Neuchamp. He's the son of Captain Telfer of North Sh.o.r.e, and has been away among the islands and n.o.body knows where for ever so long. He married her at Norfolk Island. I believe she is one of those wonderful Pitcairn people that we hear such good accounts of."

"H'm; he's a young man of distinctly good taste, I must say. I wish my Cavendish had gone to the islands too, if that is the sort of girl they grow there. Mrs. Percival seems to be a great chum of hers. How did that come about?"

"I believe they came back in the _Florentia_ together. Captain Carryall touched at Norfolk Island on the way from Honolulu, and it seems that Mrs. Percival's little boy fell overboard on the voyage, and the girl was into the sea after him like a shot, and swam with him in her arms till the boats came. There was something about a shark too. Mrs.

Percival tells everybody she saved his life. No wonder she raves about her."

"What a pearl of a girl! No wonder, indeed! And to think of her having a world of courage and fire in her with all that delicacy and beauty. I can't take my eyes off her. The Prince admires her, apparently, too; and she smiles like a pleased child, with as little thought of vanity or harm, I dare swear, as a baby. She ought to be a princess, no doubt of it. So I see it's the last figure. I must go and look up my old friend, Paul Frankston, and make him tell me all about her."

After the dance and the usual promenade, Mrs. Neuchamp and I recovered our respective spouses, and took the opportunity to make a detour of the ball-room, and even to go through the next apartment, where refreshments were procurable, into the ample gardens. The night was superbly beautiful. The full moon lit up the grove of tropical foliage and richly-flowering plants, the glades carpeted with velvet lawn, the wide sea-plain traversed by shimmering pathways of silver. Below, in the sleeping bay, lay several men-of-war, half in shadow, half illuminated with coloured lamps hanging from their rigging. Gay and mirthful, grave or earnest, the frequent partners pa.s.sed to and fro like shadows of revellers beneath the moon, or turned to the lower paths to gaze at the motionless vessels, the silver sea, the whispering wave. It was an ecstatic experience, a fairy pageant, a supernal revelation of an enchanted landscape.

Miranda pressed my arm. "Oh, Hilary! how lovely all this is! But you must not laugh at me. Now that I have seen it, I do not think I shall be anxious to follow it up. There is something almost intoxicating about it all. I can imagine it unfitting people for their everyday life."

We had hardly returned to the ball-room when the glorious strains of the "Tausend und einer nacht" waltz pealed forth from the band, and hurrying and anxious swains in search of their partners, not always easy to discover in such a crush, were seen in every direction. Instant request was preferred to Miranda by a naval officer high in command, but to my surprise, as we had not spoken on the subject, she graciously, but firmly, declined the honour. He protested, but she quietly repeated her negative: "I only dance round dances with my husband, Captain Harley!

and, indeed, these not very often."

He was inclined to be persistent, though most courteous. "I am sure you used to dance them once. Indeed, I heard such an account of your waltzing, Mrs. Telfer."

"That was before I was married, Captain Harley!" she replied, with such evident belief that this explanation fully answered every objection that neither the captain nor I could help smiling.

"Look at your friend, Mrs. Neuchamp!" he said, as that dainty matron came gliding past with a military partner, looking like the very impersonation of the waltz, "and Mrs. Craven, and Mrs. Percival."

"I am so sorry that I can't comply," she answered. "They are quite right to dance waltzes if they please. I do not care for them now, and am only going to have one with Hilary to-night. He is fond of it, I know. I will dance the Lancers with you, if you like."

"Anything with _you_," murmured the captain gallantly, as he carefully wrote her name on his card, and departed to secure a partner for the yet unfinished portion of the dance.

"I see by this lovely programme," she said, "that there is another waltz, a polka, and then the Lancers, which I used to know very well; and after that I will dance the next waltz with you, Hilary, just to feel what this wonderful floor is like. You are not angry with me for refusing Captain Harley? I really feel as if I _could_ not do it."

"You can follow your own way, my dear!" I said, "in this and all minor matters. It concerns you chiefly; and, considering how many husbands think their wives are rather too fond of dancing, I shall certainly not quarrel with mine for not caring for it enough."

