PROFESSOR SINCLAIR'S DANCING ACADEMY
Mr. Sinclair, or as he preferred to be called, Professor Sinclair, waveda white kid glove in the direction of the dancing hall.
"This way, ladies and gentlemen!" he announced. "A beautiful valse justabout to commence. Tickets, if you please! Ah! Glad to see you, MissCullingham! You'll find--a friend of yours inside!"
There was a good deal of giggling as the girls came out from the littledressing room and joined their waiting escorts, who stood in a lineagainst the wall, mostly struggling with refractory gloves. Mr.Sinclair, proprietor of the West Islington Dancing Academy, and host ofthese little gatherings--for a consideration of eighteenpence--did hisbest, by a running fire of conversation, to set everyone at their ease.He wore a somewhat rusty frock coat, black trousers, a white dresswaistcoat, and a red tie. Evening dress was not DE RIGUEUR! The money atthe door, and that everyone should behave as ladies and gentlemen, werethe only things insisted upon.
Mr. Sinclair's best smile and most correct bow was suddenly in evidence.
"Mademoiselle Violet!" he exclaimed to a lady who came in alone, "weare enchanted. We feared that you had deserted us. There is a younggentleman inside who is going to be made very happy. One shillingchange, thank you. Won't you step into the cloak room?"
The lady shook her head.
"If you don't mind, Mr. Sinclair," she said, "I would rather keep my hatand veil on. I can only stay for a few minutes. Is Mr. Richardson here,do you know? Ah! I can see him."
She stepped past the Professor into the little dancing hall. A younglady was pounding upon a piano, a boy at her side was playing theviolin. A few couples were dancing, but most of the company was lookingon. The evening was young, and Mr. Sinclair, who later on officiatedas M.C., had not yet made his attack upon the general shyness. The ladyknown as Mademoiselle Violet paused and looked around her. Suddenly shecaught sight of a pale, anemic-looking youth, who was standing apartfrom the others, lounging against the wall. She moved rapidly towardshim.
"How do you do, Mr. Richardson?" she said, holding out her hand.
He started, and a sudden rush of color streamed into his cheeks. He tookher hand awkwardly, and he was almost speechless with nervousness.
"I don't believe you're at all glad to see me!" she remarked.
"Oh! Miss Violet!" he exclaimed. He would have said more, but the wordsstuck in his throat.
"Can we sit down somewhere?" she said. "I want to talk to you."
There were one or two chairs placed behind a red drugget curtain, whereadventurous spirits led their partners later in the evening. They founda place there, and the young man recovered his power of speech.
"Not glad to see you!" he exclaimed almost vehemently. "Why, what elsedo you suppose I come here for every Thursday evening? I never dance;they all make game of me because they know I come here on the chance ofseeing you again. I'm a fool! I know that! You just amuse yourself herewith me, and then you go away, back to your friends--and forget! And Ihang about round here, like the silly ass that I am!"
"My dear--George!"
The young man blushed at the sound of his Christian name. He wasmollified despite himself.
"I suppose it's got to be the same thing all over again," he declaredresignedly. "You'll talk to me and let me be near you--and make a foolof me all round; and then you'll go away, and heaven knows when I'll seeyou again. You won't let me take you home, and won't tell me where youlive, or who your friends are. You do treat me precious badly, MissViolet."
"This time," she said quietly, "it will not be the same. I havesomething quite serious to say to you."
"Something serious--you? Go on!" he exclaimed in excitement.
"Have you found another place yet?"
"No. I haven't really tried. I have a little money saved, and I couldget one tomorrow if--"
She stopped him with a smiling gesture.
"I don't mean that--yet," she said. "I wanted to know whether it wouldbe possible for you to go away for a little time, if someone paid allyour expenses."
"To go away!" he repeated blankly. "What for?"
Mademoiselle Violet leaned a little nearer to him.
"My mistress asked me yesterday," she said, "if I knew anyone who couldbe trusted who would go away, at a moment's notice, on an errand forher."
"Your mistress," he repeated. "You really are a lady's maid, then, areyou?"
"Of course!" she answered impatiently. "Haven't I told you so before?Now what do you say? Will you go?"
"I dunno," he answered thoughtfully. "If it had been for you, I don'tknow that I'd have minded. I ain't fond of traveling."
"It is for me," she interrupted hastily. "If I can find her anyone whowill do what she wants, she will make my fortune. She has promised. Andthen--"
"Well, and then?"
Mademoiselle Violet looked at him thoughtfully.
"I should not make any promises," she said demurely, "but things wouldcertainly be different."
