The ladies sigh and agitate their fans with diamond-sparkling hands. They feel themselves very far above this shameless creature attempting to catch—as we now say—Mr. Effingham. They pity her, for such a thing never has occurred to them—no gentleman has ever been attractive enough for them to have designs upon his heart. And so they pity and despise Beatrice for wishing to run away with her admirer.
"He is heartily ashamed of his infatuation, and I saw him last night in the theater, positively afraid to look at the audience—but staring all the time at her," continues the small gentleman.
"But that is easy to understand, as he is in love," says Myrtilla, with a strong inclination to take the part of the reprobate against his enemy.
"No, no, madam," exclaims the censor, "he was really ashamed to look at the people, and took not the least notice of their frowns: he does not visit anywhere; he knows he would not be received—he is afraid to show his face."
It seemed that the gentleman in the long waistcoat was doomed to have all his prophecies falsified; for at that moment, the usher announced in a loud voice, which attracted the attention of the whole company:
"Mr. Effingham and Miss Hallam!"
Mr. Effingham entered under the full light of the central chandelier, with Beatrice on his arm. He carried his head proudly erect, his eye was clear and steady, his lip calm and only slightly sarcastic; his whole carriage displayed perfect and unaffected self-possession. The thousand eyes bent on him vainly sought in his eyes, or lips, anything going to show that he felt conscious of the dreadful, the awful, social enormity which he was committing.
Mr. Effingham was dressed with extraordinary richness. He was always elegant in his costume; on that night he was
