With his heart high with hope, Hayden lost no time in taking his way to
Ydo's apartment the next afternoon. It was Sunday, a day on which she
received no clients, and the maid showed him into neither the
consulting- nor reception-rooms, but in a small library beyond them which
was evidently a part of her private suite.
In coloring the room suggested the soft wood tones that Ydo loved, greens
and browns and russets harmoniously blended. The walls were lined with
book-cases, crowded with books, a great and solacing company: Montaigne,
Kipling, Emerson, Loti, Kant, Cervantes. These caught Hayden's eye as he
took the chair Mademoiselle Mariposa indicated. There were roses, deep
red roses in tall vases, and the breeze from the half-opened window blew
their fragrance in delicious gusts about the room.
"'The rose-wind blowing from the South,'" quoted Hayden smilingly as he
clasped the hand Ydo extended to him from the depths of her chair. Then,
clapping his hand to his heart, he bowed exaggeratedly before her.
"Senorita, I throw my heart at your feet."
"It did not touch the ground, senor. I caught and am holding it for a
ransom," she answered, with the same elaborate and formal courtesy.
He shrugged his shoulders disdainfully. "It is not worthy a ransom,
senorita. I beg you, if you will pardon my presumption in offering so
beggarly a gift, to deign to keep it."
"Senor, you overwhelm me. It is I who am unworthy to receive so priceless
a token, and only upon one condition can I do so, and that condition is,
that you will in return accept mine."
They both laughed like children at play, and Hayden again threw himself
in the easy chair and took one of the cigarettes Ydo pushed toward him.
"Well, gallant knight, who have found Eldorado," she said, "I have a
disappointment in store for you. One of the rightful heirs has suddenly
been called away on business and will not be in town for ten days or so,
but he will communicate with me immediately upon his return and I shall
wave my wand, in other words, take down the telephone receiver and summon
you to a conference."
"He!" Hayden felt a sharp sense of disappointment. Then, after all,
Marcia was not the sole owner, even if she were one at all. He wondered
impatiently why he clung so tenaciously to that idea. Her father had
probably never bought the property, or if he had, it had, no doubt,
passed entirely out of her hands.
"Senorita," he implored, "do tell me who these owners are; how many of
them are there--something, at least, about them. It is only fair to me,
do you not think so? What possible reasons are there for secrecy and
mystery?"
"He asks me, a professional fortune-teller, to discard secrecy and
mystery!" cried the Mariposa. "Who ever heard the like? No. I have my own
reasons for conducting this affair in my own particular and peculiar way,
and, as far as I can see, senor, there is nothing for you to do but
acquiesce. But listen! 'Tis the professional voice of Mademoiselle
Mariposa which you hear now. Do not fear. You may set your house in order
and do your wooing with an easy mind. It is all over. Poor brother of the
road, you have found Eldorado and won Cinderella. Ah, the cruel gods!"
She lifted her eyes to the ceiling.
"Won Cinderella!" He wondered sharply how much she knew, if anything, and
decided she was probably speaking on the authority of recent rumor
gleaned from Horace Penfield.
"You seem to imply that the gods are offering me nectar in a hemlock
cup."
She nodded several times, each nod becoming more emphatic.
"Ah, happy he who gains not
The love some seem to gain."
"Senorita," he protested politely, "your hyperbole is no doubt fraught
with wisdom, but it is a wisdom beyond my dense understanding."
"You've forgotten," she replied. "'Twas a lesson we learned 'when you were
a tadpole and I was a fish,' It is a bit of wisdom that lies deep in our
hearts; but we shrink from it and refuse to heed it, clinging blindly to
our illusions."
"You always moralize so unpleasantly." He looked so desperate that she
laughed her silver, ringing laughter that shook the rose-petals from
their calyxes.
"Well, to change the subject, when you have Cinderella and Eldorado what
are you going to do with them?"
"Enjoy life!"
"Child! The rashest of statements! Life resents nothing so much as taking
her for granted. When she hears her mariners cry: 'Clear sailing now,'
she invariably tosses them a storm. When they exclaim with relief: 'a
quiet port,' she laughs in her sleeve and presents them with quicksand.
Now I will tell you something, prophesy, without crystal, your palm or
any astrological charts. See, I am always the fortune-teller. Listen."
Her voice sank into deep, rich tones. "On your throne in Eldorado, with
Cinderella beside you in her gold crown, there will come a day, an hour,
when in the twinkling of an eye, all the shimmer, the shine, the purple
and gold, the pomp and pride will grow dim before your eyes, and fade
quite away, and you will see instead the long, brown path with the pines
on either side marching up the hillside, on and on, up and up, and beyond
them the snowy tips of the mountains, and you will hear the music that
has never been written, the song of the road; all of its harmonies of the
wind in the trees and the beat of the surf upon the shingle. It will
haunt you until you will sicken for it; and at night, no matter how soft
your bed and how silken your coverlets, you will toss and turn and dream
of the hemlock boughs and the fern, the smell of the deep, deep woods!"
