Blow Out, as Potter called it, Mohunsleigh happened to stroll over to
The Moorings alone. He came to tell us that he had made up his mind to
stay, and why.
"You see," he exclaimed, "I hadn't an invitation for any special time,
from Harborough. It was a sort of standing thing, given when we met in
Damascus last winter. I was to come when I could, and be always
welcome; that sort of thing, don't you know. I cabled the day I sailed,
and didn't get any answer, but I hadn't been in New York two hours when
I'm blessed if the beggar didn't walk in on me at the Waldorf. Jolly
glad to see me, and all that, but had to hang on in New York for a bit,
on some business or other. Now he thinks he can't get off for a
fortnight or so, and as what he's got on isn't my sort of racket, I
might as well be here as anywhere else, perhaps a little better."
"What Harborough is your friend?" enquired Mrs. Ess Kay, with interest.
"The new San Francisco millionaire?"
"Don't know how new he is," said Mohunsleigh, "or even whether he's a
millionaire, for it's the sort of thing one doesn't ask a chap. But if
he isn't a millionaire he can spend money like one, for I've seen him
do it. A deuce of a good fellow he is; don't know a better anywhere."
"It's Jameson B. Harborough, isn't it?" asked Sally; and I was quite
surprised to hear her ask the question, for she never seems to take any
interest in a man just because he is a millionaire, as so many of the
other people I meet do.
"Yes, those are his initials," said Mohunsleigh, looking bored.
"Then it _is_ the millionaire, Katherine," went on Sally, quite
eagerly. "Don't you think, as he's said to be such an interesting,
original sort of person, and such a friend of Lord Mohunsleigh's,
besides, that it would be nice if you gave Lord Mohunsleigh a card to
send him, for your party on the 22d?"
"Why, yes, that's a very good idea of yours, Sally," exclaimed Mrs. Ess
Kay. "I shall be delighted. I'll give you the card now, Lord
Mohunsleigh, if you don't mind."
Lord Mohunsleigh said that he would be very pleased, but he couldn't
tell at all whether his friend went in for that sort of thing--had an
idea he didn't, and rather fought shy of society shows, though, of
course, Harborough was a gentleman, and all that.
"Anyhow, you send him the card, and write him a line saying we should
like to meet him," persisted Mrs. Ess Kay.
Accordingly, Mohunsleigh slipped the card in its crested envelope into
his pocket, and we heard nothing more of it for a while. Then, when I
at least had forgotten the conversation, in the wild rush for pleasure
in which we lived, he said one day to Mrs. Ess Kay and Sally that his
friend would be so much obliged if the invitation might be kept open.
Harborough couldn't be sure until the last moment whether he could come
or not, but would be delighted to do so, if he might be allowed to
decide at the last moment.
All Newport was soon talking about Mrs. Ess Kay's mysterious fancy
dress party, which wasn't exactly a ball, but was--nobody knew what.
People wondered about the Maze and Aladdin's Cave; and those who were
asked were sure they would be something to be remembered and talked of
through coming seasons; while those who were not, were equally certain
that the great mysteries would turn out to be stupid and childish. The
Pink Ball, which had been the one absorbing topic of conversation till
Mrs. Ess Kay's invitations appeared, became a matter of secondary
interest, and Mrs. Ess Kay and Mrs. Pitchley both began thus early to
be avenged.
Potter surprised me one morning with the design of a fancy dress, which
he announced that he'd been inspired in the night to sketch for my
benefit. According to him, I was to represent the Frost Sprite, in
glittering white garments, with a long veil like a trail of sparkling
mist. I thought it rather suggestive of a diamond-dusted Christmas
card, but Mrs. Ess Kay was so charmed with the idea that she begged me
to have it. "Potter will be broken-hearted if you don't, and besides,
it will cost you next to nothing," she said.
It was the latter consideration rather more than the first which
decided me to give my gracious consent. Mrs. Ess Kay telegraphed to a
_costumier_, who was also an artist. He came, made a few practical
alterations in Potter's design, and arranged costumes for Mrs. Ess Kay
and Sally. Afterwards, when my bill came in, which it didn't do till I
asked for it, it certainly was ridiculously small, a mere nothing even
for me; but I couldn't help having some uncomfortable suspicions, and I
have them still.
XI
ABOUT A GREAT AFFAIR
And now I have come to the Great Affair.
