THE UNMASKING
At midnight a mellow chime rang somewhere by the cypress pool.
Laughing and jesting, calling to one another, the masked crowd moved
off to the vine-hung villa ahead, gleaming moon-white through the
shrubbery.
Somewhat reluctantly the minstrel followed. It had been his intention
to unmask in some secluded corner whence, presently, he might slip away
to his room, but finding himself jostled and pushed on by a Greek and a
Bedouin who, to do them justice, seemed quite unaware of their
importunities, he surrendered to the press about him and presently
found himself in an unpleasantly conspicuous spot in the great room
which the Sherrills occasionally used as a ballroom.
All about him girls and men were unmasking amid a shower of laughing
raillery. That the Seminole chief with her tunic and beaded sash and
her brilliant turban was very near him, was a pleasant and altogether
accidental mitigation of his mishap. That a Greek and a Bedouin were
just behind him--a fact not in the least accidental--and that a gray
monk was slipping about among the guests whispering to receptive ears,
did not interest him in the least. A string orchestra played softly in
an alcove. The leader's eyes, oddly enough, were upon the ancient
Greek.
Now suddenly a curious hush swept over the room. Uncomfortably aware
that he was a spectacular object of interest by reason of his mask and
that every unmasked eye was full upon him, the minstrel, following the
lines of least resistance, removed the bit of cambric from his eyes.
After all, in the sea of faces before him, there were none familiar.
As the mask dropped--the ancient Greek thoughtfully adjusted his tunic.
Instantly without pause or warning the soft strain of the orchestra
swept dramatically into a powerful melody of measured cadences. It was
the tune Carl had played upon his flute to Jokai of Vienna months
before. The minstrel, mask in hand, stared at the orchestra, blanched
and bit his lip.
"God bless my soul!" exclaimed Queen Elizabeth to Jethro, "it's the
immigrant, Jethro, and there he was on the lace spread with his feet
tied and gurgling. I'll never forget his eyes."
"Jokai of Vienna!" said the Black Palmer, whistling. "By Jove, they've
trapped him nicely."
For an uncomfortable instant, the silence continued, then came the
saving stir of laughter and chatting.
The Bedouin with an unrelenting air of dignity and command, removed his
mask and bowed low; to Diane in whose startled eyes below the Seminole
turban flashed sympathy and acute regret.
"Miss Westfall," said he gravely, "permit me to present to you, Prince
Ronador of Houdania."
White and stern, his fine eyes flashing imperially, Ronador bowed.
"Rest assured, Miss Westfall," he said, "that I know you have not
betrayed my confidence. Baron Tregar is an ardent patriot who by
virtue of his office must needs object to democratic masquerading."
The Baron stroked his beard.
"For inspiring the musical ceremony due your rank, Prince," he said
dryly, "I crave indulgence."
Smiling, the ancient Greek at the Baron's elbow unmasked, to show the
cheerful face of Mr. Poynter.
"Prince," said Mr. Poynter, "I sincerely trust I have made no error in
transcribing the Regent's Hymn for our excellent musicians. Having
heard it so many times in your presence in Houdania, I could not well
forget. At your service," with a glance at his Grecian attire,
"Herodotus, father of nomads!"
But Ann Sherrill in the gorgeous raiment of a Semiramis was already at
hand, sparkling italics upon her royal guest, and Philip moved aside.
"I am _overwhelmed_!" whispered Ann a little later. "I am _indeed_! I
was not in the _least_ aware that our mysterious incognito was a
prince, were you, Diane?"
"Yes," said Diane. Her color was very high and she deliberately
avoided the imploring eyes of Mr. Poynter.
"What in the _world_ is it all about?" begged Ann helplessly. "And
_who_ was the grayish monk who flitted about so mysteriously telling us
that the minstrel was a _prince_! It spread like wildfire. As for
you, Philip Poynter, it's exactly like you! To depart night before
last and suddenly reappear is _quite_ of a piece with your mysterious
habit of fading periodically out of civilization. Baron Tregar, how
_exceedingly_ delightful of you to come this way and surprise me when I
fancied you were so keen about those horrid tarpon that you wouldn't
leave them for all I _wrote_ and _wrote_."
There was a sprightly nervousness in Ann's manner. She was
uncomfortably aware of a subtle undercurrent.
"And I've another unexpected guest," she added to Diane. "Carl's here.
Wandering in from Heaven knows where, as he always does. He's making
his peace with your aunt--"
Herodotus, who had been trying for some time to get into friendly
communication with his lady, suddenly murmured "Frost in Florida!" with
audible regret and moved off good-humoredly to look for Carl.
He found that young man listening attentively to his aunt's reproaches.
"And that costume, Carl," fluttered Queen Elizabeth in aggrieved
disapproval. "Why, dear me, it's enough to make a body shudder, it's
so sort of sinister--it is indeed! And I do hope you don't set your
hair on fire with that extraordinary light in your turban. Is it a
candle or an electric bulb?"
