me friend--perhaps you will let me tell you about them. I shall ask you
to listen. But not now. I daren't now. The time hasn't come. Only
promise me this, Lady Betty; that you won't forget me; that you'll
think of me kindly, sometimes."
"I do think of you very often," I said, "and talk about you to Vivace.
Poor little Vivace. _He_ doesn't forget. How he did whimper when I had
to drag him away from you that day in the wistaria arbour at Central
Park. _This_ isn't unlike that arbour, is it? There's wistaria here
too. I believe I shall always think of that day when I see wistaria. It
is odd we should meet again next time in a place so much the same--and
just as unexpectedly."
"Just as unexpectedly," echoed Mr. Brett, in an odd, thoughtful tone.
"It's wonderful that we should meet at all--considering everything."
Then he laughed, rather bitterly, I thought. "Aren't you afraid of me,
Lady Betty, after your experience of journalists--since I've half
hinted to you I may be acting in that capacity to-night?"
"Afraid of you?" I repeated, laughing. "As if I could be. I would trust
you in everything."
As I said that, a lot of people came out of the Maze in the marquee, by
the exit Mr. Brett had found for me. They streamed into the dimly
lighted pergola, in their fantastic costumes, laughing and talking, and
the beautiful peace of the blue night--broken only by the throb of
distant music--was gone completely.
I had thought of taking off my mask, but I was glad now that I'd kept
it on.
They came towards us, all in great spirits, having a game of "Follow my
Leader," and their leader, a Chinese Mandarin, was offering to guide
them to the Cave of Aladdin. I was glad that the Flame Spirit wasn't in
the gay procession. Evidently he had missed me, and gone some other
way; or else he was too angry to wish to find me again.
The crowd stopped to speak to us, making jokes in disguised voices.
Some of the things they said made me feel that it would be
uncomfortable to linger behind with the Puritan, when they had passed
on.
"Let's join them, shall we?" I asked. "They're going to Aladdin's Cave.
Wouldn't you like to see it?"
"Yes," he said. And we followed the wild party, at a discreet distance.
We went into the house again, by a roundabout way, and it wasn't until
we were in the big hall that we learned just how Aladdin's Cave was to
be found. On a background of dark red flowers, made into a great shield
and hung over a door, glittered and scintillated three words, in
electric light, "To Aladdin's Cave." The letters had been lighted up
only since I had been gone, for I suppose the idea was to make everyone
go into the Maze first.
We had to pass through several rooms and corridors, all of which had
been emptied of furniture and lined with canvas scenery cleverly
painted to illustrate events in the story of Aladdin. Everything was
shown up to the time that Aladdin went down into the Cave at the
bidding of the magician disguised as his "uncle"; and then came the
entrance of the cave itself, which was done in imitation rockwork. But
I knew that it was the way down to the cellar. Either the stairs had
been removed, or else covered up with a theatrical kind of embankment,
that made a winding path, twisting back and forth under a roof of the
imitation rock, and sloping always downward. At the bottom was a screen
of spun glass, made to look like a falling cataract of bright water,
and until you had passed out from behind it you saw nothing except a
glow of rosy light filtering through the transparent glass. But when
you did come out, unless you were a stick or a stone, you couldn't
resist giving an "Oh!" of surprised admiration.
The whole cellar--at least all of it that was left visible--had been
turned into a fairy cave of jewels. The walls and ceiling looked like
rocks studded with blazing rubies and flashing diamonds. The rough
pillars which supported the floor of the house above were great
sparkling stalactites and stalagmites. The cemented floor was covered
with sand that glittered like diamond dust, and there were fruit trees
and rose bushes, rows of tall hollyhocks, and buds of tulips all
apparently made of illuminated jewels, something like the
transformation scene in a Pantomime they once took me to see--only a
hundred times prettier.
At the far end of the Cave a bright red light kept coming and going,
but I couldn't see by what it was made, because of the laughing crowd
collected round it. We went nearer, and as others moved away we took
their places, so that at last we saw what caused the light and made the
great attraction for the people.
It was a giant lamp of a strange shape, standing up to the height of
four or five feet from the floor, on a pedestal; and behind it stood
the Genie, a fearful and wonderful apparition who said things, in a
deep bass voice, which made everybody shout with laughter. "It's Fred
Kane, the great Funny Man," said somebody.
