"What a glorious arch!" exclaimed Cornelia.
"It was put there for us, was it not?" rejoined Bressant.
Some of the other guests had come out in time to see the latter part of
this spectacle, as it trembled athwart the heavens. They "Oh'd" and
"Ah'd" in vast astonishment and admiration; and one of them humorously
asserted that it had been engaged, at a huge expense, to celebrate the
anniversary of American Independence. So the celestial arch vanished in
the echo of a horse-laugh. But Bressant and Cornelia, as they stood
silently arm-in-arm, felt as if it were rather the presage of an
emancipation of their own selves. From, or to what, they did not ask;
nor did the old superstition, that such signs foretell ruin and
disaster, recur to their minds until long afterward.
Dancing was now recommenced, but, by an unuttered agreement, the two
refrained from participating again. The enjoyment had been too entire to
risk a repetition. They sat down in one of the small boudoirs, which,
through a demoralized corridor, commanded a view of the extremity of one
of the dancing-rooms.
From this vantage-ground they could see the distinctive features of the
assembly pass before their eyes. Girls who danced well striving to look
graceful in the arms of men who danced ill, or floundering women
bringing disgrace and misery upon embracing men. Dancers of the old
school, whose forte lay in quadrilles and contra-dances, cutting strange
capers, with faces of earnest gravity. People smiling whenever spoken
to, and without hearing what was said; and on-lookers smiling, by a sort
of photographic process, at fun in which they had no concern.
Introductions, where the lady was self-possessed and bewitching, the
gentleman monosyllabic and poker-like; others, where he was off-hand,
ogling, and facetious; she, timid, credulous, and blushing. All kinds of
costumes, from the solitary dress-coat, and low-necked ball-dress, worn
respectively by Mr. and Mrs. Van Brueck from Albany, to the mixed tweed
sack and trousers, and the checked gingham, adorning the Browne boy and
girl.
"How foolish it all seems when you're not doing it yourself!" remarked
Cornelia at last, laughing softly.
"But very wise when you are."
"How beautifully you danced! I didn't know you could."
"I never did before--I couldn't, with any one but you. As soon as we
touched each other, I felt every thing through you."
"It was very strange, wasn't it? and yet I don't wonder at it, somehow."
"It would have been stranger not to have been so."
"Why, how have you been hearing what I said?" suddenly exclaimed
Cornelia, looking at him in surprise; "I've been almost whispering all
this time!"
"Have you? It sounded loud enough to me. But I could hear you think
to-night, I believe. Will it be so to-morrow, do you suppose?"