The time for the annual Firemen's Ball was now at hand. At this period
the Firemen's Ball was an institution of the first social importance.
As has been shown, the various organizations were voluntary
associations, and in their ranks birds of a feather flocked together.
On the common meeting ground of the big annual function all elements
met, even--if they did not mingle as freely as they might.
In any case, the affair was very elaborate and very gorgeous.
Preparations were in the hands of special committees months in advance.
One company had charge of the refreshments, another of the music, a
third of the floor arrangements, and so on. There was much jealous
anxiety that each should do its part thoroughly and lavishly, for the
honour of its organization. The members of each committee were
distinguished by coloured ribbons, which they wore importantly
everywhere. An air of preoccupied business was the proper thing for
days before the event.
It was held this year in one of the armouries. The decoration committee
had done its most desperate. Flags of all nations and strips of
coloured bunting draped the rafters; greens from the Sausalito Hills
framed the windows and doors; huge oiled Chinese lanterns swayed from
the roofs. The floor shone like glass. At either end bowers of green
half concealed the orchestras--two of them, that the music might never
cease. The side rooms were set for refreshments. Many chairs lined the
walls. Hundreds of lamps and reflectors had been nailed up in every
conceivable place. It took a negro over an hour to light them all. Near
the door stood a wide, flat table piled high with programs for the
dancers. These were elaborate affairs, and had cost a mint of
money--vellum folders, emblazoned in colour outside, with a sort of
fireman heraldry and the motto: "We strive to save." Gilded pencils on
short silken tasselled cords dangled from their corners.
At eight o'clock the lights were all blazing, the orchestras were
tuning, and the floor fluttered with anxious labelled committeemen
dashing to and fro. There was nothing for them to do, but they were
nervous. By half-past eight the first arrivals could be seen hesitating
at the outer door, as though reluctant to make a plunge; herded finally
to the right and left of men's and women's dressing-rooms. After a
long, chattering interval, encouraged by the slow accumulation of
numbers, a little group debouched on the main, floor. Its members all
talked and laughed feverishly, and tried with varying success to assume
an accustomed ease they did not feel. Most of the women, somehow,
seemed all white gloves and dancing slippers, and bore themselves
rather like affable, slightly scared rabbits. The men suddenly became
very facetious, swapping jokes in loud tones.
The orchestra at the far end immediately struck up, but nobody ventured
on the huge and empty floor. Masters of ceremonies, much bebadged,
rather conscious of white gloves, strove earnestly with hurried,
ingratiating smiles to induce the younger members to break the ice. Ben
Sansome, remarkable among them for his social ease and the unobtrusive
correctness of his appointments, responsible head of the reception
committee, masterfully seized a blushing, protesting damsel and whirled
her away. This, however, was merely an informal sort of opening. The
real bail could start only with the grand march; and the grand march
was a pompous and intricate affair, possible only after the arrival of
the city's elite. Partners for the grand march had been bespoken months
before.
The Keiths arrived about half-past nine. Nan was looking particularly
well in her girlish fashion. Her usual delicate colour was heightened
by anticipation, for she intended ardently to "have a good time." For
this occasion, too, she had put on the best of her new Eastern clothes,
and was confident of the sensation they would create in the feminine
breast. The gown was of silk the colour of pomegranate blossoms, light
and filmy, with the wide skirts of the day, the short sleeves, the low
neck. Over bodice and skirt had been gracefully trailed long sprays of
blossoms. Similar flowers wreathed her head, on which the hair was done
low and smooth, with a golden arrow securing it. A fine golden chain
spanned her waist. From it dangled smaller chains at the ends of which
depended little golden hands. These held up the front of the skirt
artistically, at just the right height for dancing and to show flounces
and ravishing petticoats beneath. It was an innovation of the sort the
feminine heart delights in, a brand-new thing straight from Paris.
