After luncheon Miss Holmes put her arm through Catalina’s. “Come into my
room and talk to me a little while,” she murmured. “I am so tired of all
these men.”
Catalina had stiffened at the contact, but pride made her yield at once.
She turned with a smile in her eyes, and the other girl exclaimed,
impulsively, “You are the most beautiful thing I ever saw in my life!”
“Oh!” said Catalina, melting; but it was characteristic that she merely
accepted the tribute as her due and did not return it in kind.
The two girls presented an edifying spectacle for the eyes of puzzled
man as they walked off, arm in arm; moreover, at the finish of an hour’s
chat in Miss Holmes’s cool little room they were very good friends, for
women may hate each other as rivals but like each other as human
creatures of the same sex. They have so many feminine interests in
common, that man often dips over the horizon of memory while the mind is
alive with the small and normal, only to resume his sway when it is
vacant again.
Miss Holmes, sitting on the floor, her hands clasped about her knees,
proved to be much like any other girl, and entertained Catalina with
lively anecdotes of her experience in Europe. Unconsciously she revealed
much that evoked Catalina’s sympathies. She made her own clothes, and it
was evident that her life was harried by small economies whose names
Catalina barely knew. She was a piece of respectable driftwood in Europe
anchored to a still more respectable sister, and the more remarkable
that she still was able to suggest a young woman of the leisure class.
“Of course I must marry,” she said, shrugging her shoulders.
“Unfortunately, the only man I ever wanted to marry is a prince without
a cent—you meet scions of all the nobility in pensions; but that, of
course, means that they are as poor as you are. I suppose that
you—independent as you are—won’t marry for ages?”
“I have no intention of marrying at present,” replied Catalina, without
the flicker of an eyelash.
“Lucky you! I haven’t either, for that matter, although my prince
threatens to descend upon me; and if he does—” She lifted her shoulders
again. “Women are idiots when they fall in love. Marriages ought to be
made by the state according to fitness. How do you like my scheme for
to-night?” she added, abruptly.
“It is a stroke of genius. Fancy having a dance in the Alhambra by
moonlight to carry away as a memory! Are you fond of dancing?”
“I adore it. It is the one thing I can do to perfection. I have actually
been proposed to half a dozen times on the strength of my dancing.”
Catalina turned cold. “What an odd reason for proposing! A man cannot
dance with his wife.”
“Well, you see, a man’s head sometimes swims with his feet. Given a man
who is fond of dancing and he is apt to think a woman perfection who
dances to perfection.”
Catalina rose abruptly. “I must go upstairs and rest for to-night. I
have been on the go since daybreak. Thank you for asking me to your
pretty room,” she added, with the charming courtesy she had at command.
“You have what the French call the gift of installation, and this looks
as if you had always lived here. I can’t even keep my room tidy.”
“You have always had servants to keep it tidy for you,” said the other,
with her quick, sweet smile. She shook Catalina’s hand warmly. “Come in
often,” she said, and there was no doubting her sincerity. “And put on
your most becoming gown to-night. It will be a pleasure to look at you.”
But although she was attracted to Catalina, and admired her beauty with
the eye of the connoisseur, she had made up her mind to marry Over. Her
love for the worthy but impoverished prince who had followed her about
Europe for half a year was a fiction of the moment, but Over had carried
her off her feet. She had met scions of the continental aristocracies by
the score, but it was her first adventure with an Englishman of the
higher class who looked as if he would love with difficulty and make
love with ardor. She had held his attention during the morning
immediately in the wake of many sensations quickened by Catalina, and it
is possible that some of their exuberance may have overflowed to her.
She recalled that his eyes had sparkled and melted and dwelt ardently
upon her own, that his tones had been laden with meaning more than once,
that he had uttered many spontaneously complimentary things. She looked
upon Catalina as a lovely and somewhat clever child who could have no
chance in the ring with herself, but she had taken pains to make certain
that her young affections were not involved. She might have hesitated
before breaking an engagement. It must be added that she cared not at
all if Over were rich or poor. An English aristocrat, handsome,
charming, a guardsman—her heart ached with the romance of it.