I was not altogether without interest as to this set of Lancers which she had promised to the gallant captain of the _Arethusa_, knowing as I did that the fashion had changed considerably since the Lancers was a decorous, somewhat dull dance, differing from the quadrille only in a more complicated series of evolutions, and, like that very proper performance, affording much opportunity for conversation. Not intending to take part in it myself, and being, indeed, more than sufficiently entertained as a spectator of the novel spectacle, I stationed myself near the "tops," one couple of which Miranda's partner elected to be. I saw by the composition of the set, and the looks of some of the youths and maidens who eagerly took their places with their pre-arranged _vis-a-vis_, that the pace would be rapid and the newest variations introduced.

I provided, therefore, for a _contretemps_. My younger sister having professed herself tired with the previous waltz, had declined the invitation of a partner not wholly acceptable as it appeared to me. I therefore persuaded her to walk up with me to a seat near Miranda, so that we, as I explained, might see how she got on.

What I antic.i.p.ated exactly came to pa.s.s. The first few non-committal quadrille steps were got through without unusual display, but when Miranda saw the damsel next to her leaning back as far as she could manage, while her partner swung her round several times, as if he either wished to lift her entirely off her feet, or drag her arms out of the sockets, a look of amazement overspread her features. She stopped with a startled air, commingled with distaste, and saying to her surprised partner, "I cannot dance like this--I did not know--why did no one tell me?"--walked like a queen to the nearest seat. Now my foresight came in.

Knowing that a girl of nineteen would be willing to dance with a naval officer of the rank and fashion of Captain Harley, if she was ready to drop with fatigue, I said promptly, "Allow me to introduce you to my sister Captain Harley, who will, I am sure, be happy to take my wife's place;" a look of joyful acquiescence lit up her countenance, and before any serious. .h.i.tch took place in the figure the vacancy was filled.

I fancied that my sister Elinor, who was at the age when girls are not disinclined for a little daring frolic out of pure gladsomeness, performed her part in the figures with somewhat less unreserve after noticing the look of quiet surprise with which Miranda observed some of the more vivacious couples.

We contented ourselves, when the next series of waltzes commenced, with a single dance, which we enjoyed as thoroughly as the perfection of floor, music, and surroundings warranted.

"Oh, what a floor!" said Miranda; "if I were as fond of dancing as I used to be, I could dance all night; and such music! Quite heavenly, if it is not wicked to say so. And there is the sea, too, with the moonlight on it as in old days! We have been taken to an enchanted castle!

"But there is something different. I can hardly describe my feelings.

Why, I cannot explain, but going back to dancing now for the mere pleasure of it, when I have entered upon the serious duties of life, appears like returning to one's childish pa.s.sion for dolls and playthings."

"And yet, how many married people of both s.e.xes are dancing now, not with each other either."

"I see them, and I wonder. I am not surprised at married men dancing--if they like it. If they come at all, they may as well do so as sit down and get weary. But I think the married women should leave the round dances to the girls."

"Would not b.a.l.l.s be rather slow if the married women only danced squares?"

"I don't see why. Yet many of the girls have no partners--wall-flowers, I think you call them. And that is hardly fair, surely."

As this dance only came before supper, which was now near at hand, we danced it out. I hardly noticed until the music closed how many of the other couples had stopped, or that quite a crowd had collected around us. This was a tribute, I found, to Miranda's performance, which had an ease and grace of movement such as I never saw any living woman possess.

She hardly seemed to use the ordinary means of progression. Hers was a half-aerial motion, in time to every note and movement of the music, while the rhythmic sway and yielding grace of her figure presented the idea of a mermaiden floating through the translucent waves rather than that of a mortal woman.

As she swayed dreamily to the wondrous music of "Tausend und einer nacht," her head thrown slightly back, her parted lips, her wondrous eyes, her faultless form so impressed the by-standers with the ideal of supreme beauty, that they scarce repressed an audible murmur as the music ceased and the dance came to an end.