The Genie's witticisms came whenever anyone rubbed the lamp, which each
person was requested to do, as he or she approached. While it was being
rubbed the magic lamp flared up, and gave out the bright red light we'd
seen at a distance, and simultaneously the Genie took something from a
huge sequin covered bag he had looped over one of his arms. If the
person who rubbed the lamp was a man, he dipped into the left hand bag;
if a woman, he dived into the right hand one. Each time a beautiful
trinket came out, and was presented with a low bow and an
excruciatingly funny speech, suitable to the character which the person
had undertaken for the evening. His wit never failed.
Mr. Brett and I went up together. The Genie crossed arms and grabbed
something for us out of both his bags at the same time. Then, by
mistake, he gave me the thing from the left hand bag, and Mr. Brett the
one from the right. We walked away to let others have their chance,
looking at the presents we had got. It was funny, they both happened to
be rings.
Mine was twisted bands of platinum and gold, forming a knot to hold a
cabuchon sapphire. His was a thin setting for seven stones, set in a
straight row; diamond, emerald, amethyst, ruby, emerald, sapphire,
topaz.
"Yours is meant for a woman, and mine for a man," I said. "He got them
out of the wrong bags. But they're both pretty, and so queer."
"Will you--shall we change?" he asked.
"Oh, I didn't mean to suggest that," I hurried to say. "I can give mine
to my brother when I go home. And you--there must be some one----"
"I've no sister. And there's no one else," said Mr. Brett. "Do have it.
You see, I couldn't get it on my little finger. And won't you keep the
big one too? It isn't as if I were like Mrs. Stuyvesant-Knox's other
guests----"
I couldn't bear to hear him say that, so I broke in and insisted that
he should have the ring. "She would want you to have it of course, if
she knew," I said. "And besides, I want you to, which is something."
"It's everything," he answered.
Then we changed rings, and I told him that I hoped his would bring him
luck, glorious luck.
"Do you wish it may give me what I want most in the world?" he asked;
and I said that I did.
"What do you wish mine may give me?" I went on.
"What do you want most? Great wealth?" he questioned me.
I shook my head.
"To have the world at your feet?"
"I shouldn't know what to do with it."
"To have the one you love best on earth love you?"
"I should have to stop and think which one it is."
"Then I wish that you may love the one who loves you best on earth and
more than all the world."
Just as I was looking up, surprised at his tone more than his words,
there came a burst of music, and part of the wall, with the platform on
which the Genie and his Lamp had been standing, rolled away. The other
big room of the cellar was revealed, with quantities of little tables
all laid out for supper, and the walls covered with smilax and roses.
In the middle of this new room was a huge illuminated ship of ice, in a
green sea.
Everybody exclaimed and laughed in their surprise at such an unexpected
transformation. Now was the time for unmasking, of course, and there
were shrieks of surprise and amusement as people discovered who their
companions really were. For a minute--I'm sure it couldn't have been
more--I forgot Mr. Brett, to stare at the great glittering ice ship.
When I turned to speak to him, he was gone. And whether he vanished on
purpose, because he didn't want to unmask in a company of strange
people, or whether he was separated from me by the sudden press of the
crowd, I don't know. I suppose I shall never know. I only know that I
lost him, and that I was immediately surrounded by other men, saying
nice things about my costume, wanting me to have supper with them, and
asking me for dances afterwards.
[Illustration: "_When I turned to speak to him he was gone ... and I
was immediately surrounded by other men asking me for dances_"]
The rest of the night went by with a wild rush. We didn't stop dancing
till four, we young people; and I believe the older ones played bridge.
We had a second supper served upstairs towards dawn, and when the last
people went away, it was broad and glorious daylight.
"Well, deah," said Sally, cosily, when everyone had gone, and she had
come into my room to help me undress. "Had you a good time?"
"Splendid!" said I, sighing with joy. "I'm dancing still--in my head.
My first ball!"
"Katherine doesn't call it a ball. But that's a detail. Had you any
proposals?"
"Oh, Sally, how came you to think of such a thing? But isn't it _too_
extraordinary? I had three."
"Why extraordinary?"
"Because I hardly knew the men!"
"Americans make up their minds quickly about what they want."
"So Mr. P--So I've been told."
"Accept anyone?"
"Not I."
"Didn't even give them a wee mite of hope?"
"Dear me, no."
"Poor Potter--for one."
