The Very Next Day
I was so tired last night, Diary, that I couldn't sleep, and Sarah
blames you! She has just said, sternly, "No more writing, Miss Mavis,"
and vanished from the room. Out you come, from under my pillow, in
lawless defiance of the mandate. For it's raining and dull, and I
can't go out of doors, and so I must have something to occupy me, must
I not? But isn't it perfectly wonderful that the rain should deprive
me of something? For, it was only a very short time ago that rain or
sunshine meant very little to me, aside from aesthetic pleasure, and
shut or open windows as the case might be! Now for a description of
the Lawn Fete!
It was an early affair; three o'clock, to be exact. And very young
September put on her very gayest appearance for me. Father and Sarah,
Dr. Bill and Dr. Mac, constituted themselves a Committee on Decoration
and Refreshments, and as a consequence we had a lawn gay with wicker
chairs, hammocks, cushions, tables, flags, and flowers; and a very
important table loaded with sandwiches, tiny cakes, bonbons, and
all manner of cool drinkables. And--then came the crowds! I do
believe everyone in Green Hill turned out, from Sammy and his
Rosie-of-the-Telegraph (I wonder what happened to the messages during
that afternoon? Never mind! No one would have been home to receive
them!), to Peter and his small friends and old Granny Wallace, who
drove up in a dilapidated buggy, and wore a new black bonnet for the
occasion. I wore--and this will interest you--the mauve and turquoise
negligee, with various additions. One was a bunch of the loveliest,
glowingest orchids you have ever seen, which was brought to me by Mr.
John Denton, who made a flying half-hour's return trip for the express
purpose, he said, of kissing my hands and delivering the flowers,
which he assured me came from the donor of Wiggles. A card with the
orchids read, "To match a delightful costume." So Mr. Denton, the
villain, has been talking! Under my laces, I wore Richard Warren's
jade lucky-piece, and in honor of the occasion I decorated Wiggles,
much to his disgust, with a huge purple bow. It was very becoming to
his lively and brunette beauty, as all who saw him will attest.
It was a dear afternoon. Everyone was so happy for me. They fairly
overwhelmed me with good wishes and affectionate, optimistic
prophecies. My two medicos kept a very stern guard over me. It seemed
as if I couldn't get rid of one or the other for more than a moment at
a time. But I had Dr. Mac in a perfectly beautiful rage by accusing
him of trying to steal the Scandinavian heart of Hildeborg, my massive
masseuse. Oh yes, she was there too, marvellously gotten up, her
yellow head very much in the foreground and her big voice booming out
at the most inopportune moments in more than the most inopportune
remarks, thereby greatly endangering the preservation of gravity in
those present. Her public advice to Dr. Mac, along lines of reduction,
was extremely exhilarating!
We had music, rendered slightly off key, but with all the good will in
the world, by the Green Hill Musical Four, consisting of a Simpson, a
Watkins, and the Jones twins, who performed respectively upon a
cornet, a violin, a banjo, and a mouth-organ. It was, Diary, the very
last word in successful parties. Only one thing occurred to cast any
shadow over a wonderful day. And, of all people selected by an unkind
Fate to sully my happiness, it was Peter who, to mix metaphors
somewhat, cast the first stone. In the presence of at least six
villagers, including Granny Wallace, the town gossip, he regarded my
frivolity of a lace and ribbon cap, and asked, as solemnly as a mouth
full to capacity with cake would permit, "Mavis, _how_ do you set your
cap?"
"How do I what?" I asked in all innocence, one hand to my headgear.
"Set it," he repeated. "Sally says that Adeline says that you are
setting your cap for Doctor Denton!"
Adeline, Diary, is Sally's sister, and Dr. Denton's cook.
Several in the group about me laughed, and Granny Wallace's ears grew
visibly in length.
"I can't imagine what you mean, Peterkins," I answered with
well-assumed carelessness, and turned to talk volubly with Mrs.
Goodrich, who was adding to the gaiety by saying audibly, "Hush,
Peter!"
But Peter was not to be silenced.
"Sally says," he protested, in his clear little voice, "that Adeline
says she told doctor Denton about it, your cap, you know, and that he
laughed out loud and said you could for all of him!"