It is the day after, and I have been scribbling down in a hurry all the
things that happened to me in Newport meanwhile, for somehow most
things have seemed to lead up to that.
I knew no more than anybody outside about the mystery of the Maze, and
Aladdin's Cave. The secret was wonderfully kept, although there was a
constant undertone of excitement running through the house for days
beforehand, and an army of workmen were busy in "the grounds"--as
everyone calls them--first putting up a gigantic marquee, and then
working inside it. One man told Mrs. Ess Kay that he had been offered a
hundred dollars by a New York newspaper to tell what was the nature of
his work at The Moorings, but either the bribe wasn't enough, or else
he was impeccable.
All under the house runs a great cellar. I knew this from the first,
because one broiling hot day, soon after I came, Sally took me down to
get cool after I had dressed for somebody's At Home, and looked like a
freshly boiled lobster. It's a series of rooms, perfectly ventilated,
with rough walls, and cemented floors. One of the rooms is of enormous
size, and there are stone pillars dotted about here and there for
supports. There is one other that is rather large, but the rest are
small. One is used as if it were an ice house; there are others for
wine; and there are some storerooms. For a week before the Great Affair
men were working down there all day, and towards the last far into the
night. Big boxes and bales were lugged down stairs, and didn't come up
again. Not a hint went round of what was going on, but I was sure that
Aladdin's Cave was in mysterious process of manufacture.
There seemed quite a pressure on the atmosphere for days at The
Moorings, except in Sally Woodburn's rooms, for I've noticed that she
is never excited by social events. They seem of little real importance
to her, I suppose, compared with the past which she has always in her
thoughts. When I was with her I felt calmer; but with others, or when I
was alone (which seldom happened for more than ten minutes at a
stretch) I was as much excited as anybody. Partly it may have been the
effect of climate, for the air in America certainly does make you feel
always as if something wonderful was going to happen to you round the
next corner; and partly it was the effect of Potter.
Potter was most disturbing--and is still, for that matter. He has the
air of feeling that he and he alone has a right to me, and it's quite a
lesson in tact keeping the peace between him and other men who feel it
their Christian duty to be a little nice to a young foreigner.
But I am thinking now of the time before the Great Affair. It really
was a strain wondering what it would be like, and whether it would be a
grand success, or whether it would fall short of all the brilliant
expectations, when the mystery should be revealed.
At last the night came. The invitations were for ten o'clock, and
people could not resist the temptation to come soon after the hour, and
begin. Mrs. Ess Kay stood in the Early English drawing-room (that's the
style it's furnished in, or she believes it is) receiving without a
mask, and dressed to represent Queen Margaret of Navarre, from whom she
says that she is descended. She had another dress to put on afterwards,
so that none of the guests would recognise her, and she could have fun
with the rest, but no one knew about that except Sally and Potter, and
me.
We others didn't appear at first, because we had no costumes to change
with, but by and by, when a lot of people had arrived, we mingled with
them.
As soon as anyone came in, Mrs. Ess Kay would say, "How do you do, my
Lord of Leicester, or my noble George Washington," or whatever the
person might be trying to be. "So glad to see you. You must go and have
a look at the Maze. Do you know how to find it? Just through that
curtain. You can't miss the way."
Then the gorgeous masker would cross the hall, and disappear behind a
great curtain of tapestry that covered an open doorway leading to the
garden. But he hadn't to go out of doors. A canvas covered, winding
passage took him to the vast marquee, which was, of course, the Maze.
But why it was the Maze, and what happened to you in the Maze after you
had got in, I didn't know any more than the outsiders. That was the fun
of it for me, of course; and it really was fun.
Sally had only taken enough pains about her dress to save annoying Mrs.
Ess Kay. She was a White Carmelite, with a veil over her face instead
of a mask. But Potter had made a tremendous fuss about himself. He was
Flame, which he said was appropriate in the circumstances, as he had
got so used to playing Fire to my Frost, he felt quite at home in the
character. And he was very magnificent. He had designed the costume
himself, for he fancies himself at that sort of thing; and my white
sparkling robes, and his scarlet satin and carbuncle embroidery, and
copper and gold fringes did look rather effective side by side.
He made that an excuse for insisting that I should go with him into the
Maze, although a tall Hamlet and a Henry V. of England both wanted to
take me.
Potter whisked me away from them somehow, and we passed under the
tapestry curtains while one of the two Hungarian bands Mrs. Ess Kay had
hired played a waltz which made me long to dance.