Nan's gloves were of half length, the backs of the hands embroidered
and displaying each several small sparkling jewels. The broad golden
bracelets had been clasped outside the gloves. Around her little finger
was a ring from which depended, on the end of a chain, a larger ring,
and through this larger ring hung her dainty lace handkerchief. This
was innovation number two. The men all stared at her proud, delicate,
flowerlike effect of fresh beauty; but every woman present, and Nan
knew it, noted first, the cut of her gown, second, the dangling little
golden hands, and third, the handkerchief ring. She knew that not later
than to-morrow at least a half-dozen urgent orders would be booked at
Palmerston's; but she knew, also, that at least six months must elapse
before those orders could be filled. As for the rest, her stockings
were white, her slippers ribboned with cross-ties up the ankles, she
carried a stiff and formal bouquet, as big around as a plate, composed
of wired flowers ornamented with a "cape" of lace paper; but those
things were common.
Altogether, Nan looked extraordinarily well, made a sensation. Keith
was pleased and proud of her. He picked one of the blazoned vellum
cards from the table and scrawled his initials opposite half a dozen
dances.
"I'm going to hold you to those, you know," he said.
They proceeded, leisurely across the floor, and Keith established her
in one of the chairs.
"I'll go get some of the men I want you to meet," said he. When he
returned with Bernard Black he found Nan already surrounded, Ben
Sansome was there, and Calhoun Bennett, and a half-dozen others, either
acquaintances made on some of the Sundays, or young men brought up by
Sansome in his capacity of Master of Ceremonies. She was having a good
time laughing, her colour high, Keith looked about him with the
intention of filling his own card.
Mrs. Morrell, surrounded by a hilarious group of the younger fry, was
just entering the room. She was dressed in flame colour, and her gown
was cut very low, plainly to reveal the swell of her ample bosom. Her
evening gloves and slippers were golden, as was a broad metallic woven
band around her waist. Altogether, striking, rather a conspicuous
effort than an artistic success, any woman would have said; but there
could be no doubt that she had provided a glittering bait for the
attentions of the men.
Keith immediately made his way across to her.
"You are ravishing this evening," he said, reaching for her card. It
was full. Keith was chopfallen.
"Take me to Mrs. Keith," asked Mrs. Morrell, taking the card again,
"She looks charming to-night; that simple style just suits her
wide-eyed innocence."
She placed her fingers lightly on Keith's arm and moved away, nodding
over her shoulder at the rather nonplussed young men who had come in
with her. Thus rid of them, she turned again to Keith.
"You didn't think I'd forget you!" she said, as though, reproachfully.
"See, I kept you four dances. I put down those initials myself. Now
don't you think I'm a pretty good sort?"
"Indeed I do! Which ones are they?" asked Keith, opening his own card.
"The third, seventh, ninth, and eleventh."
Keith hesitated for an appreciable instant. The seventh and eleventh he
had put down for Nan. But somehow in the face of this smiling,
cynical-looking, vivid creature, he rather shrank from saying that he
had them with his wife. He swiftly reflected that, after all, he had
four others with Nan, that she was so surrounded with admirers that she
could not go partnerless, and that he would explain.
"Delightful!" he cried, pencilling his program.
Mrs. Morrell fluttered down alongside Mrs. Keith with much small talk.
After a moment the music started for the grand march. Everybody took
the floor.
"Where can Charley be!" cried Mrs. Morrell in apparent distress. "Don't
wait here with me. I assure you I do not in the least mind sitting
alone."
But she said it in a fashion that made it impossible, and in this
manner Nan lost her first engagement with her husband. Not that it
mattered particularly, she told herself, grand marches were rather
silly things, and yet she could not avoid a feeling of thwarted pique
at being so tied to the wall.
