“No more there are, indeed.  How very provoking!  But I think we had better sit still, for one gets so tumbled in such a crowd!  How is my head, my dear?  Somebody gave me a push that has hurt it, I am afraid.”

“No, indeed, it looks very nice.  But, dear Mrs. Allen, are you sure there is nobody you know in all this multitude of people?  I think you must know somebody.”

“I don’t, upon my word —­ I wish I did.  I wish I had a large acquaintance here with all my heart, and then I should get you a partner.  I should be so glad to have you dance.  There goes a strange-looking woman!  What an odd gown she has got on!  How old-fashioned it is!  Look at the back.”

After some time they received an offer of tea from one of their neighbours; it was thankfully accepted, and this introduced a light conversation with the gentleman who offered it, which was the only time that anybody spoke to them during the evening, till they were discovered and joined by Mr. Allen when the dance was over.

“Well, Miss Morland,” said he, directly, “I hope you have had an agreeable ball.”

“Very agreeable indeed,” she replied, vainly endeavouring to hide a great yawn.

“I wish she had been able to dance,” said his wife; “I wish we could have got a partner for her.  I have been saying how glad I should be if the Skinners were here this winter instead of last; or if the Parrys had come, as they talked of once, she might have danced with George Parry.  I am so sorry she has not had a partner!”

“We shall do better another evening I hope,” was Mr. Allen’s consolation.

The company began to disperse when the dancing was over —­ enough to leave space for the remainder to walk about in some comfort; and now was the time for a heroine, who had not yet played a very distinguished part in the events of the evening, to be noticed and admired.  Every five minutes, by removing some of the crowd, gave greater openings for her charms.  She was now seen by many young men who had not been near her before.  Not one, however, started with rapturous wonder on beholding her, no whisper of eager inquiry ran round the room, nor was she once called a divinity by anybody.  Yet Catherine was in very good looks, and had the company only seen her three years before, they would now have thought her exceedingly handsome.

She was looked at, however, and with some admiration; for, in her own hearing, two gentlemen pronounced her to be a pretty girl.  Such words had their due effect; she immediately thought the evening pleasanter than she had found it before —­ her humble vanity was contented —­ she felt more obliged to the two young men for this simple praise than a true-quality heroine would have been for fifteen sonnets in celebration of her charms, and went to her chair in good humour with everybody, and perfectly satisfied with her share of public attention.

CHAPTER 3