"This way to the Maze; this way to the Maze," a man dressed like a
Beefeater was continually saying. He stood just outside the door, in a
kind of canvas vestibule, lined with greenery, so that it looked like
the entrance to a bower.
The passage to the marquee had been made so beautiful, that I couldn't
help crying out to Potter with admiration. Not an inch of the canvas
showed, for we walked through a sort of tunnel of roses, all lit up
with invisible electric lights. It was like the way to fairyland; and
the floor was covered with a mat of artificial grass, like they have
for stage lawns, Potter said.
I thought, when we came to the end of the rose-tunnel, we should find
ourselves in a big open space in the marquee, but when the tunnel
stopped, we were in a narrow alley between tall green bushes, set so
thickly and so close together that we couldn't see what was on the
other side. Above us, instead of the canvas roof of the marquee (which
must have been over all), a violet mist seemed to float, with a very
faint, soft light filtering through it, like blue moonlight. I suppose
it must have been ever and ever so many thicknesses of blue gauze, with
shaded lights hanging above, but the effect was mysterious and
alluring.
We had only gone on a little way when we arrived at a tiny house built
apparently of red flowers; and there was a red light coming out of the
one little window. "The Witch of the Woods Lives Here," said a card on
the door.
We pushed, and inside was a room, with a young woman in white,
crystal-gazing as hard as she could. She had also a velvet cushion on
which you laid your hand, and she told your character and your fortune.
Some people in historical dress were ready to come out just as we were
going in, and one of them said, "It's Madame Cortelyn. Mrs.
Stuyvesant-Knox must have given her at least five hundred dollars or
she wouldn't have come a step."
We had our hands done, and the Witch of the Woods told me that I had
come from "across the water," but that I would marry a man on this
side; and then she saw some one in the crystal who looked so exactly
like Potter Parker, that I wished I had stopped outside her red house.
After this, we kept losing ourselves in different green-walled paths,
and suddenly coming on booths where variety entertainments were going
on; or funny cardboard pagodas, where celebrated Japanese artists did
your portrait in five minutes on rice paper; or silk tents with
conjuring shows. And there was a place where you fished in a small
round pond with magnets and caught little metal frogs with jewels in
their heads, which you picked out. Farther on was a miniature Eastern
bazaar where girls in gauze danced, while you drank Turkish coffee and
pushed spoonfuls of sherbet under the lace on your mask. And there was
a kinematograph entertainment of a bull fight, which I wouldn't look
at, and some martyrs being reluctantly eaten by lions; and Otero
dancing.
All the masked people we met were enjoying themselves very much, and
saying this was the best thing for years. And it really was fun, but at
last I thought we must have seen it all, and I wanted to go out.
Besides, I was tired of being with Potter, who would be sentimental,
though I begged him not.
"How do you propose to escape?" he asked. "This is a Maze. The proper
dodge in a Maze is to be lost, and I am lost. So are you. We're lost
together."
"But I want to be found now," said I. "We've been lost long enough.
There are lots of other things to do."
"And there's all night to do them in," said Potter. "I daresay we shall
be lost for an hour or so yet. We've been wandering around from one
path to another, and we've never seen the same thing twice, so perhaps
there's a lot more to explore."
"You must know," I said. "It wasn't kept a secret from you, as it was
from me. You must have been through this Maze heaps of times, and of
course you know the way out."
"If I did, I've forgotten it," Potter coolly remarked. Then he changed
his tone. "You make me forget everything, Betty--everything but
yourself."
"You're not to call me Betty!" I said crossly, for I was tired of
having conversations turned like that. And I thought that I would be
having much more fun with someone else; for what is the good of wearing
a mask, if you are only to talk with people you know?
"There's something else I'd a great deal sooner call you," he half
whispered. "Come into this little dell where the fountain is, and the
orange trees, and let me tell you."
"I don't want to know," I said.
"Yes, you do. Come along, anyhow, and I'll pick you an orange. Perhaps
there'll be something nice inside it, like there was in the toad's
head."
I wasn't to be bribed in that way, but he took hold of my hand, and
pulled, so that I had to go with him unless I wished to resist and be
silly. Several people were coming towards us round the twist of the
path, and one tall man ahead of the others, dressed very plainly like a
Puritan, was looking hard at us. Rather than make a scene, I went
quietly with Potter; but as soon as he had whisked me into the little
dell with the orange trees and the fountain, he pushed one of the
trees, and it moved forward in a groove, so as to block up the entrance
and hide the dell from anyone who walked along the path.
