Maryland -- History -- Fiction; United States -- History -- Revolution, 1775-1783 -- Fiction
“Gadzooks, ma'am!” she cried, as she approached us, “I have never in
my life laid eyes upon such beauty as your daughter's. You will have to
take her home, Mrs. Manners, to do her justice. You owe it her, ma'am.
Come, nephew, off with you, and head the minuet with Miss Dolly!”
My grandfather was giving the word to the fiddlers. But whether a desire
to cross my aunt held me back, or a sense of duty to greet the guests
not already come, or a vague intuition of some impending news drawn from
Mrs. Manners and Dorothy, I know not. Mr. Fitzhugh was easily persuaded
to take my place, and presently I slipped unnoticed into a shaded
seat on the side of the upper terrace, whence I could see the changing
figures on the green. And I thought of the birthday festivals Dolly and
I had spent here, almost since we were of an age to walk. Wet June days,
when the broad wings of the house rang with the sound of silver laughter
and pattering feet, and echoed with music from the hall; and merry
June days, when the laughter rippled among the lilacs, and pansies and
poppies and sweet peas were outshone by bright gowns and brighter faces.
And then, as if to complete the picture of the past, my eye fell upon
our mammies modestly seated behind the group of older people, Aunt
Hester and Aunt Lucy, their honest, black faces aglow with such
unselfish enjoyment as they alone could feel.
How easily I marked Dorothy among the throng!
Other girls found it hard to compress the spirits of youth within the
dignity of a minuet, and thought of the childish romp of former years.
Not so my lady. Long afterwards I saw her lead a ball with the first
soldier and gentleman of the land, but on that Tuesday she carried
herself full as well, so well that his Excellency and the gentlemen
about him applauded heartily. As the strains died away and the couples
moved off among the privet-lined paths, I went slowly down the terrace.
Dorothy had come up to speak to her mother, Dr. Courtenay lingering
impatient at her side. And though her colour glowed deeper, and the wind
had loosed a wisp of her hair, she took his Excellency's compliments
undisturbed. Colonel Sharpe, our former governor, who now made his home
in the province, sat beside him.
“Now where a-deuce were you, Richard?” said he. “You have missed as
pleasing a sight as comes to a man in a lifetime. Why were you not here
to see Miss Manners tread a minuet? My word! Terpsichore herself could
scarce have made it go better.”
“I saw the dance, sir, from a safe distance,” I replied.
“I'll warrant!” said he, laughing, while Dolly shot me a wayward glance
from under her long lashes. “I'll warrant your eyes were fast on her
from beginning to end. Come, sir, confess!”
His big frame shook with the fun of it, for none in the colony could
be jollier than he on holiday occasions: and the group of ladies and
gentlemen beside him caught the infection, so that I was sore put to it.
“Will your Excellency confess likewise?” I demanded.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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