CHAPTER VIII.

The face at the window.

Mrs. Aylett was in her best feather that night; the suave chatelaine, the dutiful consort; the tactful warder of the interesting pair whose movements she had not ceased to watch from the moment they took their places with the party about the fire-place in the hall until she, alone of all the company, saw Herbert Dorrance draw the diamond signet from its receptacle, and the sparkle of the jewel as it slipped to its abiding-place upon Mabel’s finger.

Lest something unusual in their look or behavior should excite the suspicions of their companions, make them the focus of inquisitive observation and whispered remark, the diplomate passed again into the hall, sweeping along in advance of them when they deserted their curtained recess, and would have joined the rest of the company.

“Are we to have no dancing this evening?” she said, in hospitable solicitude.  “It wants an hour yet of supper-time.  The exercise will do you all good, particularly the young ladies, who have not stirred beyond the piazzas to-day.  I have been waiting for an invitation to play for you, but my desire for your welfare has overcome native humility.  Will you accept my services as your musician?”

The suggestion was acceded to by acclamation, and while one gentleman led her to the grand piano which stood between the front windows of the drawing-room, and another opened a music-book which she named, a set was quickly formed in the long apartment, the soberer portion of the crowd ranging themselves along the walls as lookers-on.

Mrs. Aylett was a proficient in dance-music.  She never volunteered to perform that which she was not conscious of doing well.  She had occasionally taken the floor for a single quadrille, to oblige a favored guest—­always a middle-aged or elderly gentleman—­or moved through a cotillion with ease and spirit as partner to her husband, but she declined dancing, as a rule; was altogether indifferent to the amusement, while she delighted to oblige her friends by playing for them whenever and as long as they required her aid.  Without saying, in so many words, that she disapproved of the waltz for unmarried ladies, and frowned upon promiscuous dancing for matrons, she yet managed to regulate the social code of the neighborhood in both these respects, was imitated and quoted by the most discreet of chaperones and belles.

Mr. Dorrance was Mabel’s partner; Rosa stood up with Randolph Harrison, a gay youth, who was her latest attache; Tom Barksdale led out a blushing, yet sprightly school-girl, and Imogene was his vis-a-vis supported by an ancient admirer, who had comforted himself for her preference for another man by falling in love with a prettier woman.  The room was decorated with garlands of running cedar—­a vine known in higher latitudes as “ground-pine,” and which carpeted acres of the Ridgeley woods.  The vases on the mantel were filled with holly, and other gayly colored berry boughs, while roses, lemon and orange blossoms, mignonette and violets from the conservatory were set about on tables and brackets, blending fresher and more wholesome odors with those of the Parisian extracts wafted from the ladies’ dresses and handkerchiefs.