Nina was duly dressed for the tea-party the next day, and went to show
herself to her mother while Harriet dressed. The young girl really did
look her best in the filmy white with its severely plain ruffles, and
with a wide white hat on her thick, smoothly dressed hair. Miss Field,
too, although she was very pale to-day, looked "simply gorgeous," as
Isabelle expressed it, when she saw them off in the car, although
Harriet's gown was not new, and the little flowered hat she had crushed
down upon her splendid hair had been Isabelle's own a season ago.
Harriet was in no holiday mood; she felt herself in a false position;
this was to be one of the times when she paid high for all the beauty
and luxury of her life.
"... so then when she came to me," Nina was recounting the reception of
some celebrity at school, "of course I was awfully shy; you know me!"
She was suddenly diverted. "But I'm not as shy as I used to be, am I,
Miss Harriet?" she asked, confidingly.
"Not nearly!" Harriet made herself say, encouragingly.
"Well, then," Nina resumed, "when she came to me I don't know what I
said--I just said something or other--I can't for the life of me
remember what it was! Probably I just said that I had seen her in her
last three plays or something like that, anyway--anyway, she said to
Miss King that she had noticed me, and she said, 'It's an aristocratic
face!' Amy Hawkes told me, for a trade last. The girls were wild--they
were all so crazy to have her notice them, you know, and I thought--I
thought of course she'd speak of Lucia or Ethel Benedict or one of
those prettier girls; although," said Nina, with her little air of
conscientiousness, "Ethel didn't look a bit pretty that day. Sometimes
she does; sometimes she looks perfectly lovely! But that day she looked
sort of colourless. 'Aristocratic'!" Nina laughed softly. "Well, I'd
rather look aristocratic than be the prettiest girl in the world,
wouldn't you?"
Harriet glanced at her with something like pity. This was Nina in her
before-the-party mood. Her confidence and complacency would all begin
to ooze away from her, presently, and the words that came so readily to
Harriet would refuse to flow at all to any one else. She would come
home saying that she hated parties because people were all so shallow
and uninteresting, and that she couldn't help what her friends said of
her, she just wouldn't descend to that sort of nonsense.
"Here we are!" Harriet rather drily interrupted the flood. Nina gave a
startled glance at the lawns and gardens of the Jay mansion already
dotted with awnings and chairs, and sprinkled with the bright gowns of
the first arrivals. They were early, and their hostess, a handsome,
heavily built woman with corsets like armourplate under her exquisite
gown, and a blonde bang covering her forehead, came forward with her
daughter to meet them. Francesca was as slight as a willow, with a
demurely drooped little head and a honeyed little self-possessed manner.
"Very decent of you, Miss Field!" breathed Mrs. Jay, in a voice like
that of a horn. "You girls run along now--people will be comin' at any
minute. I'm going to take Miss Field to the table. Three hundred people
comin'," she confided as Harriet followed her across the lawn, and to
the rather quiet corner of the awninged porch where the tea table
stood, "and Mist' Jay just sent me a message that he won't be here
until six. My older daughter, Morgan, is stayin' with the Tom
Underbills--you know their place--lovely people--Well, now, I'll leave
you here, and you just ask for anything you need--"
The matron melted away; Harriet looked after her broad, retreating back
indifferently. Everyone knew Mrs. Jay, a harmless, generous,
good-natured and hospitable target for much secret criticism and
laughter. The odd thing was, old Mrs. Carter had sometimes pointed out
to the dutifully listening Harriet, that the woman really came of an
excellent family, so that her little affectations, her fondness for the
phrases "my older daughter, Morgan," and "lovely people, loads of
money, you know them?" were honest enough, in their way. She would have
loaned Harriet any amount of money, the girl reflected, smouldering,
she would have shown her genuine friendship and generosity in a crisis.
But she would not introduce people to Harriet this afternoon, and in a
day or two she would send Harriet a bit of lace, or a dainty waist, as
a delicate reminder that the courtesy had been a business one, after
all.
The afternoon was the perfection of summer beauty, and after a few
moments' solitude Harriet began to feel its spell. She put her cups and
spoons in order, and chatted with a hovering maid. Some elderly persons
came out and sat near, and were grateful for the quiet and the tea.
