Mrs Days Daughters | Page 2

about to make an exhibition of himself for the pleasure of his tyrant--his little Deleah. Then, turning, with his hands on the shoulders of the young man before him, he was racing down the room to join hands with the laughing Deleah at the end of the procession, ducking his heavy, short-necked head, to squeeze his broad figure with her slight one under the archway of raised arms, dashing to his place opposite his daughter at the top of the room again. Breathless, laughing, spluttering, stamping, he went through it all.
And now he and his little partner are themselves top-couple, and must dance the half length of the room to be swung round by the pair dancing to meet them; must be swung by right hand, by left, by both hands; must dance to bow, dance to caper with the opposite couple, back to back. And William Day, who had loved dancing till he grew too fat to dance, and was extraordinarily light on his feet for such a big, heavily-made man, never cried for mercy, but cheered on his companions, and footed it to the end.
"Never again!" he declared when the dance was over, and he stood smacking his chest, panting, struggling for breath with which to bid his guests good-night, "You'll never any of you catch me making such a fool of myself again."
"Why, papa, you danced it beautifully! Every single year you shall dance Sir Roger de Coverley, and you shall always dance it with me."
He shouted that he would not. He always shouted. He would have felt himself falling behind himself on this festive occasion if he had been less boisterous to the end.
"I think it has been the nicest of all our parties," Deleah declared to her sister, as the girls went to their room.
"I've certainly enjoyed it the most," said Bessie. "And Reggie said so had he."
"You danced six times with Reggie, Bess. I counted."
"It is a pity you were not better employed. You wanted to dance with him yourself, I suppose?"
"Why, I did!" Deleah cried, and laughed "I danced the Lancers with him--twice. And in the grand chain he lifted me off my feet. He's most beautifully strong, Reggie is! Did he lift you off your feet, Bess?"
"Reggie would know better than to take such a liberty," Bess said, who was not dark and petite like her sister, but plump and fair and somewhat heavily built. "And you're too old for such romping, yourself, Deleah; and you've nicely spoilt your frock with it!"
"Yards of frilling gone," Deleah said happily, as if the loss of so much material was a merit. "Just a teeny bit came off to start with; Tom Marston caught his toe in it, and went, galloping the whole length of the room carrying it with him and his partner before I could stop him. Oh, how I laughed!"
"Mama won't laugh! She said you must wear the same frock at the Arkwrights' dance next week."
"The white silk, underneath, is all right--look! Only a new net skirt over it. Mama won't mind it in the least."
"If you have a new net over-skirt I shall have one too. You're not to have an evening frock more than me. So come! I shall have blue again. Blue tarlatan with white frillings on the flounces. Blue is my colour. Reggie said so to-night."
"I suppose he admired you in that wreath of forget-me-nots?"
"He didn't say I was to tell you, if he did! You go to bed, and to sleep, Deleah; and don't interfere."
"I'm getting out of my clothes as fast as I can. Why aren't you getting out of yours, Bess?"
"I'm not going to bed yet. I'm waiting for mama. I've something to say to her."
"What about? Oh, Bess, do tell! I always tell you everything."
She paused, stepped out of her dress which lay a heap of shining silk and billowy net upon the floor, looked at her sister. "It's something about Reggie," she declared with eager interest. "Yes, it is! Oh, Bessie, tell me first. Your face is as red as red! Tell me first!"
You mind your own business, Deda; and brush your hair."
"I'm not going to brush it, to-night: I can't. It's so tangly. I'm just going to say my prayers, and hop into bed."
"Mama won't like it if you don't brush your hair. I shall tell her if you don't, Deda."
"Tell her, then!" Deda challenged, and hurried into her nightgown, and flung herself on her knees by the side of her bed, and hid her face in her hands, preparatory to making her devotions.
A soft tapping on the door before it opened, and Mrs. Day, candlestick in hand, appeared. A pretty woman of medium height, middle-aged, as women allowed themselves to be frankly, fifty years ago. She wore a handsome dress of