At the close of the march, and after the couples had pretty well
resumed their seats, Mrs. Sherwood entered, unattended and very
leisurely. She made, in her quieter manner, a greater sensation than
had Mrs. Morrell. Quite self-possessed, carrying herself with her
customary poise, dressed unobtrusively in black and gold, but with the
distinction of an indubitable Parisian model, moving without
self-consciousness in contrast to many of the other women, her small
head high, her direct gaze a-smoulder with lazy amusement, she glided
across the middle of the floor. The eyes of every woman in the ballroom
were upon her. The "respectable" element stared shamelessly, making
comments aside. Those a little _déclassé_, on the fringe of society, or
the "faster" women like Mrs. Morrell--who might in a way be considered
her rivals--were apparently quite unaware of her. She made her
unhasting way to a vacant chair, sat down, and looked calmly about her.
Immediately she was surrounded by a swarm of the unattached men. The
attached men became very attentive to their partners.
"Hullo," remarked Keith cheerfully. "There's Mrs. Sherwood. I must go
over and say good-evening to her."
On sudden impulse Nan rose with him. She instinctively disliked her
present company and the situation; and a sudden pang of conscience had
told her that not once since she had left the Bella Union had she laid
eyes on the woman who had received her with so much kindness.
"Take me with you," she said to Keith.
"My dear!" cried Mrs. Morrell. "You wouldn't! Take my advice--you're
young and innocent!"
She sought one of those exclusive, private-joke glances at Keith, but
failed to catch his eye.
"She was very kind to me when I arrived," said Nan serenely. Keith,
hesitated; then his impulsive, warm-hearted loyalty spoke.
"Good for you, Nan!" he cried.
They moved away, leaving Mrs. Morrell alone, biting her lip and
planning revenges.
The group around Mrs. Sherwood fell away at their approach. Nan sat
down next her, leaning forward with a pretty and girlish, impulsiveness.
"It's ages since I have seen you, and I have no excuse to offer," she
said. "The days slip by."
"I know," said Mrs. Sherwood. "New house, new Chinaman, even new
dog--enough to drive the most important thoughts out of one's head. But
you've come out to-night like a flower, my dear. Your gown is charming,
and it suits you so well!"
She chatted on, speaking of the floor, the music, the decorations, the
crowd.
"I love this sort of thing," she remarked. "People in the mass amuse
me. Jack couldn't get away until midnight, but I wouldn't wait for him.
I told him it didn't worry me a bit to come without an escort,"
smoothing away what little embarrassment might linger. The music
started up again. The Keiths arose and made their adieux. Mrs. Sherwood
looked after them, her bright eyes tender. Mrs. Keith was the only
woman who had yet spoken to her.
"Isn't she simply stunning?" cried Keith. "She has something about her
that makes most of these others look cheap."
"She's really wonderfully attractive and distinguished looking," agreed
Nan.
"If she were only a little less practical--a little softer; more
feminine--she'd be a sure-enough man killer. As it is, she needs a
little more--you know what I mean--"
"More after Mrs. Morrell's fashion," suggested Nan a trifle wickedly.
It popped out on the impulse, and the next instant Nan would have given
anything if the words had not been said. Keith was arrested in
mid-enthusiasm as though by cold water. He checked himself, looked at
her sharply, then accepted the pseudo-challenge.
"Well, Mrs. Morrell, for all her little vulgarities, impresses you as
being a very human sort of person."
He felt a sudden and unreasoning anger, possibly because the shot had
hit a tender place.
"Shall we dance?" he suggested formally.
"I'm sorry," replied Nan, "I have this with Mr. Sansome; there he
comes."
For the first time Keith felt a little irritated at the ubiquitous
Sansome; but his sense of justice, while it could not smooth his
ruffled feelings, nevertheless made itself heard.
"What I need is a drink," he told himself.
At the buffet he found a crowd of the non-dancing men, or those who had
failed to get the early numbers. Here were many of his acquaintances;
among them, to his surprise, he recognized the grim features of Malcolm
Neil. All were drinking champagne. Keith joined them. They chaffed him
unmercifully about his purchases of clouded titles in water lots, and
he answered them in kind, aware of Neil's sardonically humorous eye
fixed on him. But at the first bars of the next dance he bolted in
search of Mrs. Morrell, with whom, he remembered, he had this number.