From the reception line, on the lawn, came such a brainless confusion
of jabbering and chattering as might well appall the old and nervous.
And presently the sun came out for Harriet in the arrival of a tall,
swiftly moving, dark-eyed woman some ten years older than she was
herself: Mary Putnam, one of the real friends the girl had gained in
the last four years. Young Mrs. Putnam, Harriet used to think, with a
little natural jealousy under her admiration, had everything. She was
not pretty, but hers was a distinguished appearance and a lovely face;
she had the self-possessed manner of a woman whose whole life has been
given to the social arts; she had a clever, kindly, silent husband who
adored her; her home, her garden, her clubs and her charities, and
finally she had her nursery, where Billy and Betty were rioting through
an ideal childhood.
"Harriet--you dear child!" said the rich and pleased voice, as Mary's
fine hand crossed the tea table for a welcoming touch. "But how nice to
find you here! I'm trying to get some tea for Mr. Putnam's aunt and
mother, but, my dear--it's getting very thick out there!"
"I can imagine it!" Harriet glanced toward the lawn.
"I've been wanting to see you," Mrs. Putnam said in an undertone. "But
suppose I carry them a tray first? Harriet, you are prettier than ever.
I love the green stripes! I've just been trying to think how long it is
since I've seen you."
"Not since the day you lunched with Mrs. Carter, and that was almost
two weeks ago!" Harriet's hands were busy with cups and plates; now she
nodded to a maid. "Mayn't Inga carry this to your mother, Mrs. Putnam?"
she asked. "And couldn't you stay here and have some tea yourself?"
Mrs. Putnam immediately settled herself in the neighbouring chair.
"I'm chaperoning little Lettice Graham for a week," she began, in the
delightful voice upon which Harriet had modelled her own. "But Lettice
is trying her little arts upon Ward Carter. Dear boy, that!"
"Ward? He IS a dear!" Harriet said, innocently.
"No blushing?" Mary Putnam asked, with a smiling look. The colour came
into Harriet's lovely face, and the smoky blue eyes widened innocently.
"Blushing--for WARD?" she asked.
Mrs. Putnam stirred her tea thoughtfully.
"I didn't know," she said. "You're young, and you know him well, and
you're--well, you have appearance, as it were!"
Harriet laughed.
"Ward is twenty-two," she observed.
"And you're--?"
"I shall be twenty-seven in August."
"Well, that's not serious," the older woman decided, mildly. "The point
is, he's a man. Ward has fine stuff in him," she added, "and also, I
think, he is beginning to care. It would be an engagement that would
please the Carters, I imagine."
The word engagement brought a filmy vision before Harriet's eyes, born
of the fragrance and sunshine of the summer. She saw a ring, laughter
and congratulations, dinner parties and receptions, shopping in
glittering Fifth Avenue.
"Perhaps it would," she said, with a hint of surprise in her tone.
"They are really very simple, and always good to me! But old Madame
Carter," she laughed, "would go out of her mind!"
"A boy in Ward's position may do much worse than marry a lovely and
sensible woman," Mrs. Putnam said. "Well, it just occurred to me. It is
your affair, of course. But looking back one sees how much just
the--well, the lack of a tiny push has meant in one's life!"
"And this is the push?" Harriet said, her heart full of the confusion
and happiness that this unusual mood of confidence and affection on
Mary Putnam's part had brought her.
"Perhaps!" The smooth, cool hand touched hers for a second before Mrs.
Putnam went upon her gracious way. Harriet hardly heard the bustle and
confusion about her for a few minutes. She sat musing, with her
splendid eyes fixed upon some point invisible to the joyous group about
her.
To Nina, meanwhile, had come the most extraordinary hour of her life.
It had begun with the familiar and puzzling humiliations, but where it
was to end the fluttered heart of the seventeen-year-old hardly dared
to think.
She had sauntered to a green bench, under great maples, with Lettice
Graham and Harry Troutt and Anna Poett. And Joshua Brevoort had come
for Anna, and they had sauntered away, with that mysterious ease with
which other girls seemed to manage young men. And then Harry and
Lettice had in some manner communicated with each other, for Lettice
had jumped up suddenly, saying, "Nina, will you excuse us? We'll be
back directly," and they had wandered off in the direction of the
river, giggling as they went. Nina had smiled gallantly in farewell,
but her feelings were deeply hurt. She hated to sit on here, visibly
alone, and yet there was small object in going back to the absorbed
groups nearer the house.
