Missy Part 12

Eventually came time for the prizes--and then dancing. Dancing Missy liked tremendously. Raymond claimed her for the first waltz. Missy wondered, a little wistfully, whether now he mightn't be regretting that pre-engagement, whether he wouldn't rather dance it with the languishing-eyed girl he was following about.

But as soon as the violin and piano, back near the library window, began to play, Raymond came straight to Missy and made his charming bow. They danced through the two parlours and then out to the porch and round its full length; the music carried beautifully through the open windows; it was heavenly dancing outdoors like that. Too soon it was over.

"Will you excuse me?" Raymond asked in his polite way. "Mother wants to see me about something. I hate to run away, but--"

Scarcely had he gone when Mrs. Allen, with Jim in tow, came hurrying up.

"Oh, Missy! I've been looking for you everywhere. Kitty's awfully sick.

She was helping with the refreshments and got hold of some pickles. And on top of all that candy--"

"Oh!" commiserated Missy.

"I've got to get her home at once," Mrs. Allen went on. "I hate to take you away just when your good time's beginning, but--"

"Why does she have to go?" Jim broke in. "I can take you and Kitty home, and then come back, and take her home after the party's over." He gave a little laugh. "You see that gives me an excuse to see the party through myself!"

Mrs. Allen eyed Missy a little dubiously.

"Oh, Mrs. Allen, couldn't I?"

"I don't know--I said I'd bring you home myself."

"Oh, Mrs. Allen! Please!" Missy's eyes pleaded even more than her voice.

"Well, I don't see why not," decided Kitty's mother, anxious to return to her own daughter. "Jim will take good care of you, and Mrs. Bonner will send you all home early."

When Mrs. Allen, accompanied by her nephew, had hurried away, Missy had an impulse to wander alone, for a moment, out into the deliciously alluring night. She loved the night always, but just now it looked indescribably beautiful. The grounds were deserted, but the lanterns, quivering in the breeze, seemed to be huge live glow-worms suspended up there in the dark. It was enchantment. Stepping lightly, holding her breath, sniffing at unseen scents, hearing laughter and dance music from far away as if in another world, she penetrated farther and farther into the shadows. An orange-coloured moon was pushing its way over the horizon, so close she could surely reach out her hands and touch it!

And then, too near to belong to any other world, and quite distinctly, she heard a voice beyond the rose arbour:

"Oh, yes! Words sound well! But the fact remains you didn't ask me for the first dance."

Missy knew that drawling yet strangely a.s.sured voice. Almost, with its tones, she could see the languorously uplifted eyes, the provoking little gesture of fan at lips. Before she could move, whether to advance or to flee, Raymond replied:

"I wanted to ask you--you know I wanted to ask you!"

"Oh, yes, you did!" replied the visiting girl ironically.

"I did!" protested Raymond.

"Well, why didn't you then?"

"I'd already asked somebody else. I couldn't!"

And then the visiting girl laughed strangely. Missy knew she knew with whom Raymond had danced that first dance. Why did she laugh? And Raymond--oh, oh! She had seemed to grow rooted to the ground, unable to get away; her heart, her breathing, seemed to petrify too; they hurt her. Why had Raymond danced with her if he didn't want to? And why, why did that girl laugh? She suddenly felt that she must let them know that she heard them, that she must ask why! And, in order not to exclaim the question against her will, she covered her mouth with both hands, and crept silently away from the rose arbour.

Without any definite purpose, borne along by an inner whirlwind of suppressed sobs and utter despair, Missy finally found herself nearer the entrance gate, Fortunately there was n.o.body to see her; everyone--except those two--was back up there in the glare and noise, laughing and dancing. Laughing and dancing--oh, oh! What ages ago it seemed when she too had laughed and danced!

Oh, why hadn't she gone home with Mrs. Allen and Kitty before her silly pleasure had turned to anguish? But, of course, that was what life was: pain crowding elbows with pleasure always--she had read that somewhere.

She was just inevitably living Life.

Consoled a trifle by this reflection and by a certain note of sublimity in her experience, Missy leaned against the gatepost upon which a lantern was blinking its last shred of life, and gazed at the slow-rising, splendid moon.

She was still there when Cousin Jim, walking quickly and his shoes creaking loudly, returned. "h.e.l.lo!" he said. "What're you doing out here?"

"Oh, just watching the moon."

"You're a funny girl," he laughed.

"Why am I funny?" Her tone was a little wistful. "Why, moon-gazing instead of dancing, and everything."

"But I like to dance too," emphasized Missy, as if to defend herself against a charge.

"I'll take you up on that. Come straight in and dance the next dance with me!"

Missy obeyed. And then she knew that she had met the Dancer of the World. At first she was pleased that her steps fitted his so well, and then she forgot all about steps and just floated along, on invisible gauzy wings, unconscious of her will of direction, of his will of direction. There was nothing in the world but invisible gauzy wings, which were herself and Jim and the music. And they were a part of the music and the music was a part of them. It was divine.

"Say, you can dance!" said Jim admiringly when the music stopped.

"I love to dance."

"I should say you might! You dance better than any girl I ever danced with!"

This, from a military uniform, was praise indeed. Missy blushed and was moved to hide her exaltation under modesty.

"I guess the reason is because I love it so much. I feel as if it's the music dancing--not me. Do you feel it that way?" "Never thought of it that way," answered Jim. "But I don't know but what you're right. Say, you ARE a funny girl, aren't you?"

But Missy knew that whatever he meant by her being a "funny girl" he didn't dislike her for it, because he rushed on: "You must let me have a lot of dances--every one you can spare."

After that everything was rapture. All the boys liked to dance with Missy because she was such a good dancer, and Jim kept wanting to cut in to get an extra dance with her himself. Somehow even the sting of the visiting girl's laugh and of Raymond's defection seemed to have subsided into triviality. And when Raymond came up to ask for a dance she experienced a new and pleasurable thrill in telling him she was already engaged. That thrill disturbed her a little. Was it possible that she was vindictive, wicked? But when she saw Jim approaching while Raymond was receiving his conge, she thrilled again, simultaneously wondering whether she was, after all, but a heartless coquette.

Jim had just been dancing with the visiting girl, so she asked: "Is Miss Slade a good dancer?"

"Oh, fair. Not in it with you though."

Missy thrilled again, and felt wicked again--alas, how pleasant is wickedness! "She's awfully pretty," vouchsafed Missy.

"Oh, I guess so"--indifferently.

Yet another thrill.

They took refreshments together, Jim going to get her a second gla.s.s of lemonade and waiting upon her with devotion. Then came the time to go home. Missy could not hold back a certain sense of triumph as, after thanking Raymond for a glorious time, she started off, under his inquisitive eye, arm in arm with Jim.

That unwonted arm-in-arm business confused Missy a good deal. She had an idea it was the proper thing when one is being escorted home, and had put her arm in his as a matter of course, but before they had reached the gate she was acutely conscious of the touch of her arm on his. To make matters worse, a curious wave of embarra.s.sment was creeping over her; she couldn't think of anything to say, and they had walked nearly a block down moon-flooded Silver Street, with no sound but Jim's creaking shoes, before she got out: "How do you like Cherry vale, Mr. Henley?"

"Looks good to me," he responded.

Then silence again, save for Jim's shoes. Missy racked her brains. What do you say to boys who don't know the same people and affairs you do?

Back there at the party things had gone easily, but they were playing cards or dancing or eating; there had been no need for tete-a-tete conversation. How do you talk to people you don't know?