Mrs. Morrell danced smoothly and lightly for a woman of her size, but
was inclined to snuggle up too close, to permit undistracted guidance
to her partner. It was almost impossible to avoid collisions with other
couples, unless one possessed a Spartan mind and an iron will. In spite
of himself, Keith became increasingly aware of her breast pressing
against his chest; her smooth arm against his shoulder; the occasional
passing contact of her, scarcely veiled from the sense of touch by the
thin flame-coloured silk; the perfume she affected; the faint odour of
her bright blond hair. In an attempt to break the spell he made some
banal remark, but she shook her head impatiently. She danced with her
eyes half closed. When the music stopped she drew a deep sighing breath.
"You dance--oh, divinely!" she cried. "I might have known it."
She moved away, and Keith followed her, a trifle intoxicated.
"Let me see your card," she demanded abruptly. "Why, you haven't done
your duty; this is hardly a third filled!"
"I hadn't started to fill it--and then you came in," breathed Keith.
They were opposite the door leading into one of the numerous small
rooms off the main floor of the armoury.
"Let's sit here--and you can get me a punch," she suggested.
He brought the punch, and she drank it slowly, leaning back in an easy
chair. The place was dimly lighted, and her blond, full beauty was more
effective than in the more brilliantly lighted ballroom. Mrs. Morrell
exerted all her fascination. The next dance was half over before either
Keith or--apparently--Mrs. Morrell became aware of the fact.
"Oh, you must run!" she cried, apparently greatly exercised. "Don't
mind me; go and find your partner."
Keith replied, that he had this dance free, a fact of which her
inspection of his card had perfectly informed her. In answer to his
return solicitation as to her own partner, she shrugged her shoulders.
"Oh, he'll find me," she said indifferently. "This is very cozy here."
They resumed what had become an ardent flirtation. Toward the end of
the dance Mrs. Morrell's partner came in, looking very flurried. Before
he could say a word, Mrs. Morrell began reproachfully to chide him with
lack of diligence.
"I've been waiting just _rooted_ to this spot!" she said truthfully.
"Shall we dance?" suggested the unfortunate young man.
"It's nearly over," replied Mrs. Morrell carelessly. "Do sit down with
us. Get yourself something to drink. _Don't go!_" she commanded Keith
fiercely under her breath.
At the beginning of the fourth dance, however, her next partner found
her and led her away. She "made a face" over her shoulder at Keith.
When a woman makes up her mind to monopolize a man who has not acquired
the fine arts of rudeness and escape she generally succeeds. Keith's
cordial nature was incapable of rudeness. Besides, being a perfectly
normal man, and Mrs. Morrell experienced and attractive, he liked being
monopolized. It crossed his mind once or twice that he might be in for
a scolding when he got home. Nan might be absurd. But he was so secure
in his essential loyalty to Nan that his present conduct was more in
the nature of a delightfully naughty escapade than anything else. He
stole the apples now, and later would go dutifully for his licking. Men
of Keith's nature are easily held and managed by a wise woman, but the
woman must be very wise. Keith loved celebrations. On the wings of an
occasion he rose joyfully and readily to incredible altitudes of
high-spirited but harmless recklessness. Birthdays, anniversaries, New
Years, Christmas, arrivals, departures, he seized upon with rapture.
Each had its appropriate ceremonial, its traditional drink, the
painstaking brewing of which was a sacred rite. On such occasions he
tossed aside the cloak of the everyday. A "celebration" meant that you
were different. Humdrum life and habits must be relegated to the
background. It was permitted that, unabashed, you be as silly, as
frivolous, as inconsequential, as boisterous, as lighthearted, as
delightfully irresponsible as your ordinary concealed boyishness
pleased. Customary repressions had nothing to do here. This was a
celebration! And in the aforementioned our very wise woman would have
seen--a safety valve.
Keith was off on a celebration to-night: an unpremeditated, freakish,
impish, essentially harmless celebration, with a faint flavour of
mischief in it because he had Nan in the back of his head all the time.
