He dared not look at
Lucy, nor did he speak to her more than was necessary for what they
were doing, nor she to him. She was vexed with him for subjecting
himself and her to unnecessary pain, and in the eye of society--her
divinity.
Another unhappy one was Mr. Fountain. He sat disconsolate on a seat
all alone. Mrs. Bazalgette fluttered about like a butterfly, and
sparkled like a Chinese firework.
Two young ladies, sisters, went to the piano to give Miss Fountain an
opportunity of dancing. She danced quadrilles with four or five
gentlemen, including her special admirers. She declined to waltz: "I
have a little headache; nothing to speak of."
She then sat down to the piano again. "I can play alone, Mr. Dodd; you
have not danced at all."
"I am not in the humor."
"Very well."
This time they played some of the tunes they had rehearsed together
that happy evening, and David's lip quivered.
Lucy eyed him unobserved.
"Was this wise--to subject yourself to this?"
"I must obey orders, whatever it costs me--'ri tum ti tum ti tum ti
tum.'"
"Who ordered you to neglect my advice?--'ri tum tum tum.'"
_"You_ did--'ri tum ti tum tiddy iddy.'"
A look of silent disdain: "Ri tum, ti tum, tiddy iddy." (Ah! perdona
for relating things as they happen, and not as your grand writers
pretend they happen.)
Between the quadrilles she asked an explanation.
"Your aunt met me with my bag in my hand, and told me you wanted me to
play to the company.
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