And Fly? Oh, Fly was always dear and good and funny; but there was
Alberta to be attended to, and other little girls sometimes, and it was
not like having her here at home; nor was there any making a row in the
galleries, nor playing at anything really jolly, though the great
pillars in the hall seemed made for tying cords to make a spider's web.
It was always company, except when Cousin Rotherwood called them into
his den for a little fun. But he had gentlemen to entertain most of
the time, and the only day that he could have taken them to see the
farm and the pheasants, Lady Rotherwood said that Phyllis was a little
hoarse and must not get a cold before the ball.
And as to the Butterfly's Ball itself? Imagination had depicted a
splendid realization of the verses, and it was flat to find it merely a
children's fancy ball, no acting at all, only dancing, and most of the
children not attempting any characteristic dress, only with some insect
attached to head or shoulder; nothing approaching to the fun of the
rehearsal at Silverton, as indeed Fly had predicted. The only attempt
at representation had cost Mysie more trouble than pleasure, for the
training to dance together had been a difficult and wearisome business.
Two of the grass-hoppers had been greatly displeased about it, and
called it a beastly shame, words much shocking gentle Mysie from
aristocratic lips. One of them had been as sulky, angry, and
impracticable as possible, just like a log, and the other had consoled
himself with all manner of tricks, especially upon the teacher and on
Ivinghoe.
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