As it turned out, Sophy did not wear yellow to Mr. Wimsey's ball, and Freddie did not wear it, either, and Hetty did not wear her pink. Mrs. Darcy threw up her hands in horror at the very idea of it.
"If we were in London, it might do, but this is a simple country ball, and not very formal. I do not mean to sound like a dowd but you will wear white; or else I shall have to run down to the lake and drown myself in it for shame. You are all very good girls, and you will look well enough in white; and if you would contrive to make Mr. Wimsey think of you in a matrimonial way, what better color could there possibly be?"
"They are far too young to be thinking of matrimony!" cried Mr. Darcy.
"Oh, hush," said his wife, lovingly. "I know that—and you—but girls will dream."
Sophy did not mind much wearing white. She knew that she looked well in it, and her soft Grecian-style gown flattered her figure enormously. She looked with satisfaction at her bustline, neatly showed by the empire waist, and nodded to herself as she pulled on her gloves. Freddie came up beside her and jostled for position in front of the mirror.
"Freddie!" Hetty cried. "You have a stain along the back of your gown! Oh, it's horrid! What could you have done to get it?"
"Oh—I had forgotten! I wore this dress last time Raleigh came to visit; we had such a gay time, sliding down the hill outside the church. You must try it sometime, girls, it feels like one is flying!"
"You cannot wear that dress," said Hetty. "You will disgrace us all." She was experimenting with jewelry, and stabbed a clip of pearls through her curls. It was true that pearls looked better on dark hair than fair, but Hetty did not want Sophy or Tess to have it, so she wore it herself.
Freddie cast off her gown and took one of Tess's. Tess was rather the same height as Freddie but plumper, too, and the dress hung from her lanky frame in folds.
"You had better ask Porters to sew a line of ruffles to your shift," said Sophy, eyeing the limp neckline with pleasure.
"I wont!" Freddie cried. "I hate horrid tricks like that. I do not look so awful the way I am and besides, I want a man to like me for what is between my ears, and not my shoulders!"
"Really, Freddie!" cried her mother coming into the room. "You must not speak so forwardly of shoulders! People will get the wrong idea. Come along, girls—we are already fashionably late—if we wait a moment longer the fashion will go out of it."
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Mr. Wimsey was a judicious man, that went without saying; it was true they had never seen any evidence of this trait but he was so wonderful that of course he must be very equable and fair. He danced the first two with Sophy Darcy, which caused her no end of triumph. She glittered over her shoulder at her sisters; the thing was as good as done, it was a fait accompli. She was planning the names for her and Mr. Wimsey's six children, when Mr. Wimsey asked if he might dance the next two with Miss Frederica. Freddie stared up at him, rapt, never looking anywhere, even at her feet, which nearly caused her to trip, once. But she was so happy she did not notice.
When Mr. Wimsey came and asked to dance the next with Miss Henrietta, they realized that they were seeing Mr. Wimsey's judiciousness in action. He was not showing a preference for any of them; he was simply dancing his way down the line. They all seemed to fathom it at once. Sophy cried, "Oh!" and Freddie pinched her viciously, and Tess began to shake because the sixth was ending, and she knew that she would be next.
Before she could think it through she turned and ran from the ballroom.
In the garden it was quiet and cool. Tess held her hands to her burning cheeks and stole away to the shadows where nobody could see her. She was so successful at her hiding that presently, a dark shape moved into her, and then a voice cried out, "Excuse me! I do beg your pardon!"
"Oh," cried Tess, mortified to her toes, "It is nothing—it is my fault. I was…" she trailed off, because she did not want to tell this stranger that she had been skulking in the shadows, hiding.
"I do not care to dance," she finished, with all the dignity she could muster.
Her companion was a man of about twenty-five or thirty years of age, dressed all in dark plain clothes and with his hat in his hands. He had an affable face.
"Do you not care for it?" he wondered. "Why, I adore a dance more than anything—anything in the world! It is a capital amusement, chief above all other things."
"Then why do you not dance?" asked Tess, curiously. Then remembering her manners, she said, "I—I do not believe we are acquainted with one another."
"I do not believe we are, either," cried the man. "I am Harry Eustis—Rev. Henry Eustis. How do you do?"