"Don't!" he cried sharply. "Stop it! It is too realistic. Anyway, I can
always go back."
"Oh, no, you can not," she said. "That will be quite impossible after you
have lived in Eldorado for a while. You'll forget the way." She shook her
head. "You'll never come back."
"Then, I'm willing, glad and proud "--he lifted his head, his eyes
shining--"to give it up for her, if she wants Eldorado. Tell me, Ydo,"
boldly, "have you never loved?"
"Many times." Her eyes dreamed. "Many times have I loved and unloved and
forgotten. For that very reason I quote to you:
"'Ah, happy he who gains not
The love some seem to gain.'
"Oh, what an opportunity my scorned profession gives me for knowing the
human heart. This woman who comes to me cries: 'If I had only married I
should have known the joy of companionship, of motherhood, and children
growing up around me,' And this one wails: 'I have made a mistake. If I
had not married and been condemned to a humdrum life what a noise I might
have made in the world with my gifts and my beauty,' There is only one
good, you know, the good we haven't got. They want a life of romance, of
charm, and they never seem to think that it must be within them." She
struck the table lightly. "Life is only a reflection of one's self."
"And have you found your choice satisfactory?" he asked curiously.
She gave her quick little shrug. "I have lived after my own nature. It
would have been impossible for me to do otherwise. Ah, life, life! There
has never been a moment that good or bad, I have not loved it! It is a
plant--life, a beautiful plant; and most people are in haste to cull its
loveliest blossoms and strip it bare of leaves, in the effort to get all
it can give, and finally, they even drag up the roots to see if they can
not extract something more; but to enjoy that plant, Mr. Hayden"--she
spoke with passionate emphasis--"you must love and tend it. 'To get the
most out of life' is a horrible phrase. Life offers nothing to those who
seek her thus; but to all who ask little of her, who stand ready and glad
to give, she repays an hundredfold."
"What a preacher you are," he laughed.
Before Ydo could answer, the maid entered with a card and handed it to
her. The Mariposa sat silent for a moment or two, gazing intently at the
bit of pasteboard, a peculiar smile on her lips.
"Show Mrs. Ames in here," she said at last, with sudden decision.
"Mrs. Ames!" Hayden sat in dumb amazement "Mrs. Ames!" What on earth
Could that old woman want with the Mariposa?
But before he could voice his astonishment, the visitor appeared. She was
in her customary rusty, fringed black, jingling with chains, mummified in
expression, and with the usual large showing of dusty diamonds. She
surveyed Hayden through her lorgnon with both surprise and disapproval,
and then acknowledging his bow with a curt nod, turned to Ydo.
But a change had come over Mademoiselle Mariposa. She was no longer the
Dreaming Gipsy, but a _grande dame_, a lady with some subtle, exotic
touch of foreign distinction, who greeted the older woman with a charming
and reserved grace.
Mrs. Ames seated herself on the extreme edge of a stiff chair.
"Mademoiselle Mariposa," her thin voice rang authoritatively, "I had
hoped to see you alone for a few moments of private conversation."
"Just so, madame," responded Ydo suavely, "but I have no secrets from Mr.
Hayden. He is an old friend, an adviser, I may call him."
"Humph!" Again the lorgnon was turned threateningly on Hayden. "Very
well, since you have brought this on yourself, you may take the
consequences. I will continue with what I have to say. Mademoiselle, I
have had a recent and most distressing interview with my son. To put it
frankly, I was reproaching him with his devotion to a most ineligible
young woman, and he, in a rage, informed me that he cared nothing for
her, and proclaimed, openly proclaimed, his infatuation for you."
"Wilfred!" Ydo sat upright, her languid gaze brightening. "Really!"
"Wilfred?" the mother repeated, with a rising inflection.
"Yes, Wilfred; you were speaking of him, were you not?" The Mariposa's
green eyes sparkled with mirth. "Well, madame"--she spoke
negligently--"what can I do for you? You know I do not receive any one
professionally on Sunday."
"Would you regard it as professional if I ask you what you are going to
do about my son?"
"Not at all. I think it quite natural that you should wish to know. I can
quite appreciate your state of mind, maternal anxiety, and all that. To
have been in terror for fear your son would marry Marcia Oldham and then
discover that he is really interested in me! It illuminates that passage
in _Paradise Lost_, does it not? It is sometimes considered obscure. You
doubtless recall it. Something about 'and in the lowest depths a lower
depth was found.'"
"You seem to have some appreciation of the situation," said the old woman
grimly.
"Believe me, I have. Only the mask smiles Comedy at me, and Tragedy at
you. Madame, why do you cluck so over your one chicken?"
"The answer to that," Mrs. Ames tartly replied, "is first Miss Oldham and
then yourself."
"The declining scale! Fancy where he will end!" Ydo murmured.
"It may be a circus-rider yet," admitted his mother.
"I have been one," announced Ydo calmly, and Hayden could not tell
whether she spoke the truth or fiction. "Well"--there was a touch of
impatience in her tones now--"what do you wish me to do?" She lifted a
fan from her lap, and rapidly furled and unfurled it, a sure sign of
irritation with her. "Find him a pretty doll with a blue sash and a
wreath of daisies? You must have urged many a one on him and see to what
they have driven him."
