Supposing you told her the truth? "He won"t marry you. He won"t care for you. He won"t care for anybody but Mamma. Can"t you see, by the way he looks at you, the way he holds you? It"s no use your caring for him.
It"ll only make your little nose redder."
He wouldn"t mind her red nose; her little proud, high-bridged nose. He liked her small face, trying to look austere with shy hare"s eyes; her vague mouth, pointed at the corners in a sort of sharp tenderness; her smooth, otter-brown hair brushed back and twisted in a tight coil at the nape of her neck. Dorsy was sweet and gentle and unselfish. He might have cared for Dorsy if it hadn"t been for Mamma. Anyhow, for one evening in her life Dorsy was happy, dancing round and round, with her wild black hare"s eyes shining.
Mr. Sutcliffe. She stood up. She would have to tell him.
"I can"t dance."
"Nonsense. You can run and you can jump. Of course you can dance."
"I don"t know how to."
"The sooner you learn the better. I"ll teach you in two minutes."
He steered her into the sheltered bay behind the piano. They practised.
"Mark"s looking at us."
"Is he? What has he done to you, Mary? We"ll go where he can"t look at us."
They went out into the hall.
"That"s it; your feet between mine. In and out. Don"t throw your shoulders back. Don"t keep your elbows in. It"s not a hurdle race."
"I wish it was."
"You won"t in a minute. Don"t count your steps. Listen for the beat. It"s the beat that does it."
She began to feel light and slender again.
"Now you"re off. You"re all right."
Off. Turning and turning. You steered through the open door; in and out among the other dancers; you skimmed; you swam, whirling, to the steady tump-tump of the piano, and the queer, exciting squeak of the fiddles--
Whirling together, you and Mr. Sutcliffe and the piano and the two fiddles. One animal, one light, slender animal, whirling and playing.
Every now and then his arm tightened round your waist with a sort of impatience. When it slackened you were one light, slender animal again, four feet and four arms whirling together, the piano was its heart, going tump-tump, and the fiddles--
"Why did I think I couldn"t do it?"
"Funk. Pure funk. You wanted to dance--you wanted to so badly that it frightened you."
His arm tightened.
As they pa.s.sed she could see Mrs. Sutcliffe sitting in an arm-chair pushed back out of the dancers" way. She looked tired and bored and a little anxious.
When the last three dances were over he took her back to Mark.
Mark scowled after Mr. Sutcliffe.
"What does he look at you like that for?"
"Perhaps he thinks I"m--a funny lady in a bazaar."
"_That"s_ the sort of thing you oughtn"t to say."
"_You_ said it."
"All the more reason why you shouldn"t."
He put his arm round her and they danced. They danced.
"You can do it all right now," he said.
"I"ve learnt. He taught me. He took me outside and taught me. I"m not frightened any more."
Mark was dancing better now. Better and better. His eyes shone down into yours. He whispered.
"Minky--Poor Minky--Pretty Minky."
He swung you. He lifted you off your feet. He danced like mad, carrying you on the taut muscle of his arm.
Somebody said, "That chap"s waked up at last. Who"s the girl?"
Somebody said, "His sister."
Mark laughed out loud. You could have sworn he was enjoying himself.
But when he got home he said he hadn"t enjoyed himself at all. And he had a headache the next day. It turned out that he hadn"t wanted to go. He hated dancing. Mamma said he had only gone because he thought you"d like it and because he thought it would be good for you to dance like other people.
VI.
"Why are you always going to the Sutcliffes"?" Mark said suddenly.
"Because I like them."
They were coming down the fields from Greffington Edge in sight of the tennis court.
"You oughtn"t to like them when they weren"t nice to poor Papa. If Mamma doesn"t want to know them you oughtn"t to."
Mark, too. Mark saying what Mamma said. Her heart swelled and tightened.
She didn"t answer him.
"Anyhow," he said, "you oughtn"t to go about all over the place with old Sutcliffe." When he said "old Sutcliffe" his eyes were merry and insolent as they used to be. "What do you do it for?"
"Because I like him. And because there"s n.o.body else who wants to go about with me."
"There"s Miss Heron."