Both Mrs. Sherwood and Sansome applied themselves to relieving whatever
embarrassment Nan might feel over this unusual situation. Sansome was
possessed of great charm and social experience. He could play the game
of light conversation to perfection. By way of bridging the pause in
events, he set himself to describing the society in which the Keiths
would shortly find themselves launched. His remarks were practically a
monologue, interspersed by irrepressible gurgles of laughter from Nan.
Mrs. Sherwood sat quietly by. She did not laugh, but it was evident she
was amused. In this congenial atmosphere Sansome outdid himself.
"They are all afraid of each other," he told her, "because they don't
know anything about each other. Each ex-washerwoman thinks the other
ex-washerwoman must have been at least a duchess at home. It's terribly
funny. If they can get hold of six porcelain statuettes, a half-dozen
antimacassars, some gilt chairs, and a glass bell of wax flowers, they
imagine they're elegantly furnished. And their functions! I give you my
word, I'd as soon attend a reasonably pleasant funeral! Some of them
try to entertain by playing intellectual games--you know, rhyming or
spelling games--seriously!" He went on to describe some of the women,
mentioning no names, however. "You'll recognize them when you meet
them," he assured her. "There's one we'll call the Social Agitator--she
isn't happy unless she is running things. I believe she spent two weeks
once in London--or else she buys her boots there--anyway, when
discussions get lively she squelches them by saying, 'Of course, my
dear, that may be absolutely _au fait_ in New York--but in London--' It
corks them up every time. And 'pon honour, three quarters of the time
she's quite wrong! Then there's the Lady Thug, Square jaw, square
shoulder, sort of bulging out at the top--you know--in décolleté one
cannot help thinking 'one more struggle and she'll be free!'"
"Oh, fie, Mr. Sansome," laughed Nan, half shocked.
Sansome rattled on. The ultimate effect was to convey an impression of
San Francisco society--such as existed at all--as stodgy, stupid,
pretentious, unattractive. Nan was immensely amused, but inclined to
take it all with a grain of salt.
"Mrs. Sherwood doesn't bear you out," she told him, "and she's the only
one I've seen yet. I think we're going to have a pretty good time."
But at this point Keith returned. He was quite sobered from his
temporary exhilaration, but still most cordial and enthusiastic over
his little party, Sansome noted with quiet amusement that his light
curly hair was damp. Evidently he had taken his own prescription as to
the pump.
"Well," he announced, "I have a room--such as it is. Can't say much for
it. The baggage is all here; nothing missing for a wonder. I've spoken
to the manager about dinner for five." He turned to Nan with
brightening interest. "Guess what I saw on the bill of fare! Grizzly
bear steak! Think of that! I ordered some."
Sansome groaned comically.
"What's the matter?" inquired Keith.
"Did you ever try it before? Tough, stringy, unfit for human
consumption."
But Keith was fascinated by the name of the thing.
"There's plenty else," he urged defensively, "and I always try
everything once."
It was agreed that they should all meet again after an hour. Sansome
renewed his promises to be on hand.
The room Keith had engaged was on the second story, and quite a
different sort of affair from that of the Sherwoods'. Indeed it was
little more than a pine box, containing only the bare necessities. One
window looked out on an unkempt backyard, now mercifully hidden by
darkness.
"This is pretty tough," said Keith, "but it is the very best I could
do. And the price is horrible. We'll have to hunt up a living place
about the first thing we do."
"Oh, it's all right," said Nan indifferently. The lassitude of
seasickness had left her, and the excitement of new surroundings was
beginning. She felt gently stirred by the give and take of the light
conversation in the Sherwoods' room; and, although she did not quite
realize it, she was responding to the stimulation of having made a good
impression. Her subconscious self was perfectly aware that in the
silken negligée, under the pink-shaded lamp, her clear soft skin, the
pure lines of her radiant childlike beauty, the shadows of her tumbled
hair, had been very appealing and effective. She moved about a trifle
restlessly, looking at things without seeing them. "I'm glad to see the
brown trunk. Open it, will you, dear? Heavens, what a mirror!" She
surveyed herself in the flawed glass, moving from side to side,
fascinated at the strange distortions.
"I call it positive extortion, charging what they do for a room like
this," grumbled Keith, busy at the trunk. "The Sherwoods must pay a
mint of money for theirs. I wonder what he does!"
Her attention attracted by this subject, she arrested her posing before
the mirror.
"They certainly are quick to take the stranger in," she commented
lightly.
Something in her tone arrested Keith's attention, and he stopped
fussing at his keys. Nan had meant little by the remark. It had
expressed the vague instinctive recoil of the woman brought up in
rather conventional circumstances and in a conservative community from
too sudden intimacy, nothing more. She did not herself understand this.
