Young men approached her and wrote their initials on her programme which was already marked with little crosses against the numbers she had promised to Francis Sales. Charles Batty, rather hot, anxious and glowering, arrived too late. His angry disgust, his sense of desertion, were beyond words. He stared at her. “And my flowers,” he demanded.
“Where are my flowers? I sent some—roses and lilies and maidenhair. Where are they?”
“Ah, I suppose you didn’t like them, but the girl in the shop told me they would be all right. How should I know?”
“I haven’t seen them,” she repeated. Over his shoulder she saw the figure of Francis Sales coming towards her.
“I ordered them yesterday,” Charles continued loudly. “I’ll kill that girl. I’ll go at once.”
“The shop will be shut,” Henrietta reminded him. “Oh, do be quiet, Charles.” She turned with a smile for Francis.
“Mr. Sales took the precaution of booking them in advance,” Henrietta said lightly, and with a miserable gesture Charles went off, muttering, “I hadn’t thought of that. Why didn’t some one tell me?”
That ball was to be known in Nelson Lodge as the one that killed Miss Caroline, but Miss Caroline had her full share of pleasure out of it. It was the custom in Radstowe to make much of Caroline and Sophia: they were respected and playfully loved and it was not only the middle-aged gentlemen who asked them to dance, and John and Charles Batty were not the only young ones who had the honour of leading them into the middle of the room, taking a few turns in a waltz and returning, in good order, to the throne-like arm-chairs. Francis Sales had their names on his programme, but with him they used the privilege of old friends and preferred to talk.
“You can keep your dancing for Rose and Henrietta,” Caroline said.
“He comes too late for me,” Rose said pleasantly. He gave her something remarkably like one of his old looks and she answered it with a grave one. There was gnawing trouble at her heart. She had watched his meeting with Henrietta. It had been wordless; everything was understood. She had also seen the unhappiness of Charles Batty, and, on an inspiration, she said to him, “Charles, you must take pity on an old maid. I have all these dances to give away.”