He played up to Mrs. Morrell with exuberance, with honestly no thought
except that he was having a whacking good time, and that old Nan was
being teased. It was characteristic that for the time being he fell
completely under Mrs. Morrell's fascination. They were together fully
half the time, appearing on the floor only occasionally, then
disappearing in one or the other of the many nooks. Mrs. Morrell
"bolted" her dances shamelessly. Keith thought her awfully amusing and
ingenious in the way she managed this. Sometimes they hid in
out-of-the-way places. Sometimes she pretended to have mistaken the
dance. "The sixth, are you very _sure_? I'm convinced it is only the
fifth." Keith's conscience troubled him a little concerning the few
names on his own card.
"I have this with Mrs. Wilkins," said he. "I really ought to go and
look her up."
She took his card from him and deliberately tore it to small bits which
she blew from the palm of her gloved hand. He protested in real dismay,
but she looked him challengingly, recklessly, in the eye, until he
laughed, too.
All this was, of course, well noticed. Keith, again characteristically,
had not taken into consideration the great public. Nan might have
remained comparatively indifferent to Keith's philandering about for an
evening with the Morrell creature--she had by now a dim but growing
understanding of "celebrations"--but that he should deliberately
neglect and insult her in the face of all San Francisco was too much.
Her high, young enjoyment of the evening fell to ashes. She was
furiously angry, but she was a thoroughbred. Only a heightened colour
and a sparkling eye might have betrayed her to an astute woman.
Observing her, Ben Sansome took heart. It was evident to him that the
Keiths had long since reached an absolute indifference in their
relations, that they lived the conventional, tolerant, separate lives
of the majority of married couples in Ben Sansome's smart acquaintance.
He ventured to apply himself more assiduously, and was by no means
badly received.
Keith remembered the next dance with his wife. He could not find her,
although, a trifle conscience stricken, he searched everywhere. After
the music had finished, she emerged from the dressing-room; the next
time she could not be found at all. Evidently she was avoiding him with
intention.
Mrs. Sherwood, after each dance, returned invariably to the same chair
near the middle of one wall. There, owing to the fact that the
"respectables" withdrew from the chairs on either side, withdrew
gradually and without open rudeness, she held centre of a little court
of her own. This made of it a sort of post of observation from which
she could review all that was going on. She had no lack of partners,
for she danced wonderfully, and in looks was quite the most
distinguished woman there. Keith's dance with her came and went, but no
Keith appeared to claim it. Mrs. Sherwood smiled a little grimly, and
her glance strayed down the wall opposite until it rested on Nan. She
examined the girl speculatively. Nan was apparently completely absorbed
in Ben Sansome; but there was in her manner something feverish, hectic,
a mere nothing, which did not escape Mrs. Sherwood's keen eye.
About midnight Sherwood appeared, and at once made his way to his
wife's side. He was punctiliously dressed in the mode: a "swallowtail,"
bright, soft silk tie of ample proportions, frilled linen, and
sparkling studs. He bent with an old-world formality over his wife's
hand. She swept away her skirts from the chair at her side, her eyes
sparkling softly with pleasure.
"You won't mind," she said carelessly to the young men surrounding her,
"I want to talk to Jack for a minute."
They arose, laughing a little.
"That is your one fault, Mrs. Sherwood," said one, "you are altogether
too fond of your husband."
"Well, how are things going?" asked Sherwood, as they moved away.
"I'm having a good time. But you're very late, Jack,"
"I know--I wanted to come earlier. Everything all right?"
At the question a little frown sketched itself on her clear brow.
"In general, yes," she said. "But they've got that Lewis boy out in the
bar filling him up on champagne."
"That's a pity."
"It's a burning shame!" said she, "And I'd like to shake young Keith.
He's dangled after the Morrell woman from start to finish in a manner
scandalous to behold."
Sherwood laughed.
"The 'Morrell woman' will do his education good," he remarked.
"Well, she isn't doing that poor little Mrs. Keith's education any
good," returned Mrs. Sherwood rather tartly.
