Part 6 (1/2)

After that first dance the whole evening changed for Nancy. She had half doubted that her companion would be a good dancer, but in two moments that doubt was routed. Gliding smoothly, weightlessly as if to the gentle rhythm of a wave, they circled through the moving swarm of dancers; Nancy's cheeks flus.h.i.+ng like two poppies and her eyes glistening with the exhilaration of the music. Her timidity had left her; she felt warm, vivacious and attractive, and it seemed perfectly natural that after that first waltz she had partners for every dance.

Mr. Arnold danced with no one else. When other partners claimed her, he retired to the doorway, and stood with his arms folded, surveying the scene with his whimsical, absent-minded smile; but evidently he regarded it as his right to have each waltz with her.

”My aunt has ordered me to present you to her,” he said, when he had at length led her into a corner for an ice, and a moment's chat. ”For some reason she has evidently taken a great fancy to you at sight, and she is giving me no peace. She is a very peremptory and badly spoiled old lady, but it's impossible to resist her. I told her that she might frighten you to death, and that then you'd blame me.”

”You _didn't_!” cried Nancy, horrified.

”Indeed I did. I've had the experience before--and I told her that I'd be hanged if I a.s.sumed the responsibility of surrendering any unsuspecting person into her clutches without giving them fair warning.

But, seriously, she is a very dear lady,--though an eccentric one--and she has been saying extremely nice things about you. Besides--she asked me to tell you that she knew your father, and that _she_ loved him long before _you_ were born.”

Something in his softened, gentle tone went to Nancy's heart. She put down her ice.

”Will you take me now? I think I know--I mean I've seen your aunt already.”

”She is a very remarkable person. She can be more terrifying--and more tender, than any woman in the world. Utterly fearless, something of a tyrant--possibly because she has never been denied anything she wanted in her life. She simply doesn't accept denials. If she had been a man she might have been a Pitt, or a Napoleon. As she is, she is a mixture of Queen Elizabeth--and Queen Victoria.”

The amazing individual, described by this brief biographical preface, who was still enthroned on the coquettish little French couch, and who was now consuming a pink ice with nave relish, was indeed the old lady in purple--otherwise, Miss Elizabeth Bancroft, of Lowry House (for some reason she had always been given this somewhat English style of designation; possibly because she was the last of her name to be identified with the magnificent collections for which Lowry House, the American roof-tree of aristocratic English colonists, had been famous for more than a hundred years).

As Nancy stood before her, she looked up at the girl keenly, her little blue eyes diminished in size by the thick lenses of her pince-nez.

Then she handed her ice to Mr. Arnold without even glancing at him, and held out both her plump white hands to Nancy. Her whole face softened, with the dimpling, comfortable smile of a motherly old nurse.

”Oh, my dear child--if you were only a boy I could believe you were George again--my George, your father--not this young rascal. Come, sit down beside me. I shan't keep you long. Have you been having a good time, my dear?”

She was not a terrible old lady at all. On the contrary, with wonderful skill, with cosy, affectionate little ways, with her jolly laugh, and her droll stories, she had succeeded in less time than it takes to tell in completely winning Nancy to her. And somehow, although she appeared to be doing all the talking herself, although she touched so lightly and so adroitly that she hardly seemed to touch at all on any topic that was delicately personal to the girl, she had managed within a brief five minutes to glean a hundred little facts, which, by piecing together in her keen old mind, gave her more knowledge concerning the Prescotts than another person could have come by in a week's diligent pumping.

”George, my dear----”

”Yes, Aunt Eliza.”

”Oh, nothing. I wish to goodness you were a woman. It just occurred to me that you can't possibly understand what I was going to say to you, so never mind about listening to me. Smoke, if you want to, and let me think in peace.”

”Very well.” From Mr. Arnold's docile submissiveness it might be surmised that he, too, wanted to think in peace. Miss Bancroft's lumbering, impressive coupe rumbled along over the wet roads toward Lowry House; its two occupants buried in that mood of silence which only two very sympathetic beings know how to respect. Presently Miss Bancroft burst out:

”The child is quite charming. I shall give Tom a good sound piece of my mind. To-morrow.”

George Arnold grunted.

”It's only fair sportsmans.h.i.+p to give him twelve hours' warning.”

”Poor Lallie Prescott. Like most silly women, she's going to try to beat Providence by pus.h.i.+ng them forward into premature rivalry with girls who have every financial advantage over them, ruin their contentment, so that they will be ready to fling away their happiness on the first little whippersnapper who looks as if he could give them a trip to Paris and a season in Cannes every year. I admire her fighting spirit, but it's hopelessly misdirected.”

”Am I meant to understand you, Aunt Eliza?”

”No. Don't even listen to me. Nancy has too much sense for a girl of her age, and that exquisite little Alma has none. Tut-tut. I find that I must interfere.”

CHAPTER VI

MISS BANCROFT BEARDS THE OGRE