"That's not a bad trick, is it?" said he. "I had that arranged on
purpose."
"On purpose for what?" I was silly enough to ask.
"To bring you here, and get you to myself. This is Betty's Bower; but
nobody knows it except you and me."
With that, he pulled off his mask, and made as if he would help me to
do the same with mine, but I stepped back, and almost tumbled over into
the fountain. Perhaps I would, if he hadn't caught me round the waist;
but instead of letting go when he had steadied me on my feet, he drew
me closer to him. I gave a twist and a little angry cry, and just then,
to my joy, someone from outside pushed the orange tree back in its
groove so as to leave an opening again.
I darted out, and caught a glimpse of the tall Puritan man who was
apparently engaged in pulling the tree forward so as to close the gap
and shut Potter in.
It was so quick, that I hardly had time to understand whether it was
being done for my sake or not, but I didn't stop to think; I simply
ran. I met harlequins, and queens, kings and columbines hunting in
couples (the green alleys were only broad enough for two), but I pushed
by them and went flitting down path after path, though voices called
after me, and people pretended to shiver with cold as Frost passed.
Then, suddenly, "I think this is a way out," said a voice I knew,
speaking just behind me. It was the voice of my brown man. I could have
recognised it among thousands. But when I looked, it was the tall
figure of the grey Puritan who had helped me to get away from Potter
Parker.
I didn't answer a word; not even to say "Thank you"; or "Is this really
you, Mr. Brett?" I just went in the direction he said, and in another
minute I was out under the Italian pergola, draped with roses and
wistaria, that runs for a long way overlooking the sea. Then I glanced
over my shoulder, and he was there, but hesitating as if he hadn't
decided whether to come with me, or go back.
When I saw this, I did stop and mumble in a low voice, "It _is_ you,
isn't it, Mr. Brett?"
"Yes," he answered. "I hope you forgive me?"
"Oh, I thank you," said I. "I--wanted to come away. But how did you
know that--and how did you know me?"
"I couldn't help seeing that you were being pretty well forced to do
something you didn't want to do," he replied, coming a few steps
nearer; and there seemed to be nobody under the pergola except just us
two. "I don't suppose I had any right to be angry at seeing that
happen, but I was. So I did what I did on the spur of the moment. As
for recognising you--I--well, you're rather tall, you know, and have a
way of holding your head that--that isn't easily forgotten."
"I'm sorry I'm so badly disguised," I said, laughing. "But I'm glad
_you_ knew me. I'm so glad, too, that I'm out here. I began to
have--quite a stifled feeling. How lovely it is in this pergola, isn't
it? Do you think we might walk for a few minutes--and get cool?"
"_May_ I walk with you?" he asked, in a humble sort of way, that gave
me a funny little pain in my heart.
"Please do," I said quickly, and as cordially as I could--far more
cordially than I would have spoken to any man in Mrs. Ess Kay's set.
"It's nice to see you here to-night."
"You must be very much surprised."
I had said "Yes," before I stopped to think; and then I was sorry,
because it showed that I was thinking he did not belong in such a scene
as this. But it was too late to go back, so I went on, instead. "It's a
good surprise."
"It's more than kind of you not quite to have forgotten a waif like
me," he said.
"I shall never forget you," said I. "Why, of course, I couldn't." And I
noticed that my voice sounded quite earnest, just as I felt; but I
wasn't sure that I ought to let him know--even if he was poor and
unlucky--that I did feel so sincerely about it. "There's Vivace, you
know, for one reason."
"What about Vivace?"
"Oh, you needn't pretend; because I was sure you gave him to me, and I
wanted so much to write to that Club and thank you, only I thought as
you had put no name, perhaps I'd better not. I must tell you now,
though; I can't think how you came to be so kind."
"It was one of the greatest pleasures I have ever had. _You_ were kind
not to be offended with me. I didn't mean to take a liberty. I thought
you would like the little chap."
"I love him dearly. Often I should have been dreadfully homesick if it
hadn't been for him. He always seems to understand if I feel gloomy,
and he does his dear little brindled best to cheer me up."
"Vivace is a lucky and happy dog."
"But don't you miss him?"
