Changeling

My dance program was full that night. There was none of the agonizing which Morwenna and Helena had told me they had suffered, sitting out just hoping that someone … anyone … the oldest, clumsiest man in the ballroom, would ask them to dance for even he would be better than no one at all.

I was lucky because there were three men whom I already knew and as it was the very beginning of the season quite a number of young people were unknown to each other.

I danced first with a young politician to whom my stepfather had introduced me. I was glad of Madame Perrotte’s tuition which enabled me to concentrate on the conversation as well as on my feet.

The young man told me how delighted he was to meet me and what a wonderful person my stepfather was. This conversation was peppered with comments on the House and comparisons were drawn between Mr. Gladstone and Mr. Disraeli, the former being clearly the favorite which was natural because the young man belonged to the same party as Benedict. I answered as intelligently as I could; and I was rather pleased when the music released me. And no sooner was I returned to my seat between Morwenna and Helena than someone appeared to claim the next dance.

I recognized him at once as the man who had called at Manorleigh. Oliver Gerson.

“I crave the pleasure of the next dance,” he said, bowing agreeably to us all. “I have the honor of Miss Mandeville’s acquaintance. We met at Manorleigh.”

“Oh yes, of course,” said Morwenna. “I believe we have met. Mr. Gerson, is it not?”

“How gratifying that you remember. And you are Mrs. Cartwright, and Mrs. Hume, of course, the wife of the great Martin Hume.”

“On the other side of the political fence from you, I imagine,” said Helena.

He lifted his shoulders. “Although a great friend of Mr. Benedict Lansdon and having an immense interest in all he does, I do not have political inclinations. My vote goes to the side which at the time of the election, seems most desirable to me.”

“Which is probably the wisest way,” said Helena laughing. “And now you are asking Miss Mandeville to dance.”

He smiled at me. “Am I to have that pleasure?”

“But of course.”

We went onto the floor together.

“How delightful you look!”

“I owe a great deal to Mrs. Lansdon and her French maid.”

“I am sure you owe a great deal more to Nature who made you as you are.”

I burst out laughing.

“I have said something amusing?” he asked.

“It amused me. How do you think of these things? They trip off your tongue as though you really mean them.”

“That is because they come from the heart and I do mean them.”

“Then it would be ungracious of me not to say Thank you.”

He laughed with me. “I did enjoy our encounter in the gardens at Manorleigh.”

“Yes … it was amusing.”

“How is the sprightly Belinda, and the somewhat demure Lucie?”

“They are well and still at Manorleigh. Mr. Lansdon thinks it is best for them to be there.”

“Miss Belinda made quite an impression on me.”

“You made quite an impression on her.”

“Did I indeed?”

“Don’t congratulate yourself. She is impressed by all who show an interest in her.”

“I shall make an excuse to visit Manor Grange again. But I shall be sure that I come when you are there. I suppose you will be from time to time?”

“I shall be in London till the end of the season, I suppose.”

“During which time I hope to see more and more of you.”

“Have you the time to spend in frivolous pursuits such as balls and functions for debutantes?”

“I do not find enjoying the company of interesting people a frivolous occupation.”

“But occasions like this …”

“When there are moments such as the present there is nothing more I would ask for.”

“You know a great deal about me. Tell me about yourself.”

“Benedict Lansdon’s grandfather was a benefactor of mine. I suppose I was a sort of protégé of his. My father knew him well and Peter was always interested in me. He said I had vitality … I reminded him of himself. It is always a point in one’s favor if one reminds people of themselves. It gives them high hopes of you.”

“Do I detect a note of cynicism?” I asked.

“You may. The truth can sometimes appear so. But we all have the utmost admiration for ourselves and if people are made in our image we must admire them too.”

“I expect you are right. So Uncle Peter regarded you favorably?”

“Most favorably. You were fond of him, I see.”

“It was impossible not to be fond of him. There was something about him. He was very worldly wise but at the root of it was great kindness … and understanding.”

“It is often easier for the not-so-virtuous to be more lenient towards sinners. Have you not found that in life?”

“Yes, I think so. So you were a friend of his and he took you under his wing.”

“He never struck me as a bird or a celestial being who, I believe, are the only creatures who possess wings. You could say that he showed an interest in me, guided me, taught me a good deal of what I know and made a business man of me.”

“I don’t suppose it was such a difficult task.”

“Now who is paying the compliments?”