MAINLY CONCERNS THE OWL
Ulrica was that night wildly hilarious at my expense. She had noticed
me walking tête-à-tête with old Mr. Keppel, and accused me of flirting
with him.
Now, I may be given to harmless frivolities with men of my own age, but
I certainly have never endeavored to attract those of maturer years.
Elderly men may have admired me,--that I do not deny,--but assuredly
that has been through no fault of my own. A woman’s gowns are always an
object of attention among the sterner sex. If, therefore, she dresses
smartly, she can at once attract a certain section of males, even
though her facial expression may be the reverse of prepossessing. Truth
to tell, a woman’s natural chic, her taste in dress, and her style of
coiffure are by far the most important factors towards her well-being.
The day of the healthful, buxom pink-and-white beauty is long past. The
woman rendered artistic by soft chiffons, dainty blouses, and graceful
tea-gowns reigns in her stead.
“Old Mr. Keppel walked with me because he wanted company, I suppose,” I
protested. “I had no idea such a misconstruction would be placed upon
our conversation, Ulrica.”
“Why, my dear, everyone noticed it and remarked about it! He neglected
his guests and walked with you a whole hour in the garden. Whatever did
you find to talk about all that long time?”
“Nothing,” I responded simply. “He only took me round the place. I
don’t think he cares very much for the people he entertains, or he
wouldn’t have neglected them in that manner.”
“No. But I heard some spiteful things said about yourself,” Ulrica
remarked.
“By whom?”
“By various people. They all said that you had been angling after the
old man for a long time--that you had followed him to Nice, in fact.”
“Oh Ulrica!” I cried indignantly. “How can they say such things? Why,
you know that it was yourself who introduced us.”
“I know,” she answered rather curtly, “but I didn’t expect that you
would make such a fool of yourself as you have done to-night. Have you
already forgotten Ernest?”
“Ah!” I cried, “you have no heart. Would that I had none. Love within
me is not yet dead. Would to God it were. I might then be like you,
cold and cynical, partaking of the pleasures of the world without a
thought of its griefs. As I am, I must love. My love for that man is my
very life. Without it I should die.”
“No, no, my dear,” she said quickly in a kindly tone, “don’t cry, or
your eyes will be a horrid sight to-morrow. I didn’t mean anything, you
know,” and she drew down my head and kissed me tenderly on the brow.
I left and went to my room, but her words rang constantly in my ears.
The idea that the old millionaire had been attracted by me was a novel
one.
The whole theory was ridiculous. It had been started by some lying,
ill-natured woman for want of something else to gossip about, therefore
why should I heed it? I liked him, it was true, but I could never love
him--never.
Reader, you may think it strange that we two young women were
wandering about Europe together without any male relative. The truth
is that that personage so peculiarly British, and known as Mrs.
Grundy, is dead. It is primarily her complete downfall in this age of
emancipation, bicycles, and bloomers that makes the modern spinster’s
lot in many respects an eminently attractive one.
We were discussing it over our coffee on the following morning, when
Ulrica, referring to our conversation on the previous night, said,--
“Formerly, girls married in order to gain their social liberty;
now, they more often remain single to bring about that desirable
consummation.”
“Certainly,” I acquiesced. “If we are permitted by public opinion to go
to college, to live alone, to travel, to have a profession, to belong
to a club, to wear divided skirts,--not that I approve of them,--to
give parties, to read and discuss whatsoever seems good to us, to go
to theatres and even to Monte Carlo without masculine escort, then we
have most of the privileges--and several others thrown in--for which
the girl of twenty or thirty years ago was ready to sell herself to the
first suitor who offered himself and the shelter of his name.”
“I’m very glad, my dear, that at last you are becoming so very
sensible,” she answered approvingly. “Until now you have been far too
romantic and too old-fashioned in your ideas. I really think that I
shall convert you to my views of life in time--if you don’t marry old
Keppel.”
“Kindly don’t mention him again,” I protested firmly. “To a certain
extent I entirely agree with you regarding the emancipation of woman. A
capable woman who has begun a career, and feels certain of advancement
in it, is often as shy of entangling herself matrimonially as ambitious
young men have ever shown themselves to be in like circumstances.”
“Without doubt. The disadvantage of marriage to a woman with a
profession is more obvious than to a man, and it is just the question
of maternity, with all its duties and responsibilities, which is
occasionally the cause of many women forswearing the privileges of the
married state.”