"No. For I like to think that you have him. You see, you were very kind
to me, when I was in a hard position, and a good deal down on my luck.
There was nothing I could do to show how I appreciated it--until I
thought of Vivace. It was our little talk on the dock, about 'finding a
lost dog,' that put the idea into my head."
"I guessed as much," said I, laughing. "It was that made me sure at
once who it was I had to thank for Vivace. And--I was glad he had been
yours. After what I'd seen you do on board ship, you know, I--I
honoured you. And I feel proud to think that--we are friends."
"You think of me as your friend?" he asked, in a voice that showed he
was glad, or excited, or something that wasn't quite calm.
"Indeed, I do think of you so," I assured him. "And you've proved your
friendship for me three times. Once on the dock. Once, by giving up
dear Vivace for me. And now again to-night, when you came to my rescue.
I was--really bored in there, you know. And people seem to give
themselves so much liberty in--in their jokes when they're masked."
"I have to thank the masks for being at Mrs. Stuyvesant-Knox's house
to-night," said Jim Brett. "You must be wondering how they let me in,
considering that, on account of the masks, everybody had to show their
invitation cards at the gates. I had mine all right. But--there are
such things as newspaper reporters, as you know to your sorrow. I don't
say I _am_ here in that capacity; but I leave you to draw your own
conclusions."
"What fun!" I exclaimed.
"It is fun now; I had no right to dare, but I did dare to hope that I
might have a glimpse of you. I was sure that I should recognise you."
"If I'd dreamed of your being here, I should have recognised you," I
said. "You're taller than any other man here, I think."
"Men grow tall in the West, where I come from."
"And strong."
"Yes, and strong, too--thank God."
"And brave."
"Men are brave all the world over."
"I should think there are none braver than you, Mr. Brett," I said.
"It's glorious for a man like me to hear such kind words from a girl
like you, though I don't deserve them," he answered. "But I shall try
to deserve them. All my life I shall be better for having heard them
from your lips. You can hardly guess what it is to me. Perhaps the
thing that comes nearest to it, would be if a prisoner for life in some
dark pit heard a voice of sympathy speaking to him--actually to
him--from a high white star."
"Oh, don't speak of yourself as a prisoner in the dark!" I cried.
"What else am I, when I stop to reflect how hopelessly I must be
removed by circumstances from glorious heights--where stars shine."
"But there can be nothing in your circumstances, Mr. Brett," I
insisted, eagerly, "which need remove you from _any_ heights. I wonder
you--so brave and strong, and an American, too--can say that of
yourself. Why, you can reach anything, do anything you really wish, if
you just want it enough."
"Do you, an English girl, a daughter of the aristocracy, tell me that?"
he asked.
"I do. As if that makes any difference--any real, _true_ difference, I
mean, when it comes to the heart of things. Oh, I've been thinking of
such matters a great deal lately. I suppose because I'm among
Americans. It must be that which has put the subject so much in my
head."
"Tell me what you have been thinking."
"Oh, I can hardly tell. But for one thing, I've begun to see that a
man--a man like you, for instance, Mr. Brett--oughtn't to call himself
unlucky because he's poor, and has perhaps not been able to have as
many advantages as richer men. He ought simply to feel that he has it
in him to make himself equal in every way with the highest."
"You mean, he can 'hustle,' as the saying is with us, and get rich, so
as to stand on an equality with millionaires?"
"No, it wasn't money I was thinking about. I've met a good many
millionaires since I've been here, but I've seen none whom you need
look upon as your superior. What I mean is that you've only to be
ambitious enough, and not _feel_ that you're handicapped by your start,
to attain to what you want in life--yes, whatever it may be."
"You mean all this, Lady Betty?" he asked quickly. "You have as much
faith as that in me?"
"Yes," I answered; and the stars and the sea seemed to sing with my
thoughts. I felt uplifted, somehow. It was a wonderful sensation, which
it would be impossible to describe. But I had an exciting impression
that Jim Brett shared it. The music of the Hungarian band flowed out
from the house, and beat in my blood. His voice sounded as if it beat
in his, too.
"You can't dream what my ambitions are, or maybe you wouldn't say
that."
"I'm sure they would only be noble ones."
"It's true; they are noble. Yet you might not approve. But they're part
of my life. I couldn't give them up now, and live."
"I should like to hear about them," I said, almost more to myself than
to him.