
"How fortunate," Mrs. Ballinger said dryly, "we have not the opportunity of having to exercise such a gift. So much in society is already known of a person." She did not add the implicated aside that the Lamberts were not part of society, but it hung in the air unsaid.
Mrs. Lambert merely smiled. She could afford to. Society or not, she had successfully accomplished her principal role in life. She was not only married to a wealthy man herself, she had engaged her only daughter to a man of good looks, good manners, brilliant talent, and excellent financial prospects. What more was there to do?
The orchestra had begun to play a waltz. Rathbone turned to Margaret Ballinger.
"Miss Ballinger, will you do me the honor of dancing with me?"
She accepted with a smile and he excused himself and offered her his arm to lead her to the floor. She took it lightly- he could barely feel her hand-and followed him without meeting his eyes.
They had been dancing for several minutes before she spoke, and then it was hesitant.
"I am sorry Mama is so… forward. I hope she did not embarrass you, Sir Oliver."
"Not at all," he said honestly. It was she who had been embarrassed. He had been merely angry. "She is only behaving as all mothers do." He wanted to think of something else to add which would make her feel easier, but he could imagine nothing. This would go on, and they both knew it. It was a ritual. Some young women found a certain excitement in it or had a self-confidence which bore them along. Some were not sufficiently sensitive or imaginative to suffer the humiliation or to perceive the young man's awkwardness or knowledge of being manipulated, almost hunted, and the burden of expectation upon him.