He shook her hand jovially and Tess was quite surprised. "You—a minister?" she wondered, and then she blushed. "Oh, I am sorry. I did not mean…it is only that you are so—so jolly. I would not have taken you for a minister, that is how jolly you are."
The Rev. Harry Eustis laughed. He said,
"I never would have taken myself for a minister either. There are times when it quite amazes me that I am. It happens often when I am in the pulpit—and then I am so flummoxed I cannot give my sermon with half the emphasis that I intended and I am disappointed in myself."
Tess was curious, despite herself. "If you are so fond of dancing," she said, remembering a remark he made earlier, "Then why don't you do it?"
Mr. Eustis shook his hand mournfully. "I daren't do it. My patron is the Bishop of Rexworth, and he does not approve of dancing. I think because is not very good at it. I took over his parsonage when he moved up and he gave me a list of things I mustn't do. It is all very dry and horrid. But Rev. Collins—Bishop Collins—has a soft spot for his old church, and he is determined that the vicarage of Rosings Park should not be disgraced in any way."
"Bishop of Rexworth!" cried Tess. "Rosings Park! I do believe, Mr. Eustis, that you speak of my uncle Collins!"
"Oh, I am sorry!" Mr. Eustis's face was a picture of dismay. "I did not mean to imply that your uncle is deficient in any way. He is a wonderful man and I am grateful for his guidance."
Tess said it was nothing, he should not trouble himself. She did not say that she had never been fond of Uncle Collins, who had the habit of dropping for unexpected stays, and finding all manner of faults with the Darcy girls, which he pointed out to their parents minutely at each meal time. Tess privately thought that Uncle Collins was an odious man. He called her 'Theodooosia,' in an affected way, and she had been very glad when he had accepted a bishopric in the north counties, though she missed Aunt Charlotte and cousin Cathy very much.
Mr. Eustis was thinking. "If you are related to the very esteemed Mr. Collins, you must be one of the Darcy girls," he mused. "I have heard it said that the Darcy girls are the prettiest in Derbyshire and I believe it, now."
"Oh, that is what people say about my sisters," Tess said. "Sophy and Freddie and Henrietta—I am Theodosia Darcy. But please don't call me Theodosia," she begged. "I know it is quite proper but I hate it. I go by Tess."
"Well, Miss—Tess, I have told you why I do not dance; why don't you?"
Tess quaked in her slippers. She said, "I do not like it—I—if you must know, I think dancing very stupid and I never do it."
"Why? Can't you dance?"
"Yes—Mamma and Papa made sure of it. I had lessons with my sisters, of course. It is just that—" she looked up desperately at his face. "It is just that when I do dance, I am uncomfortable, I do not know what to say, my palms grow clammy and I fear I should run away in the middle of it all!"
"You are afraid," said Mr. Eustis knowledgeably.
"Yes—I suppose I am."
"Why, fear is perfectly surmountable," he said. "You must only try to quash it and you can. It is not easy at first, but it is worth doing. All fear comes from the devil, and one must never give in to that fellow, as you well know."
"I know," said Tess miserably.
"Here is what to do," said Mr. Eustis, kindly. "I do not suggest that you dance tonight, but you must go in and listen to the music, and tap your foot along with it. Soon you will feel that it is pleasant, the sound and the melody and if you do it long enough, you will want to dance. Will you go and try it?"
"I will," Tess said, resolutely. When he put things that way it sounded so simple, so feasible, really. "And will you come and meet my sisters, Mr. Eustis?"
"I daren't," said Mr. Eustis again. "If I were to go in I would tap my foot, and before you know it, I would be dancing, and what would Mr. Collins say if he found out? I should lose my place for sure. Do not fret—I'll be in for supper, and I shall have many chances to meet your sisters, for I am to stay in Derbyshire for some weeks. Mr. Wimsey is my childhood friend and I am his honored guest. Listen—a gavotte! Go in and tap, tap away!"
Tess turned at the door. "It is very wrong of Mr. Collins not to let you dance!" she cried. "When you love it so!"
"I do not mind," Mr. Eustis called back, and he looked all around the dark empty garden and leaped up, clapping his heels together, the beginning of a jig.
"Oh," Tess laughed. "You have forgotten that while Mr. Collins cannot see you, God can."
"Yes," said Mr. Eustis, beaming. "But I've found that God is a much more reasonable sort than Mr. Collins."
