As my dear father used to say, it is personality rather than character
which holds the world's attention, and this was undoubtedly the case
with Miss Alicia Pegg, or Peaches, as she was termed by her surviving
parent. It is the unqualified fact that even at this tumultuous period
of my life it is her personality rather than my esteemed sister's
character which overshadows my memory. And although without doubt
Euphemia's impeccable virtue and righteousness should have won the
struggle I find myself impatient of her just reproaches, her critical
indignation, and even of her final cold and terrible dismissal of me
from the house of my fathers as meet punishment for the crime of earning
five thousand dollars per annum; a feat which she somehow contrived to
make appear in the light of an outrage unworthy of serious discussion,
and rendering me unfit to remain longer under the paternal roof.
True, I had already dismissed myself before she did so, the fact being
implicit in my agreement with Mr. Pegg. And as for my father's roof,
there had been rather more than a likelihood of its being permanently
removed from over both our heads had we attempted to remain beneath it
in idleness much longer. But Euphemia was a true woman--far more
genuinely feminine than I shall ever be, and her heart ever overruled
her reason. In fact she had often publicly maintained that it was
unwomanly to reason very much. Secondly, I had for weeks anticipated
that the announcement of my intention of going to work would result in a
terrible scene, and so was somewhat prepared for the deluge, though I
had hoped it would be less violent than it proved.
I will draw a veil over this section of my narrative, because it
was purely a family affair, of no possible interest to the public,
and I do not believe that sister truly meant all that she said.
Suffice to recount that I left her seventy-five dollars with the
promise--unaccepted--to send more shortly, and departed at eight-thirty
the following morning, taking a few belongings in the small trunk which
I had had at school when a girl, and receiving a tearful farewell from
Galadia, if not from my dear sister, for whom in reality I was setting
forth into the wide world.
"Freedom Talbot," said I to myself as the hack which I had felt
justified in hiring to transport me to the hotel moved away--"Freedom
Talbot, face the world with a smile--and soon you will be smiling in
your heart. Freedom should mean more than a name to you--it should mean
and must mean the welcoming of adventure."
And thus resolutely putting behind me the last vestige of feminine
weakness I assumed in spirit at least the attitude which I knew my dear
father would have required of the son he had hoped I would be, and was
presently set down before the hotel, where I directed the porter about
my trunk, surrendered my dear father's umbrella, my own folding lace
parasol and dolman, together with my valise, to the same little boy who
had so kindly attended me the day before, and for whom I had remembered
to bring a package of ginger cookies. Even the elevator, that flying
gilded bird cage, held no terrors for me to-day, and I ascended to the
seventh floor without a qualm.
So much for character and its hold upon the human mind. The entire
episode of leaving what for fifty years had been my home is somewhat
hazy. What I encountered upon entering the anteroom of the
Copley-Plaza's royal suite for the second time I shall never forget. And
this evidences my claim regarding personality.
It was precisely one minute of nine by my dear father's chronometer, and
my arrival must have been expected, and yet several moments elapsed
prior to the opening of the door outside of which I stood. In point of
fact I eventually opened it myself, inasmuch as it was not quite closed
and from the noise inside I deduced that my knocking and the ringing of
the small boy who accompanied me were not discernible above the clamor.
The most amazing language came out to me.
"Come on you, seven!" said a female voice excitedly. "Oh baby! Come, you
loving little Joe!" said a male voice.
It was at this juncture that I entered, the patience and perhaps the
curiosity of my young companion breaking under the strain, and then we
beheld a most remarkable picture.
Seated upon either end of the gold-and-marble table in the middle of the
magnificent and formal apartment were a young man and a young woman. The
latter was in the very act of shaking dice from the palm of her hand. I
at once recognized them because my dear father indulged in backgammon,
and possessed a pair. But the young female who was occupied with them
resembled nothing I had ever before encountered.
To begin with, she was of tremendous height--the tallest girl I had ever
beheld or ever shall, standing, as I afterward ascertained, six feet two
without the unwholesome French heels she later affected. Her exquisite
face was as clear cut and regular of feature as that upon the shell
cameo which my dear father gave my dear mother when they became
betrothed. Her hair was so brilliantly gold as to seem artificially
gilded--not with chemicals but with burnished metal--and waved low over
her ears with a grace impossible of imitation by the hair dresser's art.
Her coloring was perfect and her wide set eyes were startlingly dark
brown, as were the rather heavy brows above them.
This young Juno was clad in a dress of violet satin heavily embroidered
in gold and coral beads, a garment clearly intended for the most
elaborate of afternoon functions, and this costume was further
embellished by a pair of black-and-white sports shoes, such as are worn
upon tennis courts. But curiously enough this outrageous costume was not
the first thing that registered upon my vision. The girl herself shone
like the sun, dwarfing her garments and almost neutralizing them.
Of the young man I will say only this: He was a chauffeur, properly
liveried, and though a clean, decent-looking young man, he was a
distinctly common person, a thought which curiously did not occur to me
until later. He was an ugly young man with a long nose.
It was a full moment that I stood in the doorway before they saw me, and
then the girl slid from her perch with a blank look of amazement.
"Judas Priest! Holy mackerel!" she said involuntarily. Then quickly
recovering herself she came forward politely. "I guess you are in the
wrong pew," she said. "Did you want anybody?"
"It's for you, Miss Peaches," said the infant who carried my luggage.
"The new nurse has came."
"What d'yer mean--new nurse?" queried the beauty, wrinkling her handsome
nose. "Are you sure this is for our ranch?"
"Perhaps your father has been up to something new, Peaches," said the
chauffeur, sliding from his end of the table and removing the cap, which
had all the time remained upon the back of his red head.