Sherwood surveyed Nan and Ben Sansome leisurely.
"I must say she doesn't look crushed," he said, after a moment.
"Do you expect her to weep violently?" asked Mrs. Sherwood.
He accepted good naturedly the customary feminine scorn for the
customary masculine obtuseness.
"Well, I don't know that we can help it," said he, philosophically.
Mrs. Sherwood appeared to come to a sudden resolution. She arose.
"You go get that Lewis boy away from the bar," she commanded.
Deliberately she shook and arranged her full skirts. The man with whom
she had this dance, and who had been waiting dutifully for the
conference to close, darted forward. She shook her head at him
smilingly.
"I'm going to let you off," she told him. "You won't mind. I have
something extra special to do."
She swept quite alone across the middle of the ballroom, serene,
self-possessed; and walked directly toward Keith and Mrs.
Morrell, who were seated together at the other end. A perceptible pause
seemed to descend. The music kept on playing, couples kept on dancing,
but, nevertheless, suddenly the air was charged with attention.
Sherwood looked after her with mingled astonishment and fond pride.
"A frontal attack, egad!" said he to himself.
Keith and Mrs. Morrell pretended, as long as they decently could, not
to see her. She swam leisurely toward them. Finally Keith arose
hastily; Mrs. Morrell stared straight ahead.
"Young man," accused Mrs. Sherwood, with a faint amusement in her rich,
low voice, "do you know that this is our dance?"
Keith excused his apparent lapse volubly, telling several times over
that his program had been destroyed, that he was abject when he thought
of the light this put him in.
"It is only when angels like yourself condescend to reach me a helping
hand that I have even a chance to right myself," he added. He thought
this rather a good touch.
Mrs. Sherwood stood before him easily, in perfect repose of manner, the
half smile still sketching her lips. She said just nothing at all in
response to his glib excuses; but when he had quite finished she laid
her hand in his arm. Mrs. Morrell, her colour high, continued to stare
straight ahead, immobile except for the tapping of one foot. To Keith's
request to be excused she vouchsafed a stiff half nod, partly in his
direction.
They danced. Mrs. Sherwood, like most people who have command enough of
their muscles to be able to keep them in graceful repose, danced
marvellously well. When she stopped after a single turn of the room,
Keith expostulated vigorously.
"You are a perfect partner," he told her.
"Take me in here and get me a sherbet," she commanded, without replying
to his protests. "That's good," she said, when she had tasted it. "Now
sit down and listen to me. You are making a perfect spectacle of
yourself. Don't you know it?"
Keith stiffened to an extreme formality.
"I beg your pardon!" said he freezingly.
"That may be your personal individual right"--went on Mrs. Sherwood's
low, rich voice evenly. She was not even looking at him, but rather
idly toward the open door into the ballroom. Her fan swung from one
finger; every line of her body was relaxed. She might have been tossing
him ordinary commonplaces from the surface of a detached mind--"making
a spectacle of yourself," she explained; "but you're making a perfect
spectacle of your wife as well--and in public. That is not your right
at all."
Keith sprang to his feet, furious.
"You are meddling with what is really my own business, madam," said he.
For the first time she looked up at him, dearly and steadily. In the
eyes.
"Very well. That is true. Stop a moment and think. Are you attending to
your business yourself, even decently? Yes, I understand; you are angry
with me. If I were a man, you would challenge me to a duel and all that
sort of thing." She smiled indifferently. "Let's take that for granted
and get on. Sweep it aside. You are man enough to do it, or I mistake
you greatly. Look down into yourself for even one second. Are you
playing fair all around? _Aren't you a little ashamed?_"
She held him with, her clear, level gaze. His own did not fall before
it, and his head went back, but slowly his face and neck turned red.
Thus they stared at each other for a full half minute, she smiling
slightly, perfectly cool; he seething with a suppressed emotion of some
sort. Then she turned indolently away.