“Well, Ulrica,” I said, “speak candidly, would you marry if you had a
really good offer?”
“Marry? Certainly not!” she answered with a laugh, as though the idea
was perfectly preposterous. “Why should I marry? I have had a host of
offers, just as every woman with a little money always has. But why
should I renounce my freedom? If I married, my husband would forbid
this and forbid that--and you know I couldn’t live without indulging
in my little pet vices of smoking and gambling.”
“Wouldn’t your husband’s love fill the void?” I queried.
“It would be but a poor substitute, I’m afraid. The most ardent love
nowadays cools within six months, it seems, and more often even wanes
with the honeymoon.”
“I have really no patience with you,” I said hastily; “you are far too
cynical.”
She smiled, sighing slightly. She looked so young in her pale pink
peignoir.
“Contact with the world has, alas! made me what I am, my dear.”
“Well,” I said, “to be quite candid, I don’t think that the real cause
why so many women nowadays remain single is to be found in the theories
we have been airing to one another. The fact is that after all we are
only a bundle of nerves and emotions, and once our affections are
involved we are capable of any heroism.”
“You may be one of those, my dear,” was her rather grave response. “I
am afraid, however, that I am not.”
I didn’t pursue the subject further. She was kind and sympathetic in
all else save where my love was concerned. My affection for Ernest was
to her merely an amusing incident. She seemed unable to realize how
terribly serious I was or what a crushing blow had fallen upon me when
he had turned and forsaken me.
Gerald called at eleven, for he had arranged to accompany us over to
the Farrells’ at Beaulieu.
“Miss Rosselli,” he cried as he greeted me, “you are a brick--that you
are!”
“A brick!” I echoed. “Why?”
“Why, you’ve worked an absolute miracle with the guv’nor. Nobody
else could persuade him to set foot on the Vispera except to return
to New York, yet you’ve induced him to arrange for a cruise up the
Mediterranean. What’s more, we are going to leave that cur Barnes
behind.”
“Are you glad?” I asked.
“Glad! I should rather think so. We shall have a most glorious time!
He intends asking the Farrells, Lord Eldersfield, Lord and Lady
Stoneborough, and quite a lot of people. We’ve got you to thank for it.
No power on earth would induce him to put to sea except yourself, Miss
Rosselli.”
The Carnival bal-masqué at the Casino, the great event of the King
Carnival’s reign, took place on the following Sunday night, and we
made to a party to go to it. There were seven of us, and we looked a
grotesque crowd as we assembled in the vestibule of the Grand attired
in our fantastic garbs and wearing those mysterious masks of black
velvet which so effectively concealed our features. Ulrica represented
a Watteau shepherdess with wig and crook complete, while I was en
bébé, a more simple costume surmounted by a sun-bonnet of colossal
proportions. One of the women of the party was a Queen of Folly and
another wore a striking Louis XV. dress, while Gerald represented a
demon, and wore pins in his tail in order to prevent others pulling
that dorsal appendage.
The distance from the hotel to the Casino is only a few hundred yards,
therefore we walked, a merry, laughing group, for the novelty of the
thing was sublime. Among our party only Gerald had witnessed a previous
Carnival ball, and he had led us to expect a scene of wildest merriment.
Certainly we were not disappointed. Having run the gauntlet of a crowd
who smothered us with confetti, we entered the great winter-garden of
the Casino and found it a blaze of color--the two colors of Carnival.
Suspended from the high glass roof were thousands of bannerets of mauve
and old gold, while the costumes of the revellers were of the self-same
shades. Everywhere were colored lights of similar hue, and the fun was
already fast and furious. The side-rooms, which, as most readers will
remember, are ordinarily devoted to gambling,--for gambling in a mild
form is permitted at Nice,--were now turned into handsome supper-rooms,
and in the winter-garden and the theatre beyond the scene was perhaps
one of the liveliest and most animated in the whole world.
All had gone there to enjoy themselves. In the theatre there was wild
dancing, the boxes were filled by the grand monde of Europe, princes
and princesses, grand dukes and duchesses, counts and countesses,
noted actresses from Paris and London, and well-known people of every
nationality, all enjoying the scene of uproarious merry-making. We
viewed it first from our own box, but at length someone suggested that
we should descend and dance, an idea which was promptly acted upon.