The young man's blood was stirred. Mademoiselle Violet stood to him forthe whole wonderful world of romance, into which he had peered dimlyfrom behind the counter of an Islington emporium. Her low voice--sostrange to his ears after the shrill chatter of the young ladies ofhis acquaintance--the mystery of her coming and going, all went to givecolor to the single dream of his unimaginative life. Apart from her, hewas a somewhat vulgar, entirely commonplace young man, of saving habits,and with some aptitude for business, in a small way. He had been well onhis way to becoming a small but successful shopkeeper, thereby realizingthe only ideals which had yet presented themselves to him, when MadameViolet had unconsciously intervened. Of what might become of him now hehad no clear conception of himself.
"I'll go!" he declared.
Mademoiselle Violet's eyes flashed behind her veil. Her fingers touchedhis for a moment.
"It is a long way," she said.
"I don't care," he answered valiantly.
"To--America!"
"America!" he gasped. "But--is this a joke, Miss Violet?"
She shook her head.
"Of course not! America is not a great journey."
"But it will cost--"
She laughed softly.
"My mistress is very rich," she said. "The cost does not matter at all.You will have all the money you can spend--and more."
He felt himself short of breath, and bereft of words.
"Gee whiz!" he murmured.
They sat there in silence for a few moments. A promenading couple puttheir heads behind the screen, and withdrew with the sound of femininegiggling. Outside, the piano was being thumped to the tune of a popularpolka.
"But what have I go to do?" he asked.
"To watch a man who will go out by the same steamer as you," sheanswered. "Write to London, tell me what he does, how he spends histime, whether he is ill or well. You must stay at the same hotel in NewYork, and try and find out what his business is there. Remember, we wantto know, my mistress and I, everything that he does."
"Who is he?" he asked. "A friend of your mistress?"
"No!" she answered shortly, "an enemy. A cruel enemy--the cruelest enemya woman could have!"
The subdued passion of her tone thrilled him. He felt himselfbewildered--in touch with strange things. She leaned a little closertowards him, and that mysterious perfume, which was one of her manyfascinations, dazed him with its sweetness.
"If you could send home word," she whispered, "that he was ill, thatanything had happened to him, that he was not likely to return--ourfortunes would be made--yours and mine."
"Stop!" he muttered. "You--phew! It's hot here!"
He wiped the perspiration recklessly from his forehead with a red silkhandkerchief.
"What made you come to me?" he asked. "I don't even know the name ofyour mistress."
"And you must not ask it," she declared quietly. "It is better for younot to know. I came to you because you were a man, and I knew that Icould trust you."
Her fla
ttery sank into his soul. No one else had ever called him a man.He felt himself capable of great things. To think that, but for thecoming of this wonderful Mademoiselle Violet, he might even now havebeen furnishing a small shop on the outskirts of Islington, with collarsand ties and gloves designed to attract the youth of that populousneighborhood!
"When do I start?" he asked with a coolness which surprised himself.
She drew a heavy packet from the recesses of the muff she carried.
"All the particulars are here," she said. "The name of the steamer, thename of the man, and money. You will be told where to get more in NewYork, if you need it."
He took it from her mechanically. She rose to her feet.
"You will remember," she said, looking into his eyes.
"I ain't likely to forget anything you've said tonight," he answeredhonestly. "But look here! Let me take you home--just this once! Give mesomething to think about."
She shook her head.
"I will give you something to hope for," she whispered. "You must notcome a yard with me. When you come back it will, perhaps--be different."
He remained behind the partition, gripping the packet tightly.Mademoiselle Violet took a hasty adieu of Mr. Sinclair, and descended tothe street. She walked for a few yards, and then turned sharply to theleft. A hansom, into which she stepped at once, was waiting there. Shewrapped herself hastily in a long fur coat which lay upon the seat, andthrust her hand through the trap door.
"St. Martin's Schoolroom!" she told the cabman.
Apparently Mademoiselle Violet combined a taste for philanthropywith her penchant for Islington dancing halls. She entered the littleschoolroom and made her way to the platform, dispensing many smilesand nods amongst the audience of the concert, which was momentarilyinterrupted for her benefit. She was escorted on to the platform by ayoung and earnest-looking clergyman, and given a chair in the center ofthe little group who were gathered there. And after the conclusion ofthe song, the clergyman expressed his gratification to the audience thata lady with so many calls upon her time, such high social duties, shouldyet find time to show her deep interest in their welfare by this mostkind visit. After which, he ventured to call upon Lady Barrington to saya few words.
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