“But they wouldn’t like it, Pelleas!” I cried; “servants, in this day,
are different. That butler now--O, Pelleas, he’d never do it.”
“Indeed he would,” Pelleas returned confidently; “he’s a fine Scot
with a very decent bagpipe in his clothes closet. I’ve seen it. I’ll
get him to bring it!” Pelleas declared with assurance.
“But why--” I quavered momentarily; “and why not?” I instantly went
on; “the very thing!” I ended, as triumphantly as if I had thought the
matter out quite for myself. “And, if you like, Pelleas, I’ll oversee
the making of the cream tarts for the whole company!” I added, not to
be outdone.
It is amazing what pleasant incredulities become perfectly possible
when once you attack them as Nichola attacks her Guinea goats,
beginning at the horns.
So that was why, having broached the subject to those concerned as
delicately as if we had been providing entertainment for a minister of
state; having been met with the enthusiasm which such a minister might
exhibit as diplomacy; and having myself contributed to the event by
the preparation of a mountain of my _chef d’œuvre_, the frozen cream
tarts which Pelleas appears to think would be fitting for both thrones
and ministers assembled, he and I stood together at half after eight
on the evening of our golden-wedding day and, in the middle of our
lordly sitting room, looked at each other with tardy trembling. Now
that the occasion was full upon us it seemed a Titanic undertaking. I
was certain that far from being delighted the servants were alarmed
and derisive and wary of our advances; that “Reddie” would at the last
moment refuse to play upon his borrowed fiddle for the dancing; and
that the haughty Scotch butler would be bored to extinction.
“O, Pelleas!” I said miserably, as we went down the grand staircase,
“it’s a terrible business, this attempt at philanthropy among the
servants in high places.”
“At all events,” said Pelleas brightly, “we are not plotting to improve
them. Though of course if that is done in the right way--” he added,
not to be thought light-minded. Pelleas has an adorable habit of saying
the most rebellious things, but it is simply because he is of opinion
that a great deal of nonsense is talked by those who have not the
brains to rebel.
On a sudden impulse he drew me aside to the latticed window of the
landing and pushed it ajar. The moon rode high above the oaks; it was
as if the night stood aside in delighted silence in this exalted moment
of the moon’s full. Around the casement the roses gathered, so that the
air was sweet.
“Ah, well,” Pelleas said softly, “I dare say they’ll like it. They
must--‘in such a night.’ We’ll leave them to themselves in a little
while. The Reverend Arthur Didbin will be here at ten, remember.”
The great honey-tongued clock beside us touched the silence with the
half hour.
“Pelleas,” I whispered him, “O, Pelleas. It was fifty years ago this
very minute. We were saying, ‘I will’ and ‘I will.’”
“Well,” said Pelleas, “we have, dear. Though we may yet fall out on a
question of Angora cats and the proper way to lay an open fire.”
We smiled, but we understood. And we lingered for a moment in silence.
Let me say to all skeptics that it is worth being married an hundred
years to attain such a moment as that.
Then as we went down the stairs the dining-room door suddenly burst
open with an amazing, eerie clamour; and into the great oak-paneled
hall marched the haughty Scotch butler in full Highland costume, plaid
and bare knees and feather, playing on his bagpipe like mad. No peril,
then, of his being bored to extinction, nor the others, as we were
soon to find. For the bagpipe gave the signal and immediately came
pouring from below stairs the great procession of our guests. My old
head grows quite giddy as I try to recount them. There were Mrs. Woods,
very grave, a little hoarse, and clothed on with black satin; and the
mother of Bonnie in brown silk and a cameo pin, as became a daughter
of the Hittites; and Bonnie herself of exquisite prettiness in white
muslin and rosebuds; and Karl in his well-brushed black; and “Reddie,”
his face shining above a flaming cravat; and the cook and the head
laundress who had entered competitive toilettes like any gentlewomen;
and the other menservants in decent apparel; and a bevy of _chic_
maids in crisp finery and very high heels. Led by Mrs. Woods they
came streaming toward us and shook our hands--was ever such a picture
anywhere, I wondered, as I saw them moving between the priceless
tapestries and clustering about the vast marble fireplace that came
from the quarries of Africa. And to our unbounded gratification they
seemed immensely to like it all and not to have lost their respect for
us because we were civil to them. Then when, presently, we had sent
“Reddie” and his fiddle up to the pillared musicians’ gallery, they all
rose to his first strains and in an instant the Scotch butler had led
out the crispest and highest-heeled of the maids and they all danced
away with a will. Danced very well too. It is amazing how tricks of
deportment are communicable from class to class. If I were to offer
to solve the servant problem I conclude that I would suggest to all
employers: Be gentlemen and gentlewomen yourselves and live with all
dignity and daintiness. Though I dare say that I am a very impractical
old woman, but all the virtue in the world does not lie in practicality
either.
