The Chronicles of Rhoda Part 15

A lady said, "How pretty!" and a boy's voice cried, "Here she is! Here she is, at last!"

Then in a moment some one was shaking my hand. Little by little the mist cleared from before my eyes, and I saw that I was at the party.

The parlor was a long room, running the whole length of the house, but it looked crowded that night. There were groups of little girls, all those whom I had seen upstairs, and more besides, and lots and lots of little boys who stood in corners and laughed among themselves. There were lights on the walls and flowers everywhere, and the few grown-up people who moved about seemed just as gay and festive as the children.

By the door were stationed Theodore Otway and his cousin, and she had on a lovely pink dress with cascades of little bows falling down her back. All the grown-up ladies seemed to watch her, and when she pranced and shook her bows I heard a lady say, "Paris!" in an awed tone.

There was such a hubbub everywhere that I did not notice at first that a boy, whom I had never seen before, was writing his name on my programme.

He was quite a stout boy in tight clothes.

"I'll take this first one, just to make sure," he said. "Maybe, after awhile, I'll dance with you again. Don't you forget what I look like."

"No," I answered, humbly.

"That's right," he continued, patronizingly. "What's your name?"

I told him in a bashful whisper.

"Well, you want to watch out, and when I holler 'Rhoda' you come where I am. That will be when the music strikes up. Don't forget."

"No," I said again.

"If you are not there, I might take some other girl," he remarked, as a final caution.

Theodore Otway was going by, led by a lady. She was arguing seriously with him.

"Of course you must dance the first dance with your cousin!" I heard her cry. "I told you yesterday that you must. You can ask the little girl some other time."

He gave me a miserable glance as he went to the other end of the room.

I hardly noticed him. I was so worried over the stout boy, who roved about the room, here and there and everywhere. Once he hid behind a sofa, and once he went out in the hall to get a drink of lemonade. He unb.u.t.toned his jacket, and tried to make himself look different by crossing his eyes. I was sure that he did. And, just when the music struck up, he disappeared altogether! The other little girls all had partners. I was the only one left out. I felt it very keenly.

Suddenly I heard some one shout, "Rhoda!"

I turned around, and there he was behind my chair, where he had been standing all the time.

"Come along," he said, just as if it were my fault, although there was a look of elation about him. "If you don't hurry up, we won't get in the top set. That's the nicest of all."

I followed him, meekly. I was very glad to find him again, but I felt an inward conviction that I should never get used to boys.

It was not hard to dance. Somehow it was more fun than it had been at home with Auntie May. I always remembered to give my right hand first in the ladies' chain, and when I met my partner I courtesied to him every time. I did not forget a single thing! The music was very lively, and everybody was smiling, even the grown-up people at the other end of the room who danced and romped among themselves. I thought that I should like to go on forever, back and forth, and in and out in the ladies'

chain. I wished that the music would never stop, but it did, at last, with a sudden chord, and we were all ready for something else.

It was a game this time, a strange, new game called "Post-office." It began by a little girl leaving the room, mysteriously, and calling a little boy out into the hall to receive a letter.

"There's a letter in the post-office for Davie Williams," she cried, in a shrill, high voice that sounded frightened.

All the other little girls laughed. Davie Williams grew very red in the face, but he went out for his letter, and closed the door carefully behind him.

I wondered why he stayed so long, and what they could possibly be doing behind the door. It was very exciting. Suppose, just suppose, that there should be a letter for me! More little girls went out, and more little boys. The girls tossed their heads, and the boys went quickly, as though to get it over. One boy called out another boy instead of a little girl, and was laughed at. I did not think that I should like to be laughed at.

Then Theodore Otway went out and I heard my name.

He was waiting for me with his hands in his pockets.

"h.e.l.lo," he said, in a diffident way.

"h.e.l.lo," I answered, shyly fingering my hair.

I looked about for the wonderful something which I had come to see.

There was nothing, only the hall and Theodore Otway still with his hands in his pockets. Strange to say he seemed embarra.s.sed. He fidgeted. He talked in jerks.

"I saw you in church," he said, suddenly.

I nodded at him.

"I saw you, too," I confessed, with a shamefaced smile.

He came a step nearer, and hesitated.

"Say," he said, "I don't live in this house when I'm home."

"No?" I answered, inquiringly.

"No," he replied, seriously.

We were both silent. There did not seem to be anything more to talk about. Still it was rather nice out in the hall.

Somebody rattled the k.n.o.b. Evidently our turn was over.

"Who's going to take you out to supper?" he asked, with sudden interest.

"I don't know," I answered.

"Well, let me take you, won't you? You'd better. There's a boy here who plays tricks on little girls!"

I s.h.i.+vered. Was it the stout boy?

"Once he made a little girl cry out loud at a party! You'd better. Will you? Say yes."

He came a little closer. He put out his hand, and touched my hair.

"It's like suns.h.i.+ne!" he cried, with a burst of enthusiasm.

I stole a shy glance at him. n.o.body had ever told me that before.

"Say yes!" he begged, in a new tone.

"Yes," I whispered, hiding my face behind my hair.

Somebody rattled the k.n.o.b again. They were growing impatient.