When supper was announced there was the usual crush, but before the doors were opened a few of the more favoured guests, including the Frankstons and ourselves, were conducted by one of the aides-de-camp to a place near the viceregal party. Miranda was taken possession of by another of our naval friends, who seemed to think that they had special claims upon her, as having knowledge of her island home. I was requested to take in our good friend and fellow-voyager Mrs. Percival, who was more warm and effusive in praise of Miranda than I ever thought possible before her child's danger broke through the crust of her ordinary manner. Now nothing could have been more sisterly and unreserved than her tone and expression.

"It has been quite a luxury to all of us to look on at that wonderful darling of a wife of yours dancing! The whole room, including Lady Rochester, was in ecstasies, I a.s.sure you. You came in for your share of compliments also, which I mustn't make you vain by repeating. How exquisitely, how charmingly she does dance! I have seen some of the best _danseuses_ in Europe and India--on and off the stage--and not one worthy to be named with her. She is a dream of grace--the very poetry of motion. I said so before to-night, and now every one agrees with me. It is rather a disappointment in some quarters that she declines to dance except with you. It would seem odd for some people, but being the woman she is I understand it."

"She is free to follow her own course socially," I said. "She will soon decide upon her line of action, and will not be turned from it by outside influence. Fortunately she and my mother are much in harmony as to leading principles, which relieves my mind considerably."

"You are fortunate in that, then, as in several other respects; may I add that I think you worthy of your good fortune. I trust that my boy's simple prayers for your welfare--and he prays for you both every night--may be answered."

Just before the conclusion of the supper I saw that Miranda had been presented to his Excellency the Governor, who was standing near the Prince. Both of these personages were most complimentary and flattering in their attention to her, and when we left, as we had arranged, immediately after that most important function supper, leaving the girls to go home with Mr. and Mrs. Neuchamp, we were gratified to think that we could not have been more graciously received--treated even with distinction--and that nothing had occurred to detract in the slightest degree from the unwonted pleasure and modest triumph of the night.

After this, our first experience of "society," in the higher sense of the word, unexpectedly agreeable, as it had been, Miranda's fixed resolve, in which I fully concurred, was to detach ourselves from it and its code of obligations, except at rare intervals--to live our own lives, and to trouble ourselves as little as might be with the tastes and fancies of others.

I was likely to have my time fully occupied in the development of my business. Miranda had, partly from observation, partly from information supplied by my mother and sisters, discovered that there was even in prosperous, easy going, naturally favoured Sydney a section of ill-fed, ill-clothed, ill-taught poor. "While I meet them daily, such as I never saw on our island, I cannot occupy myself with the vanities of life." My mother was delighted to find a daughter willing to co-operate with her in the benevolent plans of relief which she was always organising for the poor and the afflicted. Between them a notable increase of efficiency took place in the management of children's hospitals, soup-kitchens, and other inst.i.tutions, commonly regarded with indifference, if not dislike, by the well-to-do members of society.

Outside of these duties, our chief pleasure at the end of the week, when only we could afford the time, was a cruise in our sailing boat the _Harpooner_, which soon came to be known as one of the fastest in the harbour, as well as one that was rarely absent from the Sat.u.r.day's regatta, when a stiff breeze was sending the spray aloft.

Our life henceforth was that of the happy nations "that have no history." My business prospered, and as it largely increased and developed from its original proportions, Captain Carryall began to tire of his voyages and settled down on sh.o.r.e.

Within a year of the founding of our commercial enterprise one of the ideal houses we had so often pictured came into our possession. In an afternoon stroll, Miranda and I had ventured into a deserted garden, lured by the ma.s.ses of crimson blooms on a great double hibiscus. The heavy entrance-gate was awry--the stone pillars decaying--the avenue weed-grown and neglected--the shrubberies trodden down and disfigured by browsing cattle. Exploring further behind a screen of thick-growing pines, we found the house,--a n.o.ble, wide-balconied freestone building, which I well remembered in my boyhood. Then it was inhabited, carefully tended, and ringing with the voices of happy boys and girls in holiday-time. What blight had fallen on the place, or on the pleasant family that once dwelt there? On the north-eastern side the land sloped down to a little bay, sheltered from the prevailing wind, and provided with pier and boat-house--all marine conveniences, in short. "Oh! if we had a house like this," said Miranda, clapping her hands, "how happy we should be! Not that I am otherwise now; but I should enjoy having this for our own. We could soon renovate the poor garden." I a.s.sented, but said nothing at the time--resolved to take counsel of our good friend and trusted adviser then and now--who else but Paul Frankston?