In a little time Pelleas slipped away to brew a steaming punch--a
harmless steaming punch made from a recipe which my mother, who was a
high church woman, always compounded for dining archbishops and the
like. Bonnie and Karl did not dance but sat upon an old stone window
seat brought from Thebes and watched with happy eyes. And when the
punch came in we wheeled it before them and they served every one.
In that lull in the dancing I looked about with sudden misgiving;
Nichola was not with us. Where was Nichola, that faithful old woman,
and why was she not at our party? She had left me in full season to
make ready.
“Where is Nichola?” I anxiously demanded of Pelleas, reproaching myself
for my neglect.
Pelleas did not immediately answer and when I looked up I fancied that
I detected his eyes twinkling. But before I could wonder or inquire
came that which it makes my heart beat now to remember. Without the
slightest warning there sounded and echoed a violent summons on the
great entrance doors. Nothing could have created more consternation
than did the innocent fall of that silver knocker at Little Rosemont.
I chanced to be sitting near the door and I think that I must have
risen in astonishment. I saw Pelleas whirl in concern, and I was
conscious of the instant lull in the animated talk. Then the Scotch
butler recovered himself and in full Highland costume, with bare knees,
he sprang to his post quite as if this had been at the head of a
mountain pass and threw wide the door.
“Upon my word!” I heard exclaiming a fine, magnetic voice, “upon my
word, a party. Let us blush and withdraw.”
But they came crowding to the door; and there in motor caps and coats
stood a gay company of our friends and the friends of Avis, and of
them Madame Sally Chartres and Wilfred; and Lisa and her uncle, Dudley
Manners, who were guests near by at Chynmere Hall; and Hobart Eddy,
whose was the voice that I had heard. They had motored out from town
and from places roundabout us and were come to pay us a visit.
“Sally!” said I feebly. Sally was with Hobart Eddy who adores her and,
his critics say, affects her so-picturesque company to add to his
so-popular eccentricities. And with them came a cloud of the mighty, a
most impressive cloud of witnessing railway presidents and bankers and
statesmen and the like; and all spectators at our party.
“Ah, Etarre!” Sally cried blithely, “this is charming. But--we are not
invited.”
“No one is invited,” said I faintly, “we all belong here. Ah,” I cried,
as the humour of it overcame me, “come in. Do come in. The punch is
just served.”
They needed no second bidding. In they all marched in the merriest of
humours, not in the least understanding the meaning of that strange
assembly but with sufficient of moon magic and the swift motion in
their dancing blood to be ready for everything. And while Pelleas led
them away to the billiard room to put aside their wraps, I found Hobart
Eddy beside me. And somehow, before I knew, I was telling him all about
the occasion and at his beseeching actually leading him from one to
another and soberly presenting him to Mrs. Woods and the daughter of
the Hittites and the cook. Only to see that elegant young leader of
cotillons bowing before the head laundress in her competitive toilette
was something to remember.