"Sally, I do wish he _wouldn't_--do that sort of thing, since you speak
of it. It makes it so embarrassing. And somehow, I don't feel he really
means it. I've always the impression that--that he does it because he
thinks he ought."
"He'd like to marry you, Betty. There's no doubt of that. And one can't
blame him for it."
"Well, if he keeps on, I shall be driven away," I said. "Although they
don't _want_ me to go home yet, for--for several reasons. I don't want
to go, either. I'm having a wonderful experience. But----"
"Haven't you met any man you could imagine yourself caring for, deah?
Or, perhaps, you don't fancy Americans."
"Oh, I do," I exclaimed. "They're all great fun. And one--one man I've
met I think superior to any other I ever knew. But then, I've known so
few, and I don't know him well. You needn't look at me like that. It
isn't a romance, you dear. I'm most unlikely to know him any better,
ever. He--isn't like the rest. He isn't like anybody else I ever saw."
"Now," said Sally, coaxingly, "you might tell me if he's one of the
three who proposed?"
"Indeed, he isn't, and he never will. Why, Sally, I don't mind telling
you I mean that Mr. Brett, who was on the ship, and whom we met
afterwards accidentally in the Park. He is rather wonderful--considering
his station--isn't he?"
"He'd be rather wonderful in any station. That's my theory about him."
"I think it's mine, too. He was here to-night--as a newspaper reporter,
he hinted, though he didn't exactly say he was, in so many words. Did
he talk to you?"
"Yes," said Sally. "Indirectly, I got him his chance to come."
"I gave him good advice," said I, laughing. "All about his future, and
ambition, and things like that. I hope he'll take it."
"He'll probably try all he knows. Did he thank you prettily?"
"I'm not sure whether he thanked me at all. But he gave me this ring,
and wished me luck with it. It was the Genie's present to him in
Aladdin's Cave. I changed with him, for the one I had. But this is much
prettier. Look."
"D-E-A-R-E-S-T, Dearest," Sally spelt out, as she held the third finger
of my right hand, on which I'd slipped the ring.
"Where do you find that?" I asked quickly.
"Don't you know? Why, the stones spell it. Diamond, emerald, amethyst,
ruby, emerald, sapphire, topaz."
I felt my cheeks burn when she gave me this explanation.
I wonder if Mr. Brett knew?
XII
ABOUT A WEDDING AND A DISASTER
It's more than a fortnight since I've been able to write about any of
the things that have happened to me. The last I did was on the morning
after the Great Affair, when we were looking forward to the Pink Ball
in the evening. Mrs. Ess Kay didn't quite have her wish, for the ball
was a moderate success; but it did seem a pale pink after the
gorgeousness of the night before, and it might have been still paler
(as everyone felt rather washed out) if it hadn't been for one special
excitement. Mohunsleigh's engagement to Carolyn Pitchley was announced,
and we were told that the wedding would have to be soon, as Mohunsleigh
had had news which called him back to England, and he wanted to take
his bride with him.
Before I stopped to think, I'd promised Carolyn to be one of her
bridesmaids; but five minutes later I would almost have liked to change
my mind, because of Potter. He was asked to be an usher. (I didn't know
at the time what that meant, but I had a vague impression it was
something of importance at American weddings) so that I was sure to see
a lot of him if I were bridesmaid, and in any case, I was beginning to
feel he might make it too awkward for me to visit much longer with Mrs.
Ess Kay.
However, when on second thoughts, I tried to get out of my promise, by
hinting that I might have to go home, Carolyn seemed ready to cry and
said that if I threw her over it would spoil everything. The wedding
would be in ten days, and surely, I hadn't been thinking of going back
to England as soon as that?
It was quite true, I hadn't. And more than that, I knew I shouldn't be
welcome at home. I made up my mind to get through somehow, and told
Carolyn I had only been joking.
She had always wanted to be married at Grace Church in New York, but
New York is no place for August weddings, if an August wedding you must
have; so Carolyn's invitations, which appeared almost immediately after
the engagement was announced, told everyone that Mr. and Mrs. Pitchley
begged them to be present at their daughter's marriage in the drawing
room of the Chateau de Plaisance.
I didn't know that you could be married in a drawing room, but it seems
you can, quite properly. However, when I go home I don't think I'd
better say much about that part of Mohunsleigh's wedding, or some of
the old-fashioned people mightn't understand. I should hate them to get
the idea just because of the drawing room, that poor Carolyn was
morganatic, or something.
