I
I've thought the thing over and over, and honestly I don't know where it
went wrong. It began so well. I planned it out, and it went exactly as
I'd expected up to a certain point. Then it blew up.
There's no argument about it, a girl has to look out for herself. The
minute the family begin mixing in there's trouble.
The day after I came out mother and I had a real heart-to-heart talk.
I'd been away for years at school, and in the summers we hadn't seen
much of each other. She played golf all day and I had my tennis and my
horse. And in the evenings there were always kid dances. So we really
got acquainted that day.
She rustled into my room and gazed at what was left of my ball gown,
spread out on the bed.
"It really went rather well last night," she said.
"Yes, mother," I replied.
"I've sent the best of the flowers to the hospital."
"Yes, mother."
"You had more flowers than Bessie Willing."
I shrugged my shoulders, and for some reason or other that irritated
her.
"For heaven's sake, Kit," she said sharply, "I wish you'd show a little
appreciation. Your father has spent a fortune on you, one way and
another. The supper alone last night----But that's not what I came to
talk about."
"No, mother?"
"No. Are you going to continue to waste your time on Henry Baring?"
"I rather enjoy playing round with him. That's all it amounts to."
"Not at all," said mother in her best manner. "It keeps the others
away."
"As, for instance?" I asked politely.
She was getting on my nerves. I didn't mean to marry Henry, but I did
mean to carry on my own campaign.
"You know very well that there are only three marriageable men in town.
There are eleven débutantes. And--I don't care to be unkind, but at
least four of them are--are----"
"I know," I said wearily--"better looking than I am. Go ahead."
"You're not at all ugly," mother put in hastily. "A great many people
said nice things about you last night. The only thing I want to impress
on you is that Madge will have to come out next year, and that you've
been reared with expensive tastes."
"I've got brains. Most of the other eleven haven't."
"Brains are a liability, not an asset."
"That's an exploded idea, mother. The only times they are a liability is
when they are ruined by too much family interest."
"That sounds impertinent," she said coldly.
"Not at all; it's good business. If I'm to put over anything worth
while, I shall have to work along my own lines. I can't afford to have
my style cramped."
She raised her eyebrows at that, for she hates slang. But she looked
relieved too. When I think of how sure of myself I was that day I could
rave!
"Then you're not going to waste any more time on Henry?"
"I think," I said reflectively, "that I'm going to use Henry quite a
lot. But I don't intend to marry him."
Yes, that's what I said. I remember it perfectly well. I was putting a
dab of scent behind my ears at the time. I feel that I shall never use
the stuff again.
Well, mother went out quite cheered. It was the first real
mother-and-daughter talk we'd had for a long time. When she had gone I
went into my bathroom and locked the door and opened the windows and
smoked two cigarettes, thinking things out.
The family is opposed to my smoking, and no one knows except mother's
maid, who fixes my hair, and the gardener. When for the third time he
had seen smoke coming out of my bathroom window, and had rushed upstairs
with a fire grenade and all the servants at his heels, I was compelled
to take him into my confidence.
Well, I smoked and thought things out. I am not beautiful, but I'm
extremely _chic_, and at night, with a touch of rouge, I do very well. I
have always worn sophisticated clothes. I thought they suited my style.
But so did all the others. If I was to do anything distinguished it
would have to be on new lines.
"Early Victorian?" I said to myself.
But the idea of me Lydia-languishing, prunes-and-prisming round the
place was too much.
Athletics? Well, they were not bad. There's a lot of chance in golf,
although tennis is blowzy. I look well in sport clothes too. But if a
girl is a dub at a game a man is apt to tell her so, and I know my own
disposition. If he criticised me, before I knew it I'd be swatting my
prey with a mashie or a niblick, and everything over. Three men, mother
had said. I knew who they were. They had all sent me flowers and danced
with me, without saying a word, and then taken me back to mother and
rushed for the particular married woman they were interested in.
Oh, I'm not blind! All the men I knew, old enough to amount to anything,
were interested in some married woman. I drive my own car, and I used to
meet them on lonely back roads, Lillian Marshall and Tom Connor, Toots
Warrington and Russell Hill, and the rest of them.
I ask you, what chance had a débutante among them? There were two things
to decide that afternoon, the man and the method. I was out now. The
family had agreed to let me alone. I had a year before me, until Madge
came out. And I knew I could count on Henry Baring to help me all he
could. He was a sort of family friend. When he couldn't get me he would
take Madge to kid picnics, and mother used to call on him to make a
fourth at bridge or fill in at a dinner. You know the sort.
He worked at something or other, and made enough to keep him and pay his
club bills, and to let him send flowers to débutantes, and to set up an
occasional little supper to pay his way socially. But nobody ever
thought of marrying him. He was tall and red-headed and not very
handsome. Have I said that?
So I counted on Henry. It makes me bitter even to write it. His very
looks were solid and dependable, although I underestimated his hair.
I've said I had brains. Well, I had too many brains. Mother was
right--the world doesn't come to the clever folks, it comes to the
stubborn, obstinate, one-idea-at-a-time people.
