Her First Ball
Exactly when the ball began Leila would have found it hard to say. Perhaps
her first real partner was the cab. It did not matter that she shared the
cab with the Sheridan girls and their brother. She sat back in her own
little corner of it, and the bolster on which her hand rested felt like the
sleeve of an unknown young man's dress suit; and away they bowled, past
waltzing lamp-posts and houses and fences and trees.
"Have you really never been to a ball before, Leila? But, my child, how
too weird--" cried the Sheridan girls.
"Our nearest neighbour was fifteen miles," said Leila softly, gently
opening and shutting her fan.
Oh dear, how hard it was to be indifferent like the others! She tried not
to smile too much; she tried not to care. But every single thing was so
new and exciting ...Meg's tuberoses, Jose's long loop of amber, Laura's
little dark head, pushing above her white fur like a flower through snow.
She would remember for ever. It even gave her a pang to see her cousin
Laurie throw away the wisps of tissue paper he pulled from the fastenings
of his new gloves. She would like to have kept those wisps as a keepsake,
as a remembrance. Laurie leaned forward and put his hand on Laura's knee.
"Look here, darling," he said. "The third and the ninth as usual. Twig?"
Oh, how marvellous to have a brother! In her excitement Leila felt that if
there had been time, if it hadn't been impossible, she couldn't have helped
crying because she was an only child, and no brother had ever said "Twig?"
to her; no sister would ever say, as Meg said to Jose that moment, "I've
never known your hair go up more successfully than it has to-night!"
But, of course, there was no time. They were at the drill hall already;
there were cabs in front of them and cabs behind. The road was bright on
either side with moving fan-like lights, and on the pavement gay couples
seemed to float through the air; little satin shoes chased each other like
birds.
"Hold on to me, Leila; you'll get lost," said Laura.
"Come on, girls, let's make a dash for it," said Laurie.
Leila put two fingers on Laura's pink velvet cloak, and they were somehow
lifted past the big golden lantern, carried along the passage, and pushed
into the little room marked "Ladies." Here the crowd was so great there
was hardly space to take off their things; the noise was deafening. Two
benches on either side were stacked high with wraps. Two old women in
white aprons ran up and down tossing fresh armfuls. And everybody was
pressing forward trying to get at the little dressing-table and mirror at
the far end.
A great quivering jet of gas lighted the ladies' room. It couldn't wait;
it was dancing already. When the door opened again and there came a burst
of tuning from the drill hall, it leaped almost to the ceiling.
Dark girls, fair girls were patting their hair, tying ribbons again,
tucking handkerchiefs down the fronts of their bodices, smoothing marble-
white gloves. And because they were all laughing it seemed to Leila that
they were all lovely.
"Aren't there any invisible hair-pins?" cried a voice. "How most
extraordinary! I can't see a single invisible hair-pin."
"Powder my back, there's a darling," cried some one else.
"But I must have a needle and cotton. I've torn simply miles and miles of
the frill," wailed a third.
Then, "Pass them along, pass them along!" The straw basket of programmes
was tossed from arm to arm. Darling little pink-and-silver programmes,
with pink pencils and fluffy tassels. Leila's fingers shook as she took
one out of the basket. She wanted to ask some one, "Am I meant to have one
too?" but she had just time to read: "Waltz 3. 'Two, Two in a Canoe.'
Polka 4. 'Making the Feathers Fly,'" when Meg cried, "Ready, Leila?" and
they pressed their way through the crush in the passage towards the big
double doors of the drill hall.
Dancing had not begun yet, but the band had stopped tuning, and the noise
was so great it seemed that when it did begin to play it would never be
heard. Leila, pressing close to Meg, looking over Meg's shoulder, felt
that even the little quivering coloured flags strung across the ceiling
were talking. She quite forgot to be shy; she forgot how in the middle of
dressing she had sat down on the bed with one shoe off and one shoe on and
begged her mother to ring up her cousins and say she couldn't go after all.
And the rush of longing she had had to be sitting on the veranda of their
forsaken up-country home, listening to the baby owls crying "More pork" in
the moonlight, was changed to a rush of joy so sweet that it was hard to
bear alone. She clutched her fan, and, gazing at the gleaming, golden
floor, the azaleas, the lanterns, the stage at one end with its red carpet
and gilt chairs and the band in a corner, she thought breathlessly, "How
heavenly; how simply heavenly!"