Then came the miracle. For as she uncomfortably waited, Ward's friend,
the queer man with the black eyes and thick hair, suddenly took the
seat beside her. Nina's heart gave a plunge, for if she was ill at ease
with "kids" like Harry and Joshua, how much less could she manage a
conversation with the lion of the hour! But Royal Blondin needed no
help from Nina.
"You're little Miss Carter, aren't you?" he said. "We were introduced,
back there, but there were too many young men around you then for me to
get a word in! However, I was watching you--I wonder if you know why
I've been watching you all afternoon?"
Nina cleared her throat, and gave one fleeting upward glance at the
dark and earnest eyes.
"I'm sure I don't know why any one should watch me!" she tried to say.
But everything after the first three words was lost in the ruffles of
the white gown.
"I'll tell you why. I watched you because, from the moment I saw you, I
said to myself, 'if that little girl isn't utterly wretched and out of
her element, among all these shallow chatterers and gigglers, I'm
mistaken!' I saw the lads gather about you, and I had my little
laugh--you must forgive me!--at the quiet little way you evaded them
all. Nice boys, all of them! But not worth YOUR while!"
Nina murmured a confidence.
"What did you say?" Blondin said. "But come," he added, frankly,
"you're not afraid of me, are you? My dear little girl, I'm old enough
to be your father! Look up--I want to see those eyes. That's better.
Now, that's more friendly. Tell me what you said?"
"I said--that Mother expected me to--to like them."
"To--? Oh, to like the boys. Mother expects it? Of course she does! And
some day she'll expect to dress you in white, and bid us all to come
and dance at the wedding! But in the meantime, Mother mustn't blame
someone who has just a LITTLE more discernment than--well, young
Brevoort, for example, for seeing that her tame dove is really a wild
little sea-gull starving for the sea. Now, look here, Miss Nina, you
hate all this society nonsense, don't you?"
"Loathe it!" Nina stammered, with a little excited laugh.
"Loathe it? Of course you do! Of course you do! And you don't want to
fall in love with one of these lads for a year or two, anyway?"
"Oh, my, no!" Nina felt the expression inadequate, but her breath had
been taken away. The man had turned about a little, his eyes were all
for her, and his arm, laid carelessly along the back of the green
bench, almost touched the white ruffles. They were in full sight of the
house, too, and if Lettice or Anna came back, they would see Nina in
deep and lasting conversation with the man that all the older women
were so mad about--
"You don't. But--what?" He bent his dark head.
"I said, 'But I don't know how you knew it'!" Nina repeated, looking
down in her overwhelming self-consciousness, but with a smile of utter
happiness and excitement.
A second later she looked up in some alarm. He was silent--she had
somehow said the awkward thing again I Nina's heart fluttered nervously.
But what she saw reassured her. Royal Blondin had squared himself
about, and had folded his arms, and was staring darkly into space.
"How I knew it!" he said in a half-whisper, as if to himself, after a
full half-minute of silence that thrilled Nina to the soul. "Child, I
don't know! Some day you and I will read books together--wonderful
books! And then perhaps we will begin to understand the cosmic
secret--why your soul reaches out to mine--why I not only want to know
you better, but why it is my solemn obligation to take the exquisite
thing your coming into my life may mean to us both! You're only a
child," he went on, in a lighter tone, "and I can read those big eyes
of yours, and can see that I'm frightening you! Well, this much
remains. You and I have somehow found each other in all this wilderness
of lies and affectations, and we're going to be friends, aren't we?"
"I--hope we are!" Nina said, clearing her throat, with a bashful laugh.
"You know we are!" Royal Blondin amended. And in a musing tone he
added: "I'm afraid I was a little bitter a few hours ago. And then I
saw you, just an honest, brave, bewildered little girl, wondering why
the deuce they all make such a fuss about nothing--clothes and bridge
parties and dinners--"
"They never SAY anything worth while!" Nina said, with daring. There
was exquisite homage in the dropped, listening head, the eyes that
smiled so close to her own. "But if I tell Mother that, she thinks I'm
crazy!" she added, lapsing into the school vernacular against a
desperate effort to sustain the conversation at his level.
