Lord Silverbridge made up his mind that as he could not dance with Miss Boncassen he would not dance at all. He was not angry at being rejected, and when he saw her stand up with Dolly Longstaff he felt no jealousy. She had refused to dance with him not because she did not like him, but because she did not wish to show that she did like him. He could understand that, though he had not quite followed all the ins and outs of her little accusations against him. She had flattered him--without any intention of flattery on her part. She had spoken of his intelligence and had complained that he had been too sharp to her. Mabel Grex when most sweet to him, when most loving, always made him feel that he was her inferior. She took no trouble to hide her conviction of his youthfulness. This was anything but flattering. Miss Boncassen, on the other hand, professed herself almost to be afraid of him.
'There shall be no tomfoolery of love-making,' she had said. But what if it were not tomfoolery at all? What if it were good, genuine, earnest love-making? He certainly was not pledged to Lady Mabel. As regarded his father there would be a difficulty. In the first place he had been fool enough to tell his father that he was going to make an offer to Mabel Grex. And then his father would surely refuse his consent to a marriage with an American stranger.
In such case there would be no unlimited income, no immediate pleasantness of magnificent life such as he knew would be poured out upon him if he were to marry Mabel Grex. As he thought of this, however, he told himself that he would not sell himself for money and magnificence. He could afford to be independent, and gratify his own taste. Just at this moment he was of the opinion that Isabel Boncassen would be the sweeter companion of the two.
He had sauntered down to the place where they were dancing and stood by, saying a few words to Mrs Boncassen. 'Why are you not dancing, my Lord?' she asked.
'There are enough without me.'
'I guess you young aristocrats are never overfond of doing much with your own arms and legs.'
'I don't know about that; polo, you know, for the legs, and lawn-tennis for the arms, is hard work enough.'
'But it must always be something new-fangled; and after all it isn't of much account. Our young men like to have quite a time at dancing.'
It all came through her nose! And she looked so common! What would the Duke say to her, or Mary, or even Gerald? The father was by no means so objectionable. He was a tall, straight, ungainly man, who always word black clothes. He had dark, stiff, short hair, a long nose, and a forehead that was both high and broad.
Ezekiel Boncassen was the very man,--from his appearance,--- for a President of the United States; and there were men who talked of him for that high office. That he had never attended to politics was supposed to be in his favour. He had the reputation of being the most learned man in the States, and reputation itself often suffices to give a man a dignity of manner. He, too, spoke through his nose, but the peculiar twang coming from a man would be supposed to be virile and incisive. From a woman, Lord Silverbridge thought it to be unbearable. But as to Isabel, had she been born within the confines of some lordly park in Hertfordshire, she could not have been more completely free from the abomination.
'I am sorry that you should not be enjoying yourself,' said Mr Boncassen, coming to his wife's rescue.
'Nothing could have been nicer. To tell the truth, I am standing idle by way of showing my anger against your daughter, who would not dance with me.'
'I am sure she would have felt herself honoured,' said Mr Boncassen.
'Who is the gentleman with her?' asked the mother.
'A particular friend of mine--Dolly Longstaff.'
'Dolly!' ejaculated Mrs Boncassen.
'Everybody calls him so. His real name I believe to be Adolphus.'
'Is he,--is he--just anybody?' asked the anxious mother.
'He is a very great deal,--as people go here. Everybody knows him.
He is asked everywhere, but he goes nowhere. The greatest compliment paid to you here is his presence.'
'Nay, my Lord, there are the Countess Montague, and the Marchioness of Capulet, and Lord Tybalt, and--'
'They go everywhere. They are nobodies. It is a charity to even invited them. But to have Dolly Longstaff once is a triumph for life.'
'Laws!,' said Mrs Boncassen, looking at the young man who was dancing. 'What has he done?'
'He never did anything in his life.'
'I suppose he's very rich.'
'I don't know. I should think not. I don't know anything about his riches, but I can assure you that having him down here will quite give a character to the day.'
In the meantime Dolly Longstaff was in a state of great excitement. Some part of the character assigned to him by Lord Silverbridge was true. He very rarely did go anywhere, and yet was asked to a great many places. He was a young man,--though not a very young man,--with a fortune of his own and the expectation of future fortune. Few men living could have done less for the world than Dolly Longstaff,--and yet he had a position of his own. Now he had taken into his head to fall in love with Miss Boncassen. This was an accident which had probably never happened to him before, and which had disturbed him much. He had known Miss Boncassen a week or two before Lord Silverbridge had seen her, having by some chance dined out and sat next to her. From that moment he had become changed, and had gone hither and thither in pursuit of the American beauty. His passion having become suspected by his companions had excited their ridicule. Nevertheless he had persevered;--and now he was absolutely dancing with the lady out in the open air. 'If this goes on, your friends will have to look after you and put you somewhere,' Mr Lupton had said to him in one of the intervals of the dance. Dolly had turned round and scowled, and suggested that if Mr Lupton would mind his own affairs it would be as well for the world at large.