"You're too fine to do things like that," she said, with a new softness
in her voice; "we all have too much faith in you. The common tricks
would not appeal to you, except in idleness; is it not so?"
She smiled up at him, a little sidewise. Keith caught his breath. For a
fleeting instant this extraordinary woman deigned to exert her feminine
charms for the first time the coquette looked from her eyes; for the
first time he saw mysteriously deep in her veiled nature a depth of
possibility, of rich possibility--he could not grasp it--it was gone.
But in spite of himself his pulses leaped like a flame. But now she was
gazing again at the ballroom door, cool, indolent, aloof,
unapproachable. Yet just at that instant, somehow, the other woman
looked shallow, superficial, cold. His glance fell on Mrs. Morrell
still sitting where he had left her. Something was wrong with her
effect----
Analysis was submerged in a blaze of anger. This anger was not now
against the woman before him; his instinct prevented that. Nor against
Mrs. Morrell nor his wife; reluctant justice prevented that. Nor
against himself--where it really belonged. Things were out of joint; he
felt cross-grained and ugly. Mrs. Sherwood rose.
"You may take me back now," said she.
As they glided across the floor together, her small sleek head came
just above his shoulder. No embarrassment disturbed her manner. Keith
could not find in him a spark of resentment against her. She moved by
his side with an air of poise and detachment as a woman whose mind had
long since weighed and settled the affairs of her own cosmos so that
trifles could not disturb her.
Leaving her in her accustomed chair, where Sherwood waited, Keith
loyally returned to Mrs. Morrell, who still sat alone. Subconsciously
he noticed something wrong with Mrs. Morrell. Her gowning was indeed
rather a conspicuous effort than an artistic success. She had badly
torn her dress--perhaps that was it.
Mrs. Morrell received him with every appearance of sympathy.
"You poor thing!" she cried. "What a fearful situation! Of course I
know you couldn't help it."
But Keith was grumpy and monosyllabic. He refused to discuss the
situation or Mrs. Sherwood, returning with an obvious effort to
commonplaces. Mrs. Morrell exerted all her fascination to get him back
to the former level. A little cold imp sat in the back of Keith's brain
and criticised sardonically; Why will big women persist in being
kittenish? Why doesn't she mend that awful rent, it's fairly sloppy!
Suppose she thinks that kind of talk is funny! I _do_ wish she wouldn't
laugh in that shrill, cackling fashion! In short, the very tricks that
an hour ago were jolly and amusing were now tiresome. Having been
distrait, ungallant, masculinely put out for another fifteen minutes,
he abruptly excused himself, sought out Nan, and went home.
From her point of observation, Mrs. Sherwood watched them go. Nan
looked very tired, and every line of Keith's figure expressed a grumpy
moroseness.
"Congratulations," said Sherwood.
"He certainly is a child of nature," returned his wife. "Look at him!
He is cross, so he _looks_ cross. That this is a ballroom and that all
San Francisco is present is a mere detail."
"How did you break it up?" asked Sherwood curiously.
"Men are so utterly ridiculous! He had built up a lot of illusions for
himself, but his instincts are true and good. It needed only a touch.
It was absurdly simple."
"He'll go back to the Morrell to-morrow," asserted Sherwood confidently.
She shook her head.
"Not to her. He _sees_ her now. And not to-morrow. But eventually to
somebody, perhaps. He has curly hair."
Sherwood laughed.
"Shear him, like Sampson," he suggested. "But it strikes me he has
about the most attractive woman--bar one--in town right at home."
"She'd have no trouble in holding him if she were only _awake_. But
she's only a dear little child--and about as helpless. She has very
little subtlety. I'm afraid she'll follow the instincts of her
training. She'll be too proud to do anything herself to attract her
husband, once his attentions to her seem to drop off. She'll just
become cold and proud--and perhaps eventually turn elsewhere."
"I don't believe she's a bit that kind," asserted Sherwood positively.
"Nor do I. But, Jack, a woman lonely enough has fancies, that in the
long run may become convictions."