Mrs. Day's Daughters

Mary E. Mann

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• Publié par: iddi
• Publié le: 08 décembre 2010
• Nombre de lectures: 46
• Langue: English

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Daughters, by Mary E. Mann
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Title: Mrs. Day's DaughtersAuthor: Mary E. Mann
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG
EBOOK, MRS. DAY'S DAUGHTERS ***
Stan Goodman, Beth Trapaga, Tonya Allen, and
the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team.
MRS. DAY'S DAUGHTERS
By
MARY E. MANN "The common growth of Mother Earth
Suffices me—her tears, her mirth,
Her humblest mirth and tears."
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I Their Large Hours II Something
Wrong At The Office III Forcus's Family Ale IV
Disaster V Deleah's Errand VI Sour Misfortune
VII Husband And Father VIII The Way Out IX For
The Widow And The Fatherless X Exiles From
Life's Revels XI The Attractive Bessie XII The
Attractive Deleah XIII The Gay, Gilded Scene
XIV A Tea-Party In Bridge Street XV The
Manchester Man XVI For Bernard XVII What Is It
Now? XVIII The Dangerous Scrooge XIX When
Beauty Calls XX Sir Francis Makes A Call XXI In
For It! XXII The Importunate Mr. Gibbon XXIII
Deleah Has No Dignity XXIV The Cold-Hearted
Fates XXV To Make Reparation XXVI A
Householder XXVII Promotion For Mrs. Day
XXVIII At Laburnum Villa XXIX A Prohibition
Cancelled XXX Deleah Grows Up XXXI Bessie's
Hour XXXII The Man With The Mad Eyes XXXIII
The Moment Of TriumphCHAPTER I
Their Large Hours
It was three o'clock in the morning when the guests
danced Sir Roger de Coverley at Mrs. William
Day's New Year's party. They would as soon have
thought of having supper without trifle, tipsy-cake,
and syllabub, in those days, as of finishing the
evening without Sir Roger. Dancing had begun at
seven-thirty. The lady at the piano was drooping
with weariness. Violin and 'cello yawned over their
bows; only spasmodically and half-heartedly the
thrum and jingle of the tambourine fell on the ear.
The last was an instrument not included in the
small band of the professional musicians, but was
twisted and shaken and thumped on hand and
knee and toe by no less an amateur than Mr.
William Day himself.
The master of the house was too stout for dancing,
of too restless and irritable a temperament for the
role of looker-on. He loved noise, always; above
all, noise made by himself. He thought no
entertainment really successful at which you could
hear yourself speak. He would have preferred a big
drum whereby to inspirit the dancers, but failing
that, clashed the bells of the tambourine in their
ears."The tambourine is such fun!" the dancers always
said, who, out of breath from polka, or schottische,
or galop, paused at his side. "A dance at your
house would not be the same thing at all without
your tambourine, Mr. Day."
He banged it the louder for such compliments,
turned it on his broad thumb, shook it over his
great head with its shock of sand-coloured and
grey hair; making, as the more saturnine of his
guests confided in each other, "a most infernal
row."
But an exercise of eight hours is long enough for
even the most agreeable performance, and by the
time Sir Roger de Coverley had brought the
programme to an end the clash and rattle of the
tambourine was only fitfully heard. Perceiving
which, Deleah Day, younger daughter of the
house, a slight, dark-haired, dark-eyed girl of
sixteen, left her place in one of the two sides of the
figure, extending nearly the length of the room, ran
to her father, and taking the tambourine from him
pulled upon his hands.
"Yes, papa! Yes!" she urged him. "Every year since
I was able to toddle you have danced Sir Roger
with me—and you shall!"
He shouted his protest, laughed uproariously when
he yielded, and all in the noisy way, which to his
thinking contributed to enjoyment. Presently,
standing opposite the upright, pretty figure of his
daughter, he was brawling to her what a naughtyrogue she was, and calling on all to witness that he
was about to make an exhibition of himself for the
pleasure of his tyrant—his little Deleah. Then,
turning, with his hands on the shoulders of the
young man before him, he was racing down the
room to join hands with the laughing Deleah at the
end of the procession, ducking his heavy, short-
necked head, to squeeze his broad figure with her
slight one under the archway of raised arms,
dashing to his place opposite his daughter at the
top of the room again. Breathless, laughing,
spluttering, stamping, he went through it all.
And now he and his little partner are themselves
top-couple, and must dance the half length of the
room to be swung round by the pair dancing to
meet them; must be swung by right hand, by left,
by both hands; must dance to bow, dance to caper
with the opposite couple, back to back. And William
Day, who had loved dancing till he grew too fat to
dance, and was extraordinarily light on his feet for
such a big, heavily-made man, never cried for
mercy, but cheered on his companions, and footed
it to the end.
"Never again!" he declared when the dance was
over, and he stood smacking his chest, panting,
struggling for breath with which to bid his guests
good-night, "You'll never any of you catch me
making such a fool of myself again."
"Why, papa, you danced it beautifully! Every single
year you shall dance
Sir Roger de Coverley, and you shall always danceit with me."
He shouted that he would not. He always shouted.
He would have felt himself falling behind himself on
this festive occasion if he had been less boisterous
to the end.
"I think it has been the nicest of all our parties,"
Deleah declared to her sister, as the girls went to
their room.
"I've certainly enjoyed it the most," said Bessie.
"And Reggie said so had he."
"You danced six times with Reggie, Bess. I
counted."
"It is a pity you were not better employed. You
wanted to dance with him yourself, I suppose?"
"Why, I did!" Deleah cried, and laughed "I danced
the Lancers with him—twice. And in the grand
chain he lifted me off my feet. He's most beautifully
strong, Reggie is! Did he lift you off your feet,
Bess?"
"Reggie would know better than to take such a
liberty," Bess said, who was not dark and petite like
her sister, but plump and fair and somewhat
heavily built. "And you're too old for such romping,
yourself, Deleah; and you've nicely spoilt your frock
with it!"
"Yards of frilling gone," Deleah said happily, as if
the loss of so much material was a merit. "Just ateeny bit came off to start with; Tom Marston
caught his toe in it, and went, galloping the whole
length of the room carrying it with him and his
partner before I could stop him. Oh, how I
laughed!"
"Mama won't laugh! She said you must wear the
same frock at the Arkwrights' dance next week."
"The white silk, underneath, is all right—look! Only
a new net skirt over it. Mama won't mind it in the
least."
"If you have a new net over-skirt I shall have one
too. You're not to have an evening frock more than
me. So come! I shall have blue again. Blue tarlatan
with white frillings on the flounces. Blue is my
colour. Reggie said so to-night."
"I suppose he admired you in that wreath of forget-
me-nots?"
"He didn't say I was to tell you, if he did! You go to
bed, and to sleep,
Deleah; and don't interfere."
"I'm getting out of my clothes as fast as I can. Why
aren't you getting out of yours, Bess?"
"I'm not going to bed yet. I'm waiting for mama.
I've something to say to her."
"What about? Oh, Bess, do tell! I always tell you
everything."She paused, stepped out of her dress which lay a
heap of shining silk and billowy net upon the floor,
looked at her sister. "It's something about Reggie,"
she declared with eager interest. "Yes, it is! Oh,
Bessie, tell me first. Your face is as red as red! Tell
me first!"
You mind your own business, Deda; and brush
your hair."
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