Cousin Cecilia by Joan Smith Page A

eager to get into my arms.”
    The girls had another dance with their beaux, too, and while it was very satisfying, the thought did intrude that they could none of them stand up three times with the same gentleman, so that the excitement was over till supper time. No actual supper invitations had been issued by the gentlemen, but it was taken for granted that the couples would dine together. As the time for supper drew near, the ladies began to look around the hall to give an inviting smile. It was then that Alice exploded her shell.
    “We had best get busy and find a partner for dinner,” she said.
    “I have not seen Henley around for half an hour,” Martha said. “I wonder if he stepped out with Andy to blow a cloud.”
    “No, he has left,” Alice said. Everyone stared.
    “Left!” Cecilia exclaimed.
    “Yes, Lord Wickham has taken them all over to Jack Duck’s Tavern. It is the Spanish dancer’s last night. That is why they all came so early to the assembly, for lately they have been dropping in around supper time, if they come at all. George told me they meant to get away by eleven.”
    “What, left without even saying good-bye?” Martha demanded.
    “George said to say good night to everyone for him,” Alice said.
    Cecilia felt a hot surge of anger swell up in her. “Why did you not tell me sooner, that I might have stopped them?” she demanded.
    “You couldn’t have stopped them, Cousin,” Alice told her. “They decided three days ago. The Spanish dancer is very good, and it is her last night. From here she goes on to London. I wish I could see her.”
    “It is all of a piece,” Mrs. Meacham scolded. “I knew it was too good to last.”
    Martha stuck her finger in her mouth and sulked. “We might as well go home.”
    “Use your sense, girl!” Cecilia snapped, and removed the offending finger. “They are not the only gentlemen in Laycombe. We must find other partners. Get busy and see what you can do.”
    They each found a partner, but of such indifferent qualifications that little interest was taken in the dinner hour, and they left before the dance was over. As they drove home in the carriage, Cecilia asked, “Do they often pull this stunt on you?”
    “No, they usually come late,” Alice reminded her.
    “I wish you had told me sooner. When is the next assembly?”
    “In two weeks’ time,” Mrs. Meacham said. “There is one every two weeks in the spring. The rest of the year, it is one a month, with a Christmas party besides.”
    “It must be the next one then,” Cecilia said with determination. Everyone was too weary to inquire her meaning, but they placed faith in her delivering their beaux for the entire evening the next time.
    Miss Cummings was not so docile as that. Wickham’s trick was seen as an outright attack on her position. Wellington, she felt, would not take it without retaliating. An examination of the local bucks had shown her that competition must be imported. Inferior as Dallan and Wideman were, they were the best of the local lot. But till she had the matter under her control, she would not tell her cousins her plan.
    Cocoa was served when they reached home, and over this refreshment the ladies discussed the toilettes, partners and flirtations of all their friends at the ball. When this necessary ritual was over, they went to bed, too fagged to worry about not sleeping.
     

Chapter Six
     
    It was the custom in Laycombe, as elsewhere, to sleep in late the morning following an assembly, but with plans to formulate, Cecilia did not sleep in very late. She spent the hour before her cousins’ rising in deep thought. At the next assembly, she would repay the gentlemen, not omitting Lord Wickham, for their cavalier treatment. She admitted to no more than a fit of pique at his shearing off. He was no suitor. In fact, the others seemed to consider it an act of great condescension that he had come to the assembly at all.
    Lord Wickham aside, how should she retaliate