Marcia had been causing Hayden much perturbation and unrest by keeping
him very sedulously at a distance. The glimpses he had had of her
recently had been few and far between, and in response to his pleadings
and reproaches, he was informed that her time was tremendously occupied
and that she was absorbed in a picture she was anxious to finish by a
certain time. In consequence, he was inordinately delighted to hear her
voice one morning over the telephone--although the reason she gave for
calling him up occasioned his undisguised surprise, for she informed him
that sometime during the day he would receive an informal invitation from
Mrs. Ames requesting him to be present at a luncheon she was giving at
the Waldersee the following day.
"Mrs. Ames! Inviting me!" Hayden uttered rapid fire exclamations. "Well,
it is a foregone conclusion that I shall not accept, of course."
"Please reconsider your decision before you so hastily decline," Marcia's
voice was full of amusement, "please."
A dreadful suspicion shot through Hayden's mind. Why was Marcia pleading
the cause of this old woman who had so abominably used her? Had Wilfred
returned to his allegiance?
Perhaps Marcia divined some of these thoughts, for she added a little
hastily, "It is in reality a luncheon given for Mademoiselle Mariposa,
and both she and Wilfred have begged me to be present. It is really for
Wilfred's sake that I am going. We have so long been good friends, you
know. When I heard you were to be invited, I suspected at once that you
would refuse."
"I certainly should have done so," interrupted Hayden grimly, "and you
know why."
"I do know," she said sweetly, "and it's dear of you; but now that you
understand things you'll accept, won't you?"
"Of course I shall, if you wish it," he replied with fervor.
"Thank you, and--and--I shall not be nearly so busy from now on. I have
almost finished my--my--picture."
The answer, the various answers that Hayden made were of the usual order
and need not be recorded; but her predictions were speedily fulfilled,
for within the hour, Mrs. Ames had called him to the telephone and in the
nearest approach to dulcet tones which she could compass was urging him
to take luncheon with herself and a few friends at the Waldersee on the
following day.
With Marcia in mind, he promptly, even effusively accepted. He was struck
by the fact that his prospective hostess had chosen one of the most
conspicuous hotels in the town wherein to entertain her guests instead of
doing the thing decently and soberly amid the 1850 splendors of her
ancestral down-town home. Yes, the eccentric old creature had something
in the wind, beyond question, and his curiosity was but increased when he
learned, some hours later, from Kitty Hampton that neither herself, Bea
Habersham nor Edith Symmes were bidden to the feast.
But not long was he left in suspense, for Mrs. Ames herself hastened to
allay his curiosity when she met him the next day in one of the
reception-rooms of the hotel, where he arrived promptly on the hour she
had mentioned. He looked about him in some surprise, for although there
were several detached people in the room, the rest of her guests, whoever
they might be, had not yet arrived.
"I asked you a bit early, Mr. Heywood, Harden,--oh, what is your name?
Well, it doesn't matter--Hayden--oh, yes; because there was something I
particularly wanted to say to you. You see, this is rather an especial
occasion," she settled complacently a row of dull black bracelets set
with great diamonds on her arm. Hayden reflected on her odd passion for
dusty gems. "Can you imagine who my guests are and why I have asked them
here?" she lifted her formidable lorgnon and surveyed him through it, her
eyes reminding more than ever of those of some fierce, inquisitive bird.
"Truly, I can not, dear lady," Hayden assured her in all sincerity. "You
suggest all manner of unexpected and delightful things."
"My guests," said Mrs. Ames, smoothing her black bombazine impressively
and detaching a bit of straw from some tangled fringe, "are, to mention
the men first, Wilfred, Horace Penfield and yourself, and my women guests
are Marcia Oldham and Ydo Carrothers."
"Really!" was all Hayden could think of to exclaim, and he uttered that
somewhat feebly.
"Yes," the old lady nodded her head, all the jet ornaments on her rusty
black bonnet jingling together. "Yes, I've been so nasty about Marcia
Oldham that I want to make some public reparation." She drew herself up
and spoke virtuously; but Hayden doubted the entire sincerity of the
statement. That might be her reason, in part, but he felt convinced of
some deeper motive. She might feel that she no longer had cause for
active opposition to Marcia; but the girl did not appeal to her
temperament and never could. At best, she could regard a woman of Marcia
Oldham's type with but tepid interest. "And she's been gracious enough to
say she'd come. At first, she refused point blank, but I got Wilfred to
persuade her. He and she have always been good friends. Miss Gipsy
Fortune-teller was also inclined to balk; but she too will be here. The
wild thing!" she chuckled delightedly. "I do hope she'll marry Wilfred.
Why, Mr. Hayden, she'd make something of him. Wilfred's not a fool by any
means; but he's so dreadfully lazy. She'll be whip and spur to him. What
do I care for her fortune-telling and all her wild escapades! I like 'em.
They make my old blood tingle. There's a girl after my own heart!"
"Dear me! Who is that?" peering through her glasses. "Maria Sefton and a
party! Good!" She went into a series of cackles that positively made her
bones rattle. "Every one in town has heard of Wilfred's infatuation for
the Mariposa by this time, and there is just one question asked: 'How
will that old witch of a mother of his behave now?'" Again she broke into
peals of her shrill, cackling laughter. "What will they say to this? Look
how I've fooled them! Marcia on one side of me, the Mariposa on the
other! They won't know which it is or why the other dear charmer's here,
or what it all means." She wiped away the tears laughter had brought to
her eyes. Hayden saw now laid bare her underlying motive in urging Marcia
to be present. It was really to mystify her world.