From him I learned the history of the house and its old-time inmates.

Some were dead and some were gone. The story was long. The gist of it was, however, that it was now in the hands of certain trustees for the benefit of the heirs-at-law. "I think I can find out about it," he concluded. "And now come down and look at my little boat. I've had some painting and gilding done lately; I want you all--father, mother, sisters, wife, and everybody--to come for a sail next Sat.u.r.day. I'm going to have a race with Richard Jones to the Heads and back, and I want your wife to steer. Then we'll win, I'm sure, and we'll call in at Edenhall--that's the name of the old place you saw--been its name for fifty years or more--and we'll have another look at it."

I said "Yes, by all means."

The next Sat.u.r.day proved to be a day specially provided by the G.o.ds for boat-sailing. The wind was in the right quarter, the weather fine. The _Sea-gull_ swept across the harbour like a veritable sea-bird, spreading her broad wings. The whole party had punctually a.s.sembled at our jetty after an early lunch. The breeze freshened as the day wore on; we had our friendly race against an old comrade of Mr. Frankston's--like him, not all ignorant of the ways of those who go down to the deep in ships--which we won handsomely, thanks to Miranda's steering, as Paul loudly averred. And that young woman herself, as the _Sea-gull_ went flying past her sister yacht in the concluding tack, lying down "gunnel under," with every inch of canvas on that she dared carry, was as eager and excited as if she had been paddling for her life in one of the canoe races of her childhood.

We got back to Neutral Bay in time for afternoon tea, a little later than the established hour. But instead of having it on board, Paul proposed to have it at Edenhall, where he said he had permission to go whenever he pleased. He had arranged with the caretaker too.

We landed at the long unused pier. "How many times have I been here before, in poor old Dartmoor's time," said Mr. Frankston, "and how many a jolly night have I spent within those old walls! Well, well! time goes on, and our friends, where are they? Life's a sad business at best.

However, we can't make it better by crying over our losses. Ladies and gentlemen, follow me!"

With a sudden change of tone and manner, Paul stepped briskly along the upward winding path, long unused, which led to the house. The hall door stood open, and pa.s.sing along a n.o.ble hall and turning to the right, we entered a dining-room of fine proportions. In this was an improvised table on trestles whereon was spread a tempting collation. Two men servants, whom I recognised as the Marahmee butler and footman, stood ready to serve the company. A needful amount of sweeping and repair had been effected. The windows had been cleaned, and a fine view of the bay thereby afforded. Altogether the effect was as striking as it was unexpected; a general exclamation broke from the company.

"Ladies and gentlemen," said Paul, "I have prepared a surprise for you, I know; but oblige me by making yourselves at home for the present, and dining with me in this informal fashion--I will explain by and by."

The day was nearly spent. It would probably be near the time of twilight, which in summer in Australia is nearer nine o'clock than eight, before we reached our homes. So the majority of the guests hailed the idea as one of Paul's eccentric notions with which he was wont to amuse his intimates. The Marahmee champagne was proverbial, and after a reasonable number of corks had been drawn a progressive degree of cheerfulness was reached. Paul rose to his feet, and requested the usual solemnities to be observed, as he was about to propose a toast. "Those of my friends who have been here before, in its happier times, will remember the former owner of this once pleasant home. Little is left now save the evidences of decay and desertion--the memories of a long past happy day. But there is no reason why it should not be again inhabited, again be filled with pleasant and pleasure-giving inhabitants. It is solid and substantial; if somewhat old-fashioned, all the better I say.

There was no jerry building in the old days. The garden is here--to be easily renewed in beauty--the jetty, and the boat-house. The sea is here, much as I remember when as a boy I used to get 'congewoi' for bait off those very rocks."