She seemed ecstatically happy, more than I could imagine any girl being
if she had to marry Mohunsleigh, who, although a dear good fellow when
you know him, isn't a bit romantic. But he suddenly blossomed out into
all sorts of pleasant American ways, sent Caro flowers and things every
day, though I fancy he couldn't afford it, gave her a lovely solitaire
diamond ring, which I'm _sure_ he couldn't, and a "guard," an heirloom
in his family.
It would have been shocking, Carolyn said, for her to be seen anywhere
after the invitations were out, though I can't think why, as she didn't
seem at all ashamed of marrying Mohunsleigh, but rather the contrary,
and asked me hundreds of questions about what she would have to do when
she was a Countess. Fortunately, though, she had lots of things to keep
her busy indoors, trying on such frocks as she could get made in a
hurry, and writing letters to every girl she knew, announcing her
engagement.
The funniest things about the whole affair were--for me--the ushers,
the rehearsals for the wedding, and having a married woman as a sort of
head bridesmaid. Carolyn's best girl chum was married herself in the
spring, so she had to be what they call a Matron of Honour.
It seemed horribly irreverent to rehearse for the ceremony, but nobody
else thought so, except Mohunsleigh and me, and Mohunsleigh said in
confidence, that he'd found out the bridegroom was a mere lay figure at
a wedding,--anyhow in America,--and he intended to let Caro do exactly
as she liked until after they were married. Then she might have to find
out that once in a while it would be just as well if she did what he
liked. But he asked me not to mention this to Carolyn and her
stepmother, so I didn't. And in spite of my objection, the rehearsals
were interesting. I felt as if I oughtn't to laugh and joke, but the
others all did tremendously, so I did too in the end.
Mohunsleigh was disappointed because that Californian friend of his
(whom he would have visited if it hadn't been for falling in love
unexpectedly and getting married) couldn't come and be his best man. He
urged him, but something interfered, Mohunsleigh didn't tell us what,
and Mr. Jameson B. Harborough wasn't even able to come to the wedding.
I was disappointed, too, as Mohunsleigh had told us such romantic
things about his friend, that we all wanted to see him. Mr. Harborough
had been a sailor, and a cowboy, and had left everything to fight in
the Spanish war, where he'd done brave and splendid things, and might
have stayed in the army afterwards as a Captain, if he had liked. But
he preferred to go back to his old, free life, and was still a poor
young man until two or three years ago, when some land in which he'd
invested a few savings, turned out to have gold in it--quantities of
gold, gold enough to make a famous mine, and give Mr. Harborough a
great fortune. Sally knew a good deal about the new millionaire, too.
It seemed that cousins of his in the West somewhere were acquaintances
of hers, and had told her how immensely he had been sought out and
flattered in San Francisco and other places, since he'd become rich. He
hated it so much that he'd gone abroad and stopped a long time
wandering about in strange Eastern countries making friends with
Bedouins and people like that, who love horses better than money, and
on account of certain experiences with women, he'd got almost a morbid
horror of falling in love with some girl who would only pretend to like
him, while in reality, all she cared about was his money. Nobody in
Mrs. Ess Kay's set knew Jameson B. Harborough, though everybody would
like to, so it was a blow to others beside Mohunsleigh and me that he
couldn't or wouldn't show himself at Newport for the wedding.
With the exception of this one hitch, nothing went wrong so far as the
wedding party was concerned, but with me things began to go very wrong
several days before Caro and Mohunsleigh were married. There was a fuss
of some sort between Sally and Mrs. Ess Kay, and Sally came to me, very
much upset, to say that she would have to leave The Moorings
immediately, she couldn't stand it twenty-four hours longer, even for
my sake. She had promised to visit a friend in Chicago, sooner or
later, so she would go straight to her, and if anything too tiresome
should happen before I was ready to sail for home, I had better run out
there;--the friend would be delighted to have me. Sally gave me the
address, and I told her I would write often, but of course I didn't
dream of having to accept her invitation. I missed her badly, but not
as much as if the wedding had not been so near.
Poor old Mohunsleigh--who knows more about the manners of polar bears
than etiquette in American society,--was coached by Potter; and the
night before the wedding rehearsal reluctantly gave an elaborate dinner
to his best man, (an officer in Stan's regiment who happened to turn
up) and the six ushers. The same day Carolyn had her Matron of Honour
and the bridesmaids to lunch, and we did have fun talking over things.