"What's that about Doctor Denton?" asked that individual, suddenly
coming up quietly behind the group.
Talk about bombshells!
Despite Mrs. Goodrich's frantic attempt to hush her young hopeful,
Peter, his hand in Doctor Denton's, obligingly repeated his story.
"An'," he concluded, turning to me wistfully, "please, Mavis, won't
you set it for me? I'd like to see how you do it!"
Amid an awestruck silence, Doctor Denton swung Peter, who squealed
with delight, up and up to his broad shoulder, and said, laughing but
a little red,
"Nonsense, old chap, Miss Carroll won't set her cap for you for--well,
about twenty years, more or less. But isn't it a pretty cap?" With a
wicked laugh he turned and strode off, Peter clinging to his shock of
dark hair and asking very loudly, "But does she do it like hens do,
Doctor Uncle?"
I haven't the remotest idea what happened after that. I vaguely
remember Granny Wallace hurrying and cackling off, and the other
members of the group trying to compose their features and to re-order
their conversation. That Mrs. Goodrich, before she left, bent over me
and whispered, "Mavis dear, I'm _so_ sorry!" helped matters, as far as
I was concerned, not one whit. By the same evening, I am certain that
the story was all over Green Hill. Even Sarah said something to me,
before I went to bed....
Somehow, I should have thought my helplessness would have protected me
a little....
After my guests had gone, Doctor Denton appeared on the scene.
"MacAllister and I will carry you up to your room now, Miss Carroll,"
he said cheerily.
I felt very tired, very cross, and behaved, I'm afraid, like a
schoolgirl.
"If you'll get Doctor Mac and Father...."
He went quite white.
"Very well," he said stiffly, and turned away. I did not see him
again that day, or for several days thereafter.
I wonder if he really said that I "could for all of him?"
NEW YORK CITY
September 11th
Contrary Princess!
Do you think it kind of Your Royal Benevolence to write me the
most charming note in the world to thank me for my flowers, and
then to almost ruin it by a postscript, a scolding--dare I say,
nagging--postscript, in which you sternly forbid me to give
myself pleasure and send you "anything more, ever"! You are
an--an Indian _Receiver_, that's what you are! And I refuse to
have any dealings with your postscript! I will separate it
carefully from the rest of the letter, and consign it to candle
flame.
I am glad you enjoyed your lawn party. Sorry, though, that
anything should have happened during your At Home day to disturb
you. Although you do not tell me what it was, I have put two and
two together, made a hundred and six, and deducted that some
member of my blundering and heavy-footed sex stepped upon your
sensibilities. But I am sure you have forgiven him by
now--although far be it from me to hold any brief for an unknown
and hated rival!
Please, may I come to your next party? I am sure my mother would
be willing to chaperone me. I forwarded her your last note; it
was addressed to her and I did not dare keep it. But I read it
(yes, I did) and I do not notice that you scolded her about those
rose-grey bed socks! Indeed, you seemed very glad to have them.
She has been fretting, I know, that they were not finished
sooner, but she was called away, as no doubt she told you in her
letter, by an illness in the family.
My respects to Wiggles. I wonder if he is entirely cognizant of
his good fortune?
I have told you once that everything John Denton says of me is
false, unless it is particularly pleasant. And then it hardly
does me justice. Now, after my repeated demands, will you tell me
what he said?
Yours very truly,
RICHARD WARREN
P.S. I have found more in the business form of signature than I
had dreamed existed. Let me repeat it another way,
Very truly--yours,
R. W.
UNDER-THE-TREES
September 14th
Dear and Caviling Poet:
You deserved to be scolded. But we will say no more about it. And
I have decided to relent and tell you what Mr. John Denton said.
He said
That you were shy
That you were very blonde
That you were very impractical
That you were very generous
That you were an incorrigible dreamer
And that he thought you were in love!
What have you to reply to these six counts of his indictment?
Curiously yours,
THE PRINCESS
NEW YORK CITY
September 17th
Dear Portia:
Lies! All counts of the indictment to be immediately
quashed--save the very last!
RICHARD WARREN
GREEN HILL
September 19
Diary, I have a two-line letter from Richard Warren which I am afraid
to answer. And it's all my fault!