"A forty horse power glowworm!" Carl assured her gravely, and the
portly Jethro sniggered to the danger of his seams.
Philip's hand came down heavily upon the Palmer's broad shoulder and
Carl wheeled. In that instant as he grasped Philip's hand in a silence
more eloquent than words, every finer instinct of his queerly balanced
nature flashed in his face. The two hands tightened and fell apart.
"Come, smoke!" invited Carl, smiling. "I'm glad you're here. I
haven't been ragged and abused for so long there's a lonely furrow in
my soul."
But Dick Sherrill, looking very warm and disgruntled in a costume he
informed them bitterly was meant for Claude Duval, came up as they were
turning away and insisted upon presenting Carl to the guest of the
evening.
"Ann sent me," he added. "And you've got to come. And I want to say
right now that Ann makes me tired. She's as notional as a lunatic.
_She_ planned this rig and now she doesn't like it. And if I don't
look like a highwayman you can wager your last sou I feel like one, and
that's sufficient. The whole trouble is that Ann's been so busy with
hair-dressers and manicurists and _corsetières_ and dressmakers and the
Lord knows what not over that stunning Indian girl, who'll likely run
off with the family topazes, that she's had no time for her brother,
and rubs it in now by laughing at the shape of my legs. What's the
matter with my legs, Carl?"
"Too ornamental," said Carl. "Curvilinear grace is all very well but--"
"Shut up!" said Sherrill viciously. "Have you ever met this king-pin
I'm exploiting?"
"I've seen him," said Car. "Once when he was riding up the mountain
road to Houdania with a brilliant escort and one--er--other time.
Think I told you I'd spent a month or so in a Houdanian monastery
several years ago, didn't I, Dick?"
"Yes," said Dick. "That's why I asked. Poynter, who in blue blazes
are you looking for?"
Philip flushed.
"Dry up!" he advised. "You're grouchy."
Sherrill was still heatedly denying the charge when they halted near
the Baron.
"You wear a singular costume," suggested Ronador stiffly, when the
formalities of presentation were at an end. He glanced at the luminous
turban and thence to the chains. Carl, though he had primarily
intended the singular rig for the eyes of Tregar, had subtly invited
the remark. His eyes were darkly ironic.
"Prince," he said guilelessly, "it is a silent parable."
"Yes?"
"I am 'The Ghost of a Man's Past!'" explained the Palmer lightly--and
clanked his chains. The level glances of the two met with the keenness
of invisible swords.
"The heavy, sinister black," suggested the Palmer, "the flashes of
forbidden scarlet--the hours of a man's past are scarlet, are they
not?--the cloud above the head, with a treacherous heart of fire, the
clanking chains of bondage--they are all here. And the skeleton in the
closet--Sire--behold!" He laughed and flung back his mantle, revealing
a perfect skeleton cunningly etched in glaring white upon a
close-fitting garment of black.
Did the Baron's eyes flash suddenly with a queer dry humor? Philip
could not be sure.
With a clank of symbolic chains Carl bowed and withdrew, and coming
suddenly upon his cousin, halted and stared. Long afterward Diane was
to remember that she had caught a similar look in the eyes of Ronador.
"Well?" she begged, slightly uncomfortable.
Carl smiled. Once more his fine eyes were impassive. With ready grace
he admired the delicately-thonged tunic and the beaded sash, the bright
turban with the beaten band of silver and the darkly lovely face
beneath it.
"It's a duplicate of the rig my little Indian friend wears," she
explained, smiling. "Hasn't Ann told you? She's quite wild about it."
"Ann's very busy soothing Dick," laughed Carl and to the malicious
satisfaction of that worthy Greek who had been trailing along in his
wake, presented Herodotus. Diane nodded, smiled politely--and sought
delicately to ignore the ancient Greek. It was a hopeless task. Mr.
Poynter insisted upon considering himself included in every word she
uttered.
"Isn't mother a _dear_!" exclaimed Ann Sherrill joining them. "After
ragging me _desperately_ for days about Keela, until I threatened to
kill myself, and giving me an _exceedingly_ horrid little book on the
advisability of curbing one's most _interesting_ impulses, she's taken
her under her wing to-night and they're excellent friends. Philip,
dear, go unruffle Dick. He's _horribly_ fussed up about something or
other. Carl, I want you to meet Keela. It's the most _interesting_
thing I've dared in ages and Dad's been very decent about it. Dad
always _did_ understand me. He has a sense of humor."
Diane and Carl followed, laughing, at her heels. Ann presently found
her mother and Keela and unaware of the astonished interest in Carl's
eyes, presented him.
"The Black Palmer!" said Keela naïvely.
"Lady of Gold and Black!" said Carl and bowed profoundly.