"Don't you like the Sherwoods?" he instantly demanded, with the
masculine insistence on dissecting every butterfly.
"Why, she's charming!" said Nan, opening her eyes in surprise. "Of
course, I like her immensely!"
"I should think so," grumbled Keith. "They certainly have been mighty
good to us."
But Nan had dropped her negligée about her feet, and was convulsed at
the figure made of her slim young body by the distorted mirror.
"Come here, Milt," she gasped.
She clung to him, gurgling with laughter, pointing one shaking finger
at the monstrosity in the glass.
"Look--look what you married!"
They dressed gayly. His optimism and enthusiasm boiled over again. It
was a shame, his leaving her all that afternoon, he reiterated; but she
had no idea what giant strides he had made. He told her of the city,
and he enumerated some of the acquaintances he had made--Calhoun
Bennett, Bert Taylor, Major Marmaduke Miles, Michael Rowlee, Judge
Caldwell, and others. They had been most cordial to him, most kind;
they had taken him in without delay.
"It's the spirit of the West, Nan," he cried, "hospitable,
unsuspicious, free, eager to welcome! Oh, this is going to be the place
for me; opportunity waits at every corner. They are not tied down by
conventions, by the way somebody else has done things--"
He went on rapidly to detail to her some of the things he had been
told--the contemplated public improvements, the levelling of the sand
hills, the building of a city out of nothing.
"Why, Nan, do you realize that only four years ago this very Plaza had
only six small buildings around it, that there were only three
two-story structures in town, that the population was only about five
hundred--there are thirty-five thousand now, that--" he rattled on,
detailing his recently acquired statistics. Oh, potent influence of the
Western spirit--already, eight hours after his landing on California's
shores, Milton Keith was a "booster."
With an expansion of relief that only a woman could fully appreciate,
Nan unpacked and put on a frock that had nothing whatever to do with
the sea voyage, and which she had not for some time seen. In ordinary
accustomed circumstances she would never have thought of donning so
elaborate a toilette for a hotel dining-room, but she was yielding to
reaction. In her way she was "celebrating," just as was Keith. Her hair
she did low after the fashion of the time, and bound it to her brow by
a bandeau of pearls. The gown itself was pale green and filmy. It lent
her a flowerlike semblance that was very fresh and lovely.
"By Jove, Nan, you certainly have recovered from the sea!" cried Keith,
and insisted on kissing her.
"Look how you've mussed me all up!" chided Nan, but without irritation.
They found the other three waiting for them, and without delay entered
the dining-room. This, as indeed all the lower story, was in marked
contrast of luxury with the bare pine bedrooms upstairs. Long red
velvet curtains, held back by tasselled silken cords, draped the long
windows; fluted columns at regular intervals upheld the ceiling; the
floor was polished and slippery; the tables shone with white and
silver. An obese and tremendous darkey in swallowtail waved a
white-gloved hand at them, turned ponderously, and preceded them down
the aisle with the pomp of a drum major. His dignity was colossal, awe
inspiring, remote. Their progress became a procession, a triumphal
procession, such as few of Caesar's generals had ever known. Arrived at
the predestined table, he stood one side while menials drew out the
chairs. Then he marched tremendously back to the main door, his chin
high, his expression haughty, his backbone rigid. This head waiter was
the feature of the Bella Union Hotel, just as the glass columns were
the feature of the Empire, or the clockwork mechanism of the El Dorado.
The dinner itself went well. Everybody seemed to be friendly and at
ease, but by one of those strange and sudden social transitions it was
rather subdued. This was for various reasons. Nan Keith, after her
brief reaction, found herself again suffering from the lassitude and
fatigue of a long voyage; she needed a night's rest and knew it. Keith
himself was a trifle sleepy as an after affect to the earlier drinking.
Sherwood was naturally reserved and coolly observing; Mrs. Sherwood was
apparently somehow on guard; and Sansome, as always, took his tone from
those about him. The wild spirits of the hour before had taken their
flight. It was, however, a pleasant dinner--without constraint, as
among old friends. After the meal they went to the public parlour, a
splendid but rather dismal place. Sherwood almost immediately excused
himself. After a short and somewhat awkward interval, Nan decided she
would go to bed for her needed rest.
"You won't think me rude, I know." said she.
Keith, whose buoyant temper had been sadly divided between a genuine
wish to do the proper and dutiful thing by his wife and a great desire
to see more of this fascinating city, rose with so evident an alacrity
under restraint that Mrs. Sherwood scarcely, concealed a smile. She
said her adieux at the same time, and left the room, troubling herself
only to the extent of that ancient platitude about "letters to write."