All the girls stood grouped together at one side of the doors, the men at
the other, and the chaperones in dark dresses, smiling rather foolishly,
walked with little careful steps over the polished floor towards the stage.
"This is my little country cousin Leila. Be nice to her. Find her
partners; she's under my wing," said Meg, going up to one girl after
another.
Strange faces smiled at Leila--sweetly, vaguely. Strange voices answered,
"Of course, my dear." But Leila felt the girls didn't really see her.
They were looking towards the men. Why didn't the men begin? What were
they waiting for? There they stood, smoothing their gloves, patting their
glossy hair and smiling among themselves. Then, quite suddenly, as if they
had only just made up their minds that that was what they had to do, the
men came gliding over the parquet. There was a joyful flutter among the
girls. A tall, fair man flew up to Meg, seized her programme, scribbled
something; Meg passed him on to Leila. "May I have the pleasure?" He
ducked and smiled. There came a dark man wearing an eyeglass, then cousin
Laurie with a friend, and Laura with a little freckled fellow whose tie was
crooked. Then quite an old man--fat, with a big bald patch on his head--
took her programme and murmured, "Let me see, let me see!" And he was a
long time comparing his programme, which looked black with names, with
hers. It seemed to give him so much trouble that Leila was ashamed. "Oh,
please don't bother," she said eagerly. But instead of replying the fat
man wrote something, glanced at her again. "Do I remember this bright
little face?" he said softly. "Is it known to me of yore?" At that moment
the band began playing; the fat man disappeared. He was tossed away on a
great wave of music that came flying over the gleaming floor, breaking the
groups up into couples, scattering them, sending them spinning...
Leila had learned to dance at boarding school. Every Saturday afternoon
the boarders were hurried off to a little corrugated iron mission hall
where Miss Eccles (of London) held her "select" classes. But the
difference between that dusty-smelling hall--with calico texts on the
walls, the poor terrified little woman in a brown velvet toque with
rabbit's ears thumping the cold piano, Miss Eccles poking the girls' feet
with her long white wand--and this was so tremendous that Leila was sure if
her partner didn't come and she had to listen to that marvellous music and
to watch the others sliding, gliding over the golden floor, she would die
at least, or faint, or lift her arms and fly out of one of those dark
windows that showed the stars.
"Ours, I think--" Some one bowed, smiled, and offered her his arm; she
hadn't to die after all. Some one's hand pressed her waist, and she
floated away like a flower that is tossed into a pool.
"Quite a good floor, isn't it?" drawled a faint voice close to her ear.
"I think it's most beautifully slippery," said Leila.
"Pardon!" The faint voice sounded surprised. Leila said it again. And
there was a tiny pause before the voice echoed, "Oh, quite!" and she was
swung round again.
He steered so beautifully. That was the great difference between dancing
with girls and men, Leila decided. Girls banged into each other, and
stamped on each other's feet; the girl who was gentleman always clutched
you so.
The azaleas were separate flowers no longer; they were pink and white flags
streaming by.
"Were you at the Bells' last week?" the voice came again. It sounded
tired. Leila wondered whether she ought to ask him if he would like to
stop.
"No, this is my first dance," said she.
Her partner gave a little gasping laugh. "Oh, I say," he protested.
"Yes, it is really the first dance I've ever been to." Leila was most
fervent. It was such a relief to be able to tell somebody. "You see, I've
lived in the country all my life up till now..."
At that moment the music stopped, and they went to sit on two chairs
against the wall. Leila tucked her pink satin feet under and fanned
herself, while she blissfully watched the other couples passing and
disappearing through the swing doors.
"Enjoying yourself, Leila?" asked Jose, nodding her golden head.
Laura passed and gave her the faintest little wink; it made Leila wonder
for a moment whether she was quite grown up after all. Certainly her
partner did not say very much. He coughed, tucked his handkerchief away,
pulled down his waistcoat, took a minute thread off his sleeve. But it
didn't matter. Almost immediately the band started and her second partner
seemed to spring from the ceiling.