“And _voilà mes enfants_, the sweethearts,” he murmured as we halted
near the window seat from Thebes. There sat Bonnie and Karl, intent
upon each other, she with a flush on her face that matched the rosebuds
of her frock. And how it happened I hardly know, save that I was at
that moment a distracted old woman and that in matters of romance
I invariably lose my head; but I instantly went a little mad and
told Hobart Eddy all about that young Endymion and his Diana of the
tableaux: how Endymion’s old mother must be spirited from “the old
country” before they might be married; and even how eighty dollars was
necessary and how they had only nine. I had just paused breathless
when the others came trooping from the den, and Sally Chartres in white
cloth and white curls leaned upon the arm of Mr. Dudley Manners--he
is king of some vast part of the mineral or vegetable kingdom at the
moment though they modestly call it only a corner--and insisted on
meeting every one, on hearing the bagpipe, on listening to “Reddie”
play, and on being a good angel with a cloud of the mighty at her side.
In the midst of this bewildering business the dining-room doors opened
and in came the tall and smiling footmen whose part was to bring up the
supper of cold dainties. And even in that moment my heart thrilled with
thanksgiving and pride in the contemplation of the one tall footman
who bore the tray of those cream tarts of mine. I say it boldly, and
Pelleas said it first: there never was such a decoction of thick,
frozen cream and foamy chocolate in this world of delectables. I could
not veil my satisfaction as I saw these set upon the table where the
plates were piled, and of a truth they looked so delicious that for an
instant it seemed to me the most natural thing in the world that Hobart
Eddy should leap from his place at my side as if he had gone suddenly
mad at the sight.
“Wait, please!” he cried ringingly, “no one must touch anything yet!”
On which he sprang up the step that leads to the great yellow salon,
lighted to enhance the look of festivity, and thus stood directly back
of the supper table. He was very handsome, his face alight and glowing,
his erect, compact figure drawn to its full height. And before I could
even guess what he was about, what had he done, this idol of society,
this deviser of the eccentric, but make his friends know in a burst of
amazing eloquence all that I had just told him of the love story of
Bonnie and Karl, save their very names.
His friends listened, curious, ready to be amused, and at the last
genuinely diverted; and the household of Little Rosemont listened,
bewildered, not knowing what to expect; and as for Bonnie and Karl and
Pelleas and me, we four listened and doubted the evidence of our own
senses, until:--
“Therefore,” cried Hobart Eddy, “I offer at auction a portion of the
contents of this table, especially one fourth of this tray of amazing
tarts, as an all-star benefit for these two young people. Also, I offer
a limited number of glasses of yonder punch--hey, Mannie!” he called
warningly to Mr. Dudley Manners, who stood with a punch glass in his
hand; “drop it down, man!”
“I’m hanged if I do,” said Mr. Manners, merrily; “I’ll bid five for it
first, you know!”
“Done!” cried Hobart Eddy, rapping on the table, “and what am I bid
for this first appetizing and innocent confection, this tart, all
compact of cream and spices--” So he went on, and I clung to my chair
and expected the whole place to crumble away and Nichola to call me to
breakfast in New York. It was too wonderful.
But it was all true. They were caught in the spirit of the happy hour
as if this had been some new game contrived to tempt their flagging
interests. They gathered about the table, they bid one another down,
they prompted the auctioneer, they escaped to corners with cream
tarts--my cream tarts!--for which they had paid a price that made
me tremble. And as for our original guests, they were lined up at a
respectful distance, but quite frantic with the excitement, for they
were all devoted--as who would not have been?--to the two to whom this
would mean all happiness. And as for Bonnie and Karl, scarce able to
breathe they sat on the stone bench from Thebes and clung to each
other’s hands. Ah, there never was such an hour. It makes me young to
think of it.
So it went on until the last tart of the portion which he had reserved
was auctioned to the highest bidder. And hardly had Hobart Eddy invited
the others to the table and paused for breath when the question that
had been forced from my mind by the unexpected arrivals was answered:
Nichola appeared in the dining-room door.
She had made herself splendid in her best frock, a flaming scarlet
merino; for Nichola has never lost her Italian love of colour. On her
head she had a marvelous cap of the kind that she can fashion at a
moment’s notice from a linen pillow case and a bit of string. And she
too bore a tray, a tray of that which had detained her below stairs
fashioning it for a surprise, a tray, in short, heaped with tiers and
tiers of pie-crust Guinea goats.
On these Hobart Eddy seized with an ardour that was beautiful to see.