"Because you're a little natural rebel," interpreted the man,
smilingly. "And that's the price we pay for it!"
"I'm afraid I've always been a rebel, then!" confessed Nina.
"Yes, those eyes of yours say that," Blondin conceded, sadly. "And it
doesn't make for happiness, Little Girl!" he warned her.
Nina narrowed her eyes, and stared into the green garden. She was not
wearing her glasses to-day, and hers were fine eyes, albeit a trifle
prominent, and with a somewhat strained expression.
"Oh, I know that!" she said. "Mother and Father," she confided, with
the merciless calm of seventeen, "they'd like me to be exactly like all
the other girls, flirting and dressing, and rushing about all day and
all night! But oh--how I hate it! Oh, I like the girls and boys--truly
I do, and I am popular with them all, I know that! But 'CASES'!" said
Nina with scorn.
"Dear Heaven!" Royal said, under his breath. "No--no--no--that's not
for you!" he murmured. "And yet--" and he turned upon her a look that
Nina was to remember with a thrill in the waking hours of the summer
night--"and yet, is it kindness to wake you up, child?" he mused. "Is
it right to show you the full beauty of that questing soul of yours?"
It was said as if to himself, as if he thought aloud. But Nina answered
it.
"I often think," she said, mirthfully, "that if people knew what I was
thinking, they'd go crazy! 'Oh, isn't the floor lovely--isn't the music
divine! Are you going to the club to-morrow? What are you going to
wear?'"
It was not a very brilliant imitation of a society girl's tone and
manner, but Royal Blondin seemed deeply impressed by it.
"Look here!" he said. "You're a little actress!"
"No. I'm not!" Nina laughed. "But I can always imitate anything or
anybody," she admitted. "It makes the girls perfectly wild sometimes!
But Ward's different," she resumed, going back to the more serious
topic. "I envy Ward! He is just as different from me as black and
white. Now Ward likes everyone--and everyone likes him. He just drifts
along, perfectly content to be popular, and to have a good time, and to
do the regular thing, and of course he knows NOTHING of moods--!"
"Bless the lad!" Blondin said, paternally.
"Oh, I manage to keep the appearance of doing exactly what the others
do," Nina hastened to say, "and I laugh and flirt just as if that was
the only thing in life! If people want to think I am a butterfly, why,
let them think so! My friend Miss Hawkes says that I have two
natures--but I don't know about that!"
She looked up at him to find his eyes fixed steadily upon her, and
flushed happily, with a fast-beating heart.
"With one of those natures I have nothing to do," Royal said. "But the
other I claim as my friend. Come, how about it? Are we going to be
friends? I am old enough to be your father, you know; you may tell
Mother that it is perfectly safe. When the right young man comes to
claim you, why, I'll resign my little friend with all the good will in
the world. But meanwhile, am I going to pick you out some books, am I
going to have some talks as wonderful as this one now and then? No--not
as wonderful, for of course this sort of thing doesn't come twice in a
lifetime! Will you give me your hand on it--and your eyes? Good girl!
And now I'll take you back to be scolded for running away from your own
friends for so long. I'm dining with Mother to-morrow. Shall I see you?"
"Oh, yes--if Mother lets me come down!" fluttered Nina. "But, no--we're
to be at Granny's!" she remembered.
"Soon, then!" He left her in the circling group, but all the world saw
him kiss her hand. Nina wandered about in a daze of pleasure and
satisfaction for another half-hour, paying attentions to Mother's poky
friends with a sparkle and charm that amazed them. Presently Ward and
the demure Amy Hawkes found her; the car was waiting. Miss Field, Ward
said, was no longer at the tea table; she had left a message to the
effect that she was walking home and would be there as soon as they
were.
He asked Amy and Nina, whose irrepressible gossip and giggling met with
only silence and scowls from his superior altitude, if they knew why
Miss Harriet had decided to walk. They stared at each other innocently,
on the brink of fresh laughter. No; they hadn't the least idea.