her endeavor to make herself agreeable, and in this way to enjoy herself.
"I am sure she must have a very kind heart," said Nina, smiling.
"Why?" asked Geoffrey.
"Because she takes so much trouble over such a poor specimen of a man."
"Perhaps, as Douglas Jerrold said, she belongs to the Royal Humane Society," added Geoffrey.
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