Nichola, frowning terribly, stood back half minded to break into shrill
upbraidings. And while I was trying between my tears and smiles to make
her know what it was all about, her whole herd of goats was sold off at
a price which she afterward told me, privately, was as high as the Pope
in the Vatican could expect for his pie crusts.
They swept the pile of crisp notes and shining coin into a hat and
thrust it in the hands of Nichola, who stood nearest; and that old
woman at their bidding crossed the slippery oaken floor and poured
the treasure in the lap of little Bonnie, while the daughter of the
Hittites sobbed on the first shoulder, which chanced to be that of her
ancient enemy, the housekeeper.
Nichola’s presentation speech was brief and to the point.
“Here,” she said, “get marrit.”
Bonnie, dear little maid in muslin and rosebuds, stood up with Karl,
both pink and white to see; and they bowed, and laughed through their
tears. Ah, there were tears in the eyes of others of us too as we
looked; and Madame Sally Chartres and a very gay and magnificent Mrs.
Dane-Orvil and the cook formed one group and impartially smiled at one
another. Some way, a mask had fallen.
With Nichola’s words still in our ears the clock chimed quarter after
ten, and in the moonlight of the open door appeared on a sudden the
eager, concerned face of the Reverend Arthur Didbin, come to keep his
appointment with Pelleas and me.
At sight of him Pelleas fairly beamed.
“Why not?” he cried out; “what do these two young people say? Why shall
they not be married _now_?”
Why not, indeed? The proposition was met with acclamation. They
hardly waited for the frightened, ecstatic nod of star-eyed little
Bonnie before they had the supper table pushed aside--indeed, I do
not remember now whether it was the railway president and Mr. Dudley
Manners who did most of the work or the Scotch butler and the footmen,
for they all helped together. And Bonnie and Karl stood up in the door
of the salon, and so did the daughter of the Hittites, and Hobart Eddy
insisted on being joint best man with the Scotch butler, and the
Reverend Arthur Didbin married the two young lovers then and there. I
have always held that the license demanded in some parts is unromantic
nonsense.
After that there was a blur of adieux, and Hobart Eddy kissed my
hand and even when his machine had been started came running back in
the moonlight to get from Karl the address of his mother “in the old
country” so that he might cable to her and have her rejoicing by next
morning. No, never tell me that any man is mere idler and dilettante,
for I have seen the heart of one such and hereafter I dare not
disbelieve in any one.
They all swept down the moonlit drive, hands waving, motor horns
sounding; and the haughty Scotch butler in full Highland costume stood
between two pillars and played his bagpipe to speed them on their way.
The door of the tonneau of the last motor had just been hospitably
opened with the offer to set down the Reverend Arthur Didbin in the
village when that gentleman, his gray hair blowing, hurried to where
Pelleas and I were standing.
“But,” he said anxiously, “did you not wish me for something? Did you
not wish--”
At that Pelleas and I looked away from each other in sudden
consternation and then with one accord smiled and shook our heads. With
our assurance he turned away and in silence we watched him down the
drive. And after the last motor had disappeared behind the shrubbery
Pelleas and I lingered alone in the moonlit portal breathing in the
roses, and still we did not meet each other’s eyes. But when there
was at last no excuse for our waiting there longer I looked up at him
shamefacedly enough.
“Pelleas,” I faced the truth, but solemnly lest he should imagine that
I was not filled with regret at our neglect, “Pelleas, we _forgot_ our
golden wedding.”
“But there has been a golden wedding all the same,” said Pelleas.
* * * * *
However, in fear of what the balcony of roses would think of our
defection, we stepped out there for a moment on our way upstairs. And
there Pelleas said over something that is a kind of bridal song for a
Golden Wedding:--
“My own, confirm me! If I tread
This path back, is it not in pride
To think how little I dreamed it led
To an age so blessed that by its side
Youth seems the waste instead!”
We do not think that the balcony itself can have agreed with this,
because it was a moon balcony, made for youthful lovers. But roses are
like a chorus, explaining what is; and no one can persuade us that
these failed to understand.