"What an unusual ballroom," Maximillian commented. "By this, I mean it is quite provincial, isn't it? It has an open-air roof instead of a sturdy and elaborate ceiling overhead, so very unlike those one might find in the city. I suppose this is why there are only stone sculptures here instead of gold ones."
Annoyed at Maximillian's degradation of the efforts her parents had made on his behalf, she quipped, "Gold? Here, where there are so many grubstakers and gold-diggers? Why,such statues would remain here for only a few minutes before they would be stolen."
"'Tis quite a rough and wild place where you have grown up, m'dear. Though quaint, of course. Perhaps this is why you are so different and without the proper…ah…manners a young lady should have… But then, let us not talk about it."
"Yes," Briella agreed readily. "Let us not speak of it. Oh, look! Over there, do you see? My lady's maid? She is so beautiful, is she not?"
Maximillian didn't answer; although, looking up into his eyes, Briella was witness to the admiration so clearly evident there. And, why wouldn't he admire her?
Blonde-haired and slim, Sheila stood slightly shorter than Briella. Her hair was caught up in a beautiful style on top of and behind her head, and with delicate curls framing her face, she was beautiful almost beyond compare. But, if one looked into her eyes, it was there where her beauty ended. Was it because of the look of condescension for this beautiful hall her father had fashioned in this far-western place?
"How kind it was of you to invite Miss Sheila to come here as my lady’s maid so that I would be always properly dressed."
"Do not think of it. It was nothing," replied Maximillian. "I was happy to do it."
"How kind of you." Sarcasm practically dripped from Briella's voice as the song finished and the musicians stood up to take a break. "Excuse me, if you please."
As Briella turned away, she saw Maximillian bow slightly to her—as he was expected to do, of course. Stepping quickly away from him, she rushed from the room, exiting the ballroom from its far end.
Briella didn't know her mother had followed her until she heard her mother say, "You are not leaving, are you?"
"I am afraid I must."
"You are upset?"
"I am. But, do not fear. It shall pass in a moment, I am sure. I think the dance was a little too quick for me. Perhaps I need more than a few days' rest."
"You? My daughter who thinks nothing of hunting buffalo and of riding her pony for days on end?"
"Yes, well," answered Briella. "I am not used to dancing, I think."
"Perhaps you are hungry. Come, we will all sit down for our supper."
"Yes," Briella answered with a sigh. "Perhaps I am merely hungry."
Taking her daughter's arm, Mária Fehér smiled and patted Briella's hand. And, turning around, they stepped back into the ballroom, avoiding the many dancing partners. Slowly, they paced toward the dining room and the dinner so carefully prepared for their guests this very night.