Masked as every one was, with the little piece of black lace tacked to
the bottom of the black velvet loup in order to conceal the lower part
of the features, it was impossible to recognize a single person in that
huge, whirling crowd. Therefore immediately we descended to the floor
of the theatre we at once became separated from one another. I stood
for a few minutes bewildered. The blaze of color made one’s head reel.
People in all sorts of droll costumes, false heads, and ugly masks were
playing various kinds of childish antics. Out in the winter-garden
clowns and devils were playing leap-frog and sylphs and angels, joining
hands, were whirling round and round in huge rings playing some game
and screaming with laughter. Almost every one carried miniature
representations of Punch with bells attached, large rattles, or paper
flowers, which when blown elongated to a ridiculous extent.
Never before in all my life had I been amid such a merry, irresponsible
crowd. The ludicrousness of Carnival reaches its climax in the ball
at the Casino, and whatever may be said of it, it is without doubt
one of the annual sights of Europe. I have heard it denounced as a
disgraceful exhibition by old ladies who have been compelled to admit
that they had never been present, but I must say that from first to
last, although the fun was absolutely unbridled, I saw nothing whatever
to offend.
I was standing aside, watching the dancers, when suddenly a tall man
dressed in a remarkable costume representing an owl approached, and
bowing, said in rather good English, in a deep but not unmusical
voice,--
“Might I have the pleasure of this dance with mademoiselle?”
I glanced at him in suspicion. He was a weird-looking creature in his
bird dress of mauve and old gold and the strange mask with two black
eyes peering out at me. Besides, it was not my habit to dance with
strangers.
“Ah!” he laughed. “You hesitate because we have not been introduced.
Here in Nice at Carnival one introduces one’s self. Well, I have
introduced myself, and now I ask you what is your opinion of my
marvellous get-up. Don’t you think me a really fine bird?”
“Certainly,” I laughed. “You’re absolutely hideous.”
“Thanks for the compliment,” he answered pleasantly. “To unmask is
forbidden, or I would take off this terrible affair, for I confess I am
half stifled. But if I’m ugly you are absolutely charming. It is a case
of Beauty and the Bird. Aren’t my wings fetching?”
“Very.”
“I knew you were American. Funny how we Frenchmen can always spot
Americans.”
“How did you know that I was American?” I inquired.
“Ah! now that’s a secret,” he laughed. “But hark! it’s a waltz. Come
under my wing, and let’s dance. I know you’d dearly love a turn round.
For this once throw the introduction farce to the winds and let me take
you round. The owl is never a ferocious bird, you know.”
For a moment I hesitated, then, consenting, I whirled away among the
dancers with my strange, unknown partner.
“I saw you up in that box,” he said presently. “I waited for you to
come down.”
“Why?” With a woman’s innate coquetry I felt a delight in misleading
him, just as he was trying to mislead me. There was a decided air
of adventure in that curious meeting. Besides, so many of the
dresses were absolutely alike that now we had become separated it was
impossible for me to discover any of our party. The Nice dressmakers
make dozens of Carnival dresses exactly similar, and when the wearers
are masked it is hard to distinguish one from the other.
“Well,” he said evasively in answer to my question, “I wanted a
partner.”
“And so you waited for me? Surely any other would have done as well?”
“No, that is just it. They wouldn’t. I wanted to dance with you.”
The waltz had ended, and we strolled together out of the theatre into
the great winter-garden with its bright flower-beds and graceful palms,
a kind of huge conservatory which forms a gay promenade each evening in
the season.
“I don’t see why you should entertain such a desire,” I said.
“Besides,” and I paused to gain breath for the little untruth, “I fear
that my husband will be furious if he has noticed us.”
“I might say the same about my wife--if I wished to import fiction into
the romance,” he said.
“Then you have no wife?” I suggested with a laugh.
“My wife is just as real as your husband,” he responded bluntly.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that if you really have a husband it is an extremely surprising
confession.”
“Why surprising?”
“Well, it’s true that husbands are like Somebody’s sewing-machines--no
home being complete without one,” he laughed. “But I really had no idea
that Mademoiselle Carmela Rosselli possessed such a useful commodity.”
“What!” I gasped, glaring at the hideous-looking Owl, “you know me?”
“Yes,” he responded in a deeper voice, more earnestly than before. “I
know quite well who you are. I have come here to-night expressly to
speak with you.”
I started, and stood glaring at him in wonderment.
“I have,” he added in a low, confidential tone, “something important to
say to you--something most important.”