I'm going to tell this thing, because a lot of people are saying I threw
away a good thing, and mother----
I have a certain amount of superstition in me. I remember, when I was
about to be confirmed at school, I was told to open the Bible at random
and take the first verse my eyes fell on for a sort of motto through
life. Mine was to the effect that as a partridge sits on eggs and fails
to hatch them, so too the person who gets riches without deserving them.
It rather bothered me at the time. Well, it never will again.
So I took three cigarettes and marked each one with the initials of an
eligible. Then I shook them up in a box and drew Russell Hill. I knew
then that I had my work cut out for me. Even with Henry's help it was
going to be a hard pull. Russell Hill was spoiled. Probably out of the
other eleven at least nine had Russell in the backs of their heads. And
he knew every move of the game. They'd all been tried on him--golf and
moonlight and 1830 methods and pro and anti suffrage and amateur
theatricals and ingénue technique and the come-hither glance. So far
they had all failed.
The girls were coming in for tea and to talk things over, and as I
dressed I was thinking hard. Mother had gone out for a golf lesson, so I
sent the rest of my cigarettes down to the drawing room and picked up a
book. I remember only one line of that book. Believe me, as a
matrimonial text it had the partridge one going. The girl in the story
had been crazy about a man.
"I always had my hand in his coat pocket!" she said.
Don't misunderstand, she was not robbing him. She slipped her hand into
his coat pocket to let him know how fond she was of him. And after a
moment, she said, he always put his hand in, too, over hers. And he
ended her slave. He was a very sophisticated man, up to every move of
the game, and he ended her slave!
But Russell would take tact. A man likes to be adored, but he hates to
look foolish. The first thing was, of course, to get his attention. I
was only one of a dozen. True, he had sent me flowers, but he probably
did what all the others did--had a standing order and a box of his cards
at the florist's. I wasn't fooled for a minute. To him I was a flapper,
nothing else. Whether flapper is a term of reproach or one of tribute
depends on whether the girl is a débutante or in the first line of the
chorus of a musical show. Oh, I wasn't very old, but I knew my way
about.
Margaret North came first and the rest trailed in soon after. Everybody
talked about the ball, and said it had been wonderful, and I sat there
and sized them up. I had a fight on my hands, and I knew it.
There was a picture of Madge sitting round, and Margaret North picked it
up and took it to the light. Margaret is one of the four mother had so
delicately referred to.
"You'll have to hurry, Kit," she said. "Sister's a raving beauty."
"Oh, I don't know," I observed casually. "Beauty's not everything.
The girl in the book had not been a beauty."
"It's all there is," said Margaret. "Figure doesn't count any more.
Anybody can have a figure who has a decent dressmaker."
"How about brains?" I asked.
There was a squeal at that.
"Cut 'em out," said Ellie Clavering. "Hide 'em. Disguise 'em. Brains
are--are clandestine."
"Anyhow," somebody put in, "Kit isn't worrying; she's got Henry."
That's how they'd fixed me. I knew what it meant. It was a cheap game,
but they were playing it. They were going to tie me to Henry. They
would ask us together, and put us together at dinners, and talk about us
together. In the end everybody would think of us together. I'd seen it
done before. It's ruined more débutantes than anything else. They'd put
me out of the running before I'd started.
I sat back with my cup of tea and listened, and it made me positively
ill. It wasn't that they were clever. They were just instinctive. I
could have screamed. And having disposed of me, having handcuffed me to
Henry Baring and lost the key, so to speak, they went on to the real
subject, which was Russell.
Mother had said there were three eligibles. But to those little idiots
round the tea table there was only one. They'd been friendly enough as
long as Henry and I were on the rack. But the moment Russell's name was
mentioned there was a difference. They didn't talk so much and they eyed
each other more. Ella Clavering put both lemon and cream in her tea, and
drank it without noticing. Somebody said very impressively that she
understood the affair with Toots was off, and that Russell had said,
according to report, that he was glad of it. He'd have a little time to
himself now.
"That means, I dare say," I said languidly, "that Russell is ready to
bring his warmed-over affections to some of us!"
There was a sort of electric silence for a minute.
"It will take a very sophisticated person to land Russell after Toots,"
I went on. "He's past the ingénue stage."
"If a girl is pretty she always has a chance with Russell." Margaret, of
course. She was standing in front of a mirror and I had my eyes on her.
Evidently what I had said made an impression, for she cocked her hat
down an inch more over her right eye and watched to see the effect.
"You ought to wear earrings, dear," I said. "You need just that dash of
_chic_."
Just for a moment I could see in every eye a sort of vision of Toots
Warrington, with the large pearls she always wore in her ears--Toots,
who had had Russell tame-catting for her off and on for years!
Oh, they fell for it all right! I poured myself another cup of tea to
hide the triumph in my face. Little idiots! If he was sick of Toots he'd
hate everything that reminded him of her. I could see the crowd of them
swaggering in at the next party, in their best imitation of Toots
Warrington, with eyes slightly narrowed, and earrings. And I could see
Russell's soul turn over in revolt and go out and take a walk. I knew a
lot about men even then, but not enough. I know more now.