Part 17 (1/2)

”I can well believe that,” Hayden a.s.sured her. He looked about him, down through the vista of the rooms with their differing and garish schemes of decoration, at the groups of people moving to and fro, at the whole kaleidoscopic, colorful picture. ”Lots of people here to-day,” he said.

”Oh, dear me, yes,” replied the old lady. ”This is undoubtedly one of the great hotels of the world. Everything pa.s.ses through here sooner or later, except perhaps, the law of righteousness. Here comes Horace, he's not bearing it, I am sure. How do you do, Horace?” Penfield, admirably dressed, slim, self-possessed and alert, bent over her hand, and nodded to Hayden.

”I've just been granted an inspection of the new gown Edith Symmes has ordered for Bea Habersham's ball,” he said. ”We've been at her dressmaker's and she drove me here on her way home.”

”I thought you looked pale,” said Mrs. Ames, viewing him through the inevitable lorgnon. ”Go on, tell me all about it.”

”I'm afraid the details are too harrowing,” said Horace mildly. ”The body of the gown--isn't that what you call it--? the ground-work, you know--”

”Yes--yes, that's all right,” nodded Mrs. Ames. ”Go on--the body of the gown--”

”Is of a sort of sickly, mustard-colored satin with chocolate-colored tr.i.m.m.i.n.gs, and wreaths of pink stuff and coral ornaments that look like lobster-claws. Really, it gives you quite a turn just to see it; and then, she has some kind of a gra.s.s-green weeping-willow tree that she is going to wear in her hair. Really, the whole thing is pretty shuddery.

Haunts you, you can't throw it off.” Penfield looked a trifle blue about the mouth and so depressed that Hayden could not help laughing.

”Edith is going beyond herself,” commented Mrs. Ames. ”Some one ought to marry her and reform her. Why not you, Horace?”

”'She killed a boy, she killed a man, why should she not kill me?'”

quoted Horace gloomily.

”Well, we'll have some luncheon and then you'll feel better,” consoled his hostess. ”Here come the girls now.”

Master of facial expression as he was, Horace could no more have helped his jaw dropping than he could his eyes blinking as Marcia and the Mariposa, followed by Wilfred Ames, came toward them. Hayden was particularly struck by the fact that as the two girls walked down the room laughing and talking, there was no suggestion in the manner of either of their being strangers or even formal acquaintances. There was the easy manner of old friends.h.i.+p between them, and he recalled again the ”Ydo” that Marcia had inadvertently spoken that day in the Park, and pondered afresh.

Marcia looked to Hayden's eyes more charming than ever. The slightly strained expression about the mouth and eyes, which always caused him a pang, was to-day quite effaced, and his heart throbbed with pleasure as he caught the dear little smile that she gave him, and he saw that her eyes were full of a soft and radiant happiness. She wore a white cloth own, with an immense black hat, the b.u.t.terflies and her beloved California violets, a dewy and deliciously fragrant cl.u.s.ter which Hayden had sent to her that morning. Ydo in rose color was a brilliant and effective contrast to her.

”'As moonlight unto sunlight And as water unto wine,'”

murmured Penfield who was in the mood for quotation.

Mrs. Ames arose and settling afresh her hideous row of black bracelets, led the way to the dining-room. She had ordered one of the most conspicuous tables at an hour when the huge room was sure to be crowded, and she viewed with unabated, even increasing satisfaction the whispered comments from the tables where any of her acquaintances were sitting. She had created the sensation she desired. Fortune favored her.

”There are enough here to spread this far and wide,” she whispered complacently to Hayden, ”and Horace is a host in himself on such occasions. One may always trust him to see that the good work goes merrily on. The dear boy!” there was positive affection in her tone.

”This will be in every one's mouth before night. It is better to have Horace for a publicity bureau than to get out an 'extra.'”

”Look at the forest!” said Ydo quizzically calling Robert's attention to the tall palms grouped about the room and the exotic, incongruous effect of the long fronds, which should properly have cast their shadows on desert sands, but now must wave above the white surface of small tables or be outlined harshly against the red and gold panels of the walls.

”This is very different from the wilds,” she continued. ”Hardly savors of the simplicity of drinking from the wayside spring and munching a bit of bread and some fruit as one trudges along. Ah-h-h! That must be soon for me.”

”But Wilfred?” suggested Hayden in a low voice. ”What are you going to do about him?”

She glanced toward the imperturbable, lazy, blond giant, who sat talking to Marcia, but always with his eyes fixed on Ydo, content merely to be in her presence. Then she lifted her round chin audaciously, ”If I decide to let him come with me, he will be well content. He hates cities and loves the open. He will be an excellent _camerado_, I a.s.sure you. But, if Wilfred does not care to go voyaging, voyaging, why, then he shall stay; but for myself, I must onward, away for ever from the old tents.”

She had lifted her voice slightly on the last words and Mrs. Ames looking toward her had caught them. ”Ah, mademoiselle,” she broke in, ”whenever you begin to talk, I've always got to stop and listen. Not because you utter words of wisdom by any means,” she gave a hard little chuckle, ”but because when you talk, I hear again the voice of youth. It rings in your tones and smiles in your eyes; it's something as effervescent and sparkling as the bubbles that rise in this wine. You are exactly like the nightingale in the old French fable. Just as irresponsible. You remember he sang all summer while the ants toiled unceasingly getting in their winter stores, and then when winter came, and he pined with hunger, the thrifty ants said: 'Do you not know that winter follows summer, and that all roads lead to the desert?'”

Ydo leaned forward all aggression and animation. ”But that is a wicked fable,” she cried, ”for it tells only one side of the question. It never tells what the nightingale said to the ants. But I know. He said: 'Pouf!

Chut! I have sung my beautiful songs all summer and now you foolish ants think I am going to starve. Stupid, short-sighted little insects! I shall simply spread my wings, and fly away, not to the desert either, but to the bounteous South, and there, under the great, yellow moon, among the ilex trees, where the air is heavy with the fragrance of flowers, I shall sing as you have never dreamed I could sing. Adieu!'”

Mrs. Ames chuckled afresh. ”They can't beat you--at any rate.”