"Wait," said the old lady, laying one bony, yellow hand stiff with rings,
dusty diamonds in dim gold settings, on Ydo's arm. "Why do you take it
for granted that I have come to you to do the tearful mother, imploring
the wicked adventuress to give up her son? They do those things on the
stage, and I've never regarded the stage as a mirror of life. I have
heard more about you than you think, mademoiselle. Horace Penfield sits
in my ingle-nook. Now, what I came to find out is what you want with
Wilfred, if indeed you want him at all."
"You flatter me," said Ydo. "More, you interest me. Now, just why do you
wish to know?"
"Are you going to marry him?"
"It is evidently cards on the table with us." Ydo had recovered her good
spirits. "Truly, I have not decided. You see, madame, your Wilfred is a
big, good-natured fellow. He is like a faithful, loyal, devoted dog. You
and I being cats need neither his assistance, advice nor sympathetic
companionship. I can also say truly that his ancient name and his money
are nothing to me. But he has something I want." She rested her cheek on
her fan, a wistful note had crept into her voice, a shadow lay in her
eyes. "Ah, madame, do you not understand that we, to whom all things come
easily, are often very lonely? Life's spoiled and petted darlings, we are
of necessity isolated. We live at high pressure, absorbed in our
enthusiasms and interests, but there come moments of weariness when we
would droop on the heart that really loves us, when we would rest in that
maternal and protecting love which never criticizes, never judges or
condemns, never sees the ravages of time or the waste of beauty, never
puts upon us the crowning indignity of forgiveness--only loves. Loves,
madame, as Wilfred loves me. 'Tis the rarest thing in all the world."
"And what would you give the poor dog in exchange for this?" Mrs. Ames'
voice was dry to sarcasm. But Ydo was unmoved.
"My brains, madame, my knowledge of men, women and the world. My
diplomacy, my power of attack. Wouldn't it be a fair exchange?"
Mrs. Ames clasped her stiff hands together and dropped the lorgnon
on the floor. "By George!" she cried. "You're a man after my own
heart. Look at me! I'm a withered, haggard old woman, fierce as a
cat and ugly as sin. Why? Because all my life I've been baffled. I
was born as wild a bird, my dear, as yourself; but I never knew how
to get out of the cage and I was always getting into new ones. I
lacked--what-d'-y'-m'-call-it--initiative; and all this longing in me for
freedom"--she clutched the dangling fringes on her breast--"and life and
the choosing of my own path never had an outlet. It turned sour and
curdled, and became malice and all uncharitableness.
"Well, when I began to realize that Wilfred would probably give me a
companion in the cage I got sick. I could bear the cage myself, I'd
learned to do that; but I didn't want another she-bird molting around.
And then when it looked as if it would be Marcia Oldham I got sicker. It
drove me wild to think of that milk-faced chit of a girl, with a fool of
a mother that I've always despised! I tell you what you do, Miss Gipsy
Fortune-teller!" She rapped the arm of Ydo's chair emphatically. "Marry
Wilfred! Sure if you do," peering at her suspiciously, "that you won't
elope with some one else?"
"I may," said Ydo coolly. "Only I have had the experience twice before,
and it doesn't amuse me." Again, for the life of him, Hayden could not
decide whether this were the embroidery of fiction or the truth. "The
first man used scent on his handkerchief, and the second ate garlic with
his fingers. I couldn't endure either of them for a week."
"You rake!" chuckled Wilfred's mother, clapping the Mariposa on the
shoulder. "Marry Wilfred, do now! Make him president, at any rate a
foreign ambassador." She rose. "You've given me fresh hope. I feel twenty
years younger. Well, Mr. Heywood--Harden--whatever your name is, we've
treated you as if you were a piece of furniture."
"Regard me instead as a wall," said Hayden pleasantly, "which has ears
but no tongue. Won't you vouch for my discretion, Mademoiselle Mariposa?"
"As I would for the chairs and tables to which Mrs. Ames so amiably
compares you," smiled Ydo.
When Hayden returned from putting the old lady in her carriage he showed
all the elation of one who has scored heavily.
"Aha!" he cried. "Warning me one moment with serious argument against the
Inevitable ennui induced by settling in Eldorado and all the time
preparing to build your own castles there!"
"But not for permanent residence," she protested, "and I assure you, I
have not even decided whether or not to build there at all. My real home
is for ever in Arcady. Do you think, seriously think, that there is
anything in Eldorado which can hold me when I see the beechwoods growing
green, and hear the fifes of June in my ears and get a whiff of the
wild-grape fragrance? Then I know that there's nothing for me but Arcady;
and it's up and away in the wake of the clover-seeking bee. But you're a
man, Bobby, who has--what is that awful phrase?--oh, yes, 'accepted
responsibilities,' and you'll stay there in Eldorado, bound by white arms
and ropes of gold."