THE MYSTIC MOON
Softly the musicians played behind a bank of palms. Softly shone the
mystic moon outside, brighter even than the lights of the ballroom,
for they had been turned low, since it was not yet the hour to trip
the light fantastic. The melody came only in haunting strains, a
ripple from the piano as the player tried the keys in some snatch of
a onestep, the half-sobbing voice of the violin in a haunting, dreamy
waltz, the mellow trill of the flute, and the more military sound of
the French horn. The musicians were making ready.
Now and then, through the corridors of the hotel flitted strange
figures. Figures whose faces were concealed by masks. They glided here
and there, into rooms and out again.
And of mysterious import were many whispered messages that floated up
and down the corridors.
"Have you any more powder?"
Surely a strange "engagement" that needed powder on a night like that.
"I want some pins!"
"I shall have to take a tuck in it."
"My slippers will never stay on when I get to dancing!"
"Use a rubber band around your instep. It won't show much!"
"Do you think he'll know me?"
"Never--not in that!"
"Oh, but he saw me getting it!"
"He thought it was for me. He'll take me for you and----"
"Oh, I don't know that I want that!"
And so on.
It was the night of the masquerade, a night full of promises of
surprise, a night of mystery, of mystic moonlight. The big hotel was
thronged, for invitations had been general, and from many other camps
and places in Raquette Lake had come the merry-makers and dancers.
"Well, are you almost ready?" asked Sylvia, as she slipped into the
room of Alice, not wearing her mask, for the Nowadays Girls and Mrs.
Brownley had a private hall to themselves.
"Almost, yes. How do you like my dress?"
"It's perfect. I never thought you could get such a stunning effect
from that calico and creton."
Alice was a Dresden shepherdess, and a sweet and dainty figure she made.
"Your own costume is a dream, Sylvia!"
"I'm glad it isn't a nightmare," was the laughing retort. Sylvia was
attired as Night in a black dress, spangled with stars, and quarter
moons. It became her wonderfully well. Her black mask dangled from her
hand. Soon it would be time to don it.
Rose was a Columbine, in a voluminous clown suit of white with black
spots, and a peaked hat, while Baby Reed was Little Miss Muffett.
The girls hoped they had kept their secrets well, and that none of
the hotel guests had discovered the designs of their costumes. Mrs.
Brownley was to go just as herself, in common with some of the other
matrons of the hotel, who would act as chaperons and patronesses of the
dance, which was for a local charity.
Louder sounded the entrancing music. The strains of it penetrated
to the room of our friends, and set their feet to tapping the floor
impatiently.
"Aren't you ready yet, Rose?" asked Sylvia; for they were waiting for
some last touches to be put to her dress by one of the chambermaids.
"Yes--coming!"
They went out, masked, to the main hall, to find themselves in a gay
throng of other maskers, who were attired with more or less historic
semblance to represent characters, past, present and future. This was
the ladies' dressing floor. The gentlemen were on the one below.
There were murmurs of "Ohs!" and "Ahs!" as Sylvia and her chums came
from their rooms.
"Those are the four girls!" came in whispers from various corners, with
the accent on "the."
"Where's Natalie?" asked Hazel, in a low voice, of Sylvia. "She wanted
to go down with us."
"She and her husband are going as Jack and Jill," explained Sylvia.
"But don't mention it. She doesn't want it known that she is married."
"Has she taken off her wedding ring?" Alice asked.
"Indeed not! Brides don't do that. But she is going to wear gloves.
There she is now."
A charming "Jill" came out of a room and joined the four girls.
There sounded a crash of music from the ballroom floor.
"Oh, come on!" begged Hazel. "We're missing it."
As they passed the floor where the gentlemen were costuming, a group
passed down the broad staircase. There were clowns, tramps, gallants
of the thirteenth century, courtiers, Puritans, aviators, sailors,
soldiers and what-not.
Down the stairs hustled and bustled the masqueraders, eager to throng
into the place whence the music came. It was a hesitation waltz, and
Sylvia presently found herself whirling through it with a Spaniard who
danced wonderfully well.
[Illustration: SYLVIA PRESENTLY FOUND HERSELF WHIRLING THROUGH IT WITH
A SPANIARD WHO DANCED WONDERFULLY WELL.]
"Do you do the Marcel?" he asked, looking intently at her as if to
pierce her identity through her mask.
"Yes," she said, trying to speak unnaturally, for she suspected her
partner was a certain young man staying at the Antlers.
He whirled her about in the pivot, glided first on her right side,
and then, after a hesitation, to the left, again whirling into the
waltz. She knew this dance perhaps better than any of the newest new
ones, and she was not a little gratified when her partner remarked:
"That was beautifully done. Don't you like it?"
"Indeed, yes. It is such a change from the plain hesitation."
They found themselves in a crush, and had to "lame duck" it for a few
steps until they found themselves free again.
"Do you know what that reminds me of?" he asked, as they passed the
palm-screened corner where the musicians were playing.
"What?" she asked.
"The hesitation. It reminds me of a canoe gracefully overturning in the
rapids----"
"What! You?" she cried, astonished.
"Even so, O Night!" He spoke dramatically. "I thought I should find you
again, but I looked for a Niobe."
"Why, because I was all water?"
"Somewhat, yes. May I have the next dance?"
"I--I am not so sure----"
"You had better be. Come out on the veranda. The moon is glorious."
The music had stopped, and as there had already been two encores there
would be no more.
Sylvia, her heart beating rather fast, stepped out of the low windows
to the porch whereon were many strolling couples. Sylvia was on her
guard. After all it might be one of the hotel guests who had heard the
story of the upset.
A figure that Sylvia recognised as that of Alice came up to her, but
stopped on seeing her with the Spaniard.
"Oh!" she exclaimed.
"Yes?" asked Sylvia.
"Nothing now, I'll speak to you later."
"Oh, I'll leave you," said the Spaniard, quickly. "Remember, I have the
new dance, O Night," he said, and with a bow he was gone.
"Who is it?" asked Alice, in a whisper.
"The young man who saved our canoe."
"Really?"
"So he says."
"You can't believe a word they say. Did you have a nice dance?"
"Lovely! And you?"
"Perfect. I'm engaged for the next one. Are you?"
"Well, if he insists on claiming it I can hardly say no. And he really
_does_ dance beautifully. Have you seen Rose or Hazel?"
"Yes, they were enjoying themselves, evidently. I want some pins. Have
you any?"
Alice was supplied, and went to the dressing-room. Sylvia was looking
for Hazel or Rose, when the music started up again. She saw a
grotesquely attired Dutchman approaching, and wondered if he would ask
her to dance.
He did.
"This is ours, I believe, O Night," he murmured.
"Yours? I--er--I----"
"I am the knight of the overturned canoe, who wore no hat," he said, in
a low voice.