"Tired, dear?" said "ma"--she's a born "ma." "Of course, that's it.
You're clean pegged out, working and worrying. You must put it all
away and rest." And she sat down by me.
All of a sudden--I couldn't help it--I put my head on her great, big
bosom and burst out crying. "Oh, I'm so _bad_!" I said. "And you're so
_good_!"
She patted me and kissed me on top of my head. "What pretty, soft hair
you have, dear," she said, "and what a lot of it! My! My! I don't see
how anybody that looks like you do could ever be unhappy a minute. You
don't know what it means to be born homely and fat and to have to work
hard just to make people not object to having you about." And she went
on talking in that way until I was presently laughing, still against
that great, big bosom with the great, big heart beating under it.
When I felt that it would be a downright imposition to stay there any
longer I straightened up. I felt quite cheerful.
"Was there something worrying you?" she asked.
I blushed and hung my head. "Yes, but I can't tell you," said I. And I
couldn't--could I? Besides, there somehow doesn't seem to be much of
anything in all my brooding. What a nasty beast that Mrs. Tevis is!
February 12. Mrs. Burke and I went to a reception at the Secretary
of State's this afternoon. We saw Nadeshda's sister in the
distance--that's where we've always seen her and the ambassador and
the whole embassy staff ever since the "bust-up," except funny little
De Pleyev. He, being of a mediatized family, does not need to disturb
himself about ambassadorial frowns or smiles. It's curious what a
strong resemblance there is between a foreigner of royal blood and a
straightaway American gentleman. But, as I was about to write, this
afternoon the distance between us and Madame l'Ambassadrice slowly
lessened, and when she was quite close to us she gave us a dazzling
smile apiece and said to Mrs. Burke: "My dear Madame Burke, you are
looking most charming. You must come to us to tea. To-morrow? Do say
yes--we've missed you so. My poor back--it almost shuts me out of the
world." And she passed on--probably didn't wish to risk the chance that
"ma's" puzzled look might give place to an expression of some kind of
anger and that she might make one of those frank speeches she's famous
for.
"Well, did you _ever_!" exclaimed "ma" when the Countess was out of
earshot.
I said warningly: "Everybody's seen it and is watching you." And it
was true. The whole crowd in those perfume-steeped rooms was gaping,
and the news had spread so quickly that a throng was pushing in from
the tea-room, some of them still chewing.
Afterward we discussed it, and could come to but one conclusion--that
the Robert-Nadeshda crisis had passed. But--do the Daraganes think
that Nadeshda is safe from Robert, or have they decided to take him
in? Certainly, _something_ decisive has happened. And if Robert had
anything to do with it it must have been stirring enough to make the
Daraganes use the cable--how else could Nadeshda's sister have got her
cue so soon?
February 15. No news whatever of Robert and Nadeshda. Yesterday the
ambassadress came here to tea and said to Mrs. Burke that she had had
a letter from Nadeshda in which she sent us all her love--"especially
your dear, splendid, big Monsieur Cyrus." Mr. and Mrs. Burke are to
dine at the embassy five weeks from to-night--the ambassadress insisted
on Mrs. Burke's giving her first free evening to her, and that was it.
"I reckon we'll have to go," said "ma" after her departure, and while
the odor of her frightfully-powerful heliotrope scent was still heavy
in the room, "though I doubt if I'll be alive by then. Sometimes it
seems to me I've just got to knock off and take a clean week in bed.
I thought I'd never think of drugs to keep me going, as so many women
advise. But I see I'm getting round to it. And I'm getting _that_ fat
in the body and _that_ lean in the face! Did you ever see the like? I
must 'a' lost three pounds off my face. And the skin's hanging there
waiting for it to come back, instead of shrinking. I'm glad my Tom
never looks at me. I know to a certainty he ain't looked at me in
twenty years. Husbands and wives don't waste much time looking at each
other, and I guess it's a good, safe plan."
Mrs. Burke does look badly. I must take better care of her. Cyrus looks
badly, too. I haven't seen him to talk to since he made his "strictly
business" proposition. I suppose he wants me to realize that he isn't
one of the pestering kind. I'm sorry he takes it that way, as I'd have
liked to be friends with him. He quarreled so beautifully when we
didn't agree. It's a great satisfaction to have some one at hand who
both agrees and quarrels in a satisfactory way. But I don't dare make
any advances to him. He might misunderstand.
I've just been laughing--at his cowlick. It _is_ such an obstinate
little swirl. And when he looks serious it looks so funnily frisky, and
when he smiles it looks so fiercely serious and disapproving. Yesterday
I hurried suddenly into the little room just off the ball-room,
thinking it was empty. But Cyrus and his mother were there, and he
was tickling her, and he looked so fond of her, and she looked so
delighted. I slipped away without their seeing me.
February 16. We gave our second big ball last night with a dinner for
sixty before. It was just half-past five this morning when the last
couple came sneaking out from the alcove off the little room beyond
the conservatory and, we pretending not to see them, scuttled away
without saying good night. Major-General Cutler danced with Mrs.
Burke in the opening quadrille, and Mr. Burke danced with the British
ambassadress--the ambassador is ill. I had Jim on my hands most of the
evening--though I was flirting desperately with little D'Estourelle, he
hung to me with a maddening husbandish air of proprietorship. I don't
see how I ever endured him, much less thought of marrying him. Cyrus
Burke is a king beside him. Excuse me from men who think the fact that
they've done a woman the honor of loving her gives them a property
right to her. Mrs. Burke was the belle of the ball. She had a crowd of
men round her chair all evening, laughing at everything she said.
February 17. A cable from Robert Gunton at Hamburg this morning--just
"Arrive Washington about March 3." That was all--worse than nothing.
It is Lent, but there's no let up for us. We only get rid of the kind
of entertainments that cost us the least trouble to plan and give, and
we have to arrange more of the kind that have to be done carefully.
Anybody can give a dance, but it takes skill to give a successful
dinner.
February 19. Nadeshda's sister said to-day, quite casually, to Jessie:
"Deshda's coming back, and we're so glad. The trip has done her _so_
much good--in every way." Now, whatever did _that_ mean?