"Ah, Mr. Hampton--Henderson--I can truthfully say that through a long
life, I've never yet done the thing people expect of me."
"I can well believe that," Hayden assured 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 passes 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
trimmings, 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 grass-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 friendship 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 butterflies and her beloved
California violets, a dewy and deliciously fragrant cluster 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 assure 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."
"By the way," said Hayden suddenly, "isn't that your secretary at the
door?"
Ydo looked up surprised. "Certainly, it is Eunice," she said, "I
wonder--"
Eunice, mournful and repressed, walked primly down the room in the wake
of a waiter and with a murmured word or two with the Mariposa, handed her
a telegram. The latter, still with an expression of perplexity, requested
Mrs. Ames' permission to open it, acquainted herself with its contents,
and then turned to the secretary at her elbow.
"That is all right, Eunice. There is no answer." Then she leaned across
Hayden and spoke to Marcia, "Nothing of any importance," with a faint
shrug of the shoulders, "I dare say you will get one also. He merely says
that he will not be home quite so soon as he expected."
"He!" "He!" Hayden knew a pang of jealousy, like a stab of a stiletto.
What "he" was of such interest to Marcia that he should send her
telegrams announcing his return home, or his failure to come? And why
should this person, whoever he might be, also telegraph Ydo? His thoughts
reverted involuntarily to the gray-haired man "that ordinary, middle-aged
person," who had accompanied her the night she had dined at the
Gildersleeve, the night that he, Hayden, had returned to her her silver
butterfly. Who was this shadowy creature, a sinister and skulking figure
always in the background? Doubts and fears assailed him. He suffered a
hades of suspicion, a momentary and temporary hades--and then, he looked
at Marcia. She was talking across the table to Horace Penfield, and
Hayden noted the purely drawn oval of her face, the sensitive, delicate
mouth, the sweet, wistful eyes, and all the incipient doubts which had
made such an onrush upon his consciousness vanished, were routed and put
to flight, and Marcia looked up to meet his gaze and suddenly, shyly,
sweetly blushed. Again the world was his and his heart was flooded with
sunshine.
Mrs. Ames, well-pleased with the notice her party had attracted, was
complacently arranging her bracelets preparatory to rising, when her eye
was evidently caught by the iridescent sheen of Marcia's butterflies. She
held up her glasses, the better to view them.
"There is no manner of doubt about it, Miss Oldham," she said in a rather
dry and grudging fashion, "that your butterflies are exquisite. I'm a
judge of jewels. I know. What's the reason, Miss Gipsy, that you haven't
a set? Not economy, I warrant."
Ydo glanced at her from under her eyes, a slow, audacious smile forming
about her lips, "I mean to have a set," she said composedly, "but I want
mine copied from one Mr. Hayden has in his collection."
Marcia turned surprised eyes on Hayden. "I did not know that you were a
collector of butterflies," she said.
"Oh, he is so modest!" Ydo's laughter rang out like a chime of bells,
full of elfin malice. "But I am going to tell you a secret. He is the
distinguished discoverer of a rare and wonderful specimen of almost
fabulous value. A specimen which collectors have supposed to be quite
extinct."
Marcia's eyes were as round as saucers, and Mrs. Ames was surveying her
unexpectedly distinguished guest with a respectful surprise of which
Robert would never have dreamed her capable.
"Why have you never mentioned it to me?" cried Marcia, and there was
reproach in her tone.
Hayden, annoyed at first, determined to out-match Ydo in her audacity,
"But I have," he cried, his eyes alight with fun, "only I called it by a
different name."
"A different name!" she puzzled.
"One of the names in the vernacular," explained Robert with grave
mendacity, "is _the_ _cake_! I have often spoken to you, Miss Oldham, of
'the cake.' Of course, it has also its imposing Latin name."
It was Ydo's turn to look puzzled now; the conversation seemed to be
slipping away from her into channels that she could not follow. "Truly,"
she cried, "I want a string of those lovely butterflies, so I will make
you an offer, Mr. Hayden. I'll buy that butterfly. Name your price."
"Believe me, mademoiselle, as I have told you before, there is no price
you could name which would tempt me to sell outright." His jaw looked
very square and his gray eyes gazed very steadily into her dancing green
ones.
The Mariposa made a little face, a combination of lifted brows and
twisted mouth. "Just so," she said spreading out her hands, "about what I
expected; but even if you can't be tempted to sell outright, I dare say
you do not mind showing the photographs?"
Hayden smiled grimly. "That is ingenuous, senorita. Of course, I have no
objection to showing the photographs--at the proper time."
Mrs. Ames picked up her gloves and rose. "I don't know what you're
talking about. It's all Greek to me," with her strident cackle, "but this
I do know, Hurlburt--Hammerton--and that is she'll get ahead of you, this
Gipsy girl. Never doubt that."
Marcia had grown slightly paler during the conversation, and now she
turned surprised, almost frightened, yes, frightened eyes from Hayden to
Ydo.