I should have thought a luncheon with all girls and no men might have
been a little tame, and perhaps it would in England, but in America
girls are not at all shy. They say just as funny things as men, and
take the most beautiful pains to amuse each other, so that it's
impossible to be bored, and for hours on end you forget there is such a
creature as Man.
At home, Mohunsleigh would have had to give us things, of course; but
in America, it appears that the bridegroom makes presents to the best
man and the ushers; so it was from Carolyn that I got a duck of a
brooch, like an American flag, with stripes of diamonds and rubies, and
the blue part sapphires. Mohunsleigh said that, as he was awfully hard
up, it was bad luck for him to have to provide each of the bridesmaids
with bouquets and chiffon muffs, and he could not see at all that it
was a pretty idea for everything they carried in their hands to come
from the bridegroom. But as Sally had told me that Carolyn's father had
settled ten million dollars on her, I don't think Mohunsleigh need have
complained.
Although it was in a house, the wedding was very picturesque, and the
bride and groom stood under a bell of white roses about as large as Big
Ben.
I enjoyed it all immensely, for it was my first time as bridesmaid, and
I had a lovely frock and hat (copied from an old picture) for
which--when I wanted the bill--I found Sally had paid. There was a
crush at the reception, but it only lasted two hours. After the bride
and groom had gone, with showers of rice and satin slippers, we stayed
and had a dance--just the ushers and bridesmaids and a few young
people, who were intimate friends of Carolyn's.
It was then that my greatest troubles began. On a pretence of showing
some wedding presents which he said I hadn't seen because they were in
a different room from the others, Potter got me alone and proposed
again. This time he didn't laugh and joke, as he had before, so that I
could take it half in fun even while it made me uncomfortable, but was
very serious indeed. When I wanted to go out he stood in front of the
door, and wouldn't let me pass; and his chin and eyes looked so
horribly determined that he was more like Mrs. Ess Kay than ever.
"My dear little ladyship," he said, "you're not going to get away until
you've given me my answer."
"But I have given it," said I.
"I don't call what you've given me an answer, because you see, I want
you so much, and I've made up my mind so hard and fast to have you,
that I shan't take 'no' for an answer."
"I don't see how you can help it, as it's the only one I have to give,
and I've told you that two dozen times at least," I said, beginning to
feel irritable, as I always have from the first, whenever Potter talked
about love.
"I know you have, but that doesn't count. There's no such word as fail
in the bright lexicon of my youth. Look here, dear girl, you don't
quite realise perhaps what a good time I'd give you if you married me.
I've got as much money as my sister has, and I'd do just as you liked
about staying in the army. You could have a house in New York, and a
whole, real live castle in your own country, if you liked. I wouldn't
care a rap how much you spent on clothes, and there isn't a woman in
America who's got better jewels than you should have--I'd see to that.
Besides, you could do what you chose--for your own people. I couldn't
stint you; I want to be friends with them. I never talked like this to
you before, but you see what I mean; and now, isn't what I've said any
inducement?"
"I wouldn't need any such inducements if I loved you," I answered. "But
I don't, and can't; and somehow I never have been able to believe that
you really loved me."
"If that's the trouble, you can make your mind easy. I want you badly."
"Then I'm sorry, for--I simply _can't_ marry you. I should be
miserable, and so would you."
"I'll risk that. You're too much of an English rosebud to understand
anything about love. What you must do is to trust others who know what
you ought to want better than you do yourself. Your mother, for
instance. You'd like to please her--and your sister and brother,
wouldn't you? Well, they all want you to say 'yes' to me."
"How do you know?" I broke out.
"I _do_ know. You can ask Kath if it isn't true."
"I don't want to talk to her about it."
"You needn't, if you'll only be a good girl and do what everybody
expects you to do. Come now, do say yes, and let's be happy."
That did make me furious.
"Anyone would think I was a naughty child, and you were some kind of
medicine the whole family was waiting for me to take!" I exclaimed.
"It's a wonder you don't get out your watch and give me five minutes to
do it in."
His eyes began to sparkle with anger. I believe he would have liked to
box my ears, and I know I could have boxed his.
"I thought English girls were brought up to be sensible," said he, "and
amiable."