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"Galloway has been celebrated for black cattle and for wool, as also for a certain bucolic belatedness of temperament, but Galloway has never hitherto produced a poetess. One has arisen in the person of Miss Janet Bal something or other.
"I didn't know," he added with a forced laugh. "You don't look yourself to-day, Hugh," she said. "I've been told that once before," he replied. "The weather I think! Are you going over to the bal blanc at Nice to-night?" "Of course. And you are coming also. Hasn't mother asked you?" she inquired in surprise. "No." "How silly! She must have forgotten.
EVERYONE in the garrison seems to be more or less in a state of collapse! The bal masque is over, the guests have departed, and all that is left to us now are the recollections of a delightful party that gave full return for our efforts to have it a success.
"Oh! mamma, you can't be thinking of sending me to a convent!" cried Jacqueline, in tones of comic despair. "I did not say that but I really think it might be good for you to make a retreat where your cousin Giselle is, instead of plunging into follies which interrupt your progress." "Do you call Madame d'Etaples's 'bal blanc' a folly?"
Bal, for a few days at the Round House, as Maud Vanneck particularly desired to see "Scottish life in a private family"; and it didn't occur to her that a shooting-lodge hired by an American millionaire would not be the ideal way of accomplishing her object. Mrs.
All this was preparing me for a career of villainy, though I must say in self-defence that it was Aline who lit the match. "The woman tempted me, and I did eat!" "Come and sit by me, lovely doll," said Mrs. Bal, pulling the girl down beside her on the most cushiony and comfortable sofa. "So you are the baby! I haven't forgotten you. I've thought of you a lot really a lot.
'I am afraid we are a little late, said Mrs. Barton to the servant, as he relieved them of their sorties de bal. 'Eight o'clock has just struck, ma'am. 'The two old things will make faces at us, I know, murmured Mrs. Barton, as she ascended the steps. On either side there were cases of stuffed birds; a fox lay in wait for a pheasant on the right; an otter devoured a trout on the left.
"Thousand devils, how handsome she is!" exclaimed the old gentleman who had striven with Petrea about the tea-cup, and who now, without being aware of it, trod upon her foot as he thrust himself before her to get a better view of "la reine du bal." Overlooked, humiliated, silent, and dejected, Petrea withdrew into another room.
To read only such as these is to know a very different Brann from the author of "The Bradley-Martin Bal Masque" or "Garters and Amen Groans." The Brann who wrote "Life and Death," by that work alone, wins to undying fame as surely as does Grey by his "Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard." I have combed my memory in vain to match it from an American pen.
No protection, I believe, is now necessary for a lady who chooses to have a little private gaming at her residence, under the specious names of societe, bal, the, or concert. But this is not the case with the Maisons de jeu, where the gaming-tables are public; or even with private houses, where the object of the speculation is publicly known. These purchase a license in the following manner.
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