"Floor's not bad," said the new voice. Did one always begin with the
floor? And then, "Were you at the Neaves' on Tuesday?" And again Leila
explained. Perhaps it was a little strange that her partners were not more
interested. For it was thrilling. Her first ball! She was only at the
beginning of everything. It seemed to her that she had never known what
the night was like before. Up till now it had been dark, silent, beautiful
very often--oh yes--but mournful somehow. Solemn. And now it would never
be like that again--it had opened dazzling bright.
"Care for an ice?" said her partner. And they went through the swing
doors, down the passage, to the supper room. Her cheeks burned, she was
fearfully thirsty. How sweet the ices looked on little glass plates and
how cold the frosted spoon was, iced too! And when they came back to the
hall there was the fat man waiting for her by the door. It gave her quite
a shock again to see how old he was; he ought to have been on the stage
with the fathers and mothers. And when Leila compared him with her other
partners he looked shabby. His waistcoat was creased, there was a button
off his glove, his coat looked as if it was dusty with French chalk.
"Come along, little lady," said the fat man. He scarcely troubled to clasp
her, and they moved away so gently, it was more like walking than dancing.
But he said not a word about the floor. "Your first dance, isn't it?" he
murmured.
"How did you know?"
"Ah," said the fat man, "that's what it is to be old!" He wheezed faintly
as he steered her past an awkward couple. "You see, I've been doing this
kind of thing for the last thirty years."
"Thirty years?" cried Leila. Twelve years before she was born!
"It hardly bears thinking about, does it?" said the fat man gloomily.
Leila looked at his bald head, and she felt quite sorry for him.
"I think it's marvellous to be still going on," she said kindly.
"Kind little lady," said the fat man, and he pressed her a little closer,
and hummed a bar of the waltz. "Of course," he said, "you can't hope to
last anything like as long as that. No-o," said the fat man, "long before
that you'll be sitting up there on the stage, looking on, in your nice
black velvet. And these pretty arms will have turned into little short fat
ones, and you'll beat time with such a different kind of fan--a black bony
one." The fat man seemed to shudder. "And you'll smile away like the poor
old dears up there, and point to your daughter, and tell the elderly lady
next to you how some dreadful man tried to kiss her at the club ball. And
your heart will ache, ache"--the fat man squeezed her closer still, as if
he really was sorry for that poor heart--"because no one wants to kiss you
now. And you'll say how unpleasant these polished floors are to walk on,
how dangerous they are. Eh, Mademoiselle Twinkletoes?" said the fat man
softly.
Leila gave a light little laugh, but she did not feel like laughing. Was
it--could it all be true? It sounded terribly true. Was this first ball
only the beginning of her last ball, after all? At that the music seemed
to change; it sounded sad, sad; it rose upon a great sigh. Oh, how quickly
things changed! Why didn't happiness last for ever? For ever wasn't a bit
too long.
"I want to stop," she said in a breathless voice. The fat man led her to
the door.
"No," she said, "I won't go outside. I won't sit down. I'll just stand
here, thank you." She leaned against the wall, tapping with her foot,
pulling up her gloves and trying to smile. But deep inside her a little
girl threw her pinafore over her head and sobbed. Why had he spoiled it
all?
"I say, you know," said the fat man, "you mustn't take me seriously, little
lady."
"As if I should!" said Leila, tossing her small dark head and sucking her
underlip...
Again the couples paraded. The swing doors opened and shut. Now new music
was given out by the bandmaster. But Leila didn't want to dance any more.
She wanted to be home, or sitting on the veranda listening to those baby
owls. When she looked through the dark windows at the stars, they had long
beams like wings...
But presently a soft, melting, ravishing tune began, and a young man with
curly hair bowed before her. She would have to dance, out of politeness,
until she could find Meg. Very stiffly she walked into the middle; very
haughtily she put her hand on his sleeve. But in one minute, in one turn,
her feet glided, glided. The lights, the azaleas, the dresses, the pink
faces, the velvet chairs, all became one beautiful flying wheel. And when
her next partner bumped her into the fat man and he said, "Pardon," she
smiled at him more radiantly than ever. She didn't even recognise him
again.
-THE END-
Katherine Mansfield's short story: Her First Ball
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