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I only want to go to that thing tonight to get to see something of you; and if you don't dance the cotillion with me, how can I? I'll only be here two weeks, and the others have got all the rest of your visit to see you. Won't you do it, please?" "I couldn't." "See here!" said the stricken George.
All along the aisles of earth, all over the arches of heaven, all through the expanses of the universe, are scattered in rich and infinite profusion the life-gems of Beauty. All natural motion is Beauty in action. The winds, the waves, the clouds, the trees, the birds, the animals, all move beautifully; and beautifully do the joyous light-words of the skies dance their eternal cotillion of glory.
He was seen daily trotting through the streets, and going from shop to shop on errands for his grandchild. He invited her little friends, arranged picnics for her, helped her drive her hoops, and if needs be, led in a cotillion. If Dionysia looked displeased, he trembled. If she coughed, he turned pale. Once she was sick: she had the measles.
It was shining to us that Jim Pendleton had a yacht though I was not smuggled aboard it; there the line was drawn but the deck must have been more used for the "German" than for other manoeuvres, often doubtless under the lead of our cousin Robert, the eldest of the many light irresponsibles to whom my father was uncle: distinct to me still being the image of that phenomenally lean and nimble choreographic hero, "Bob" James to us always, who, almost ghost-fashion, led the cotillion on from generation to generation, his skull-like smile, with its accent from the stiff points of his long moustache and the brightly hollow orbits of his eyes, helping to make of him an immemorial elegant skeleton.
He recalled some names, and laughingly mentioned his dinner partner's preference for Harmon. She listened absently, her chin nestling in her palm, only the close-set, perfect ear turned toward him. "Who led the cotillion?" he asked. "Jack Ruthven dancing with Rosamund Fane."
The fiddler and the dancers went to the room where the children had their frolic. That was Jane Morse's cousin Winslow. How odd she should see him and hear black Joe, who fiddled like the blind piper. The children kept time with their feet. The minuet was elegant. Then they had a cotillion in which there was a great deal of bowing. After that Mr.
Strange to relate, it brought to a sudden head the latter's stirring courtship of Fräulein Elsa. After New Year he had organized a little informal dancing club among the Americans. He called it the Cinderella Cotillion Coterie, in alliterative compliment to the daintiness of the ladies. He was the self-constituted secretary and sole official.
"Yes, but I'm going with papa and the Sharons I'll see you there." "Looks to me as if you were awfully conventional," George grumbled; and his disappointment was deeper than he was willing to let her see though she probably did see. "Well, we'll dance the cotillion together, anyhow." "I'm afraid not. I promised Mr. Kinney." "What!" George's tone was shocked, as at incredible news.
For it had, as usual, surprised him to realise, too late, how dangerous it is to say too much, and look too long, and how easy it is to awaken hearts asleep. Dancing was to be general before the cotillion.
This paradise of frail foundation was broken into by the sounds of a general ingress to the ballroom; the cotillion was beginning. Betty and the camel joined the crowd, her brown hand resting lightly on his shoulder, defiantly symbolizing her complete adoption of him. When they entered the couples were already seating themselves at tables round the walls, and Mrs.
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