THE FLY IN THE BROTH
Diana was an experienced entertainer and under her skillful supervision
the reception proved eminently successful. Nor had she cause to be
ashamed of the three _protégées_ she presented to society, since capable
_modistes_ had supplemented their girlish charms and freshness with
costumes pertinent to the occasion. Perhaps Patsy's chubby form looked a
little "dumpish" in her party gown, for some of Diana's female guests
regarded her with quiet amusement and bored tolerance, while the same
critical posse was amazed and envious at Beth's superb beauty and
stately bearing. After all, it was Louise who captured the woman
contingency and scored the greatest success; for her appearance was not
only dainty and attractive but she was so perfectly self-possessed and
responsive and bore herself so admirably under the somewhat trying;
circumstances of a debut that she won the cordial goodwill of all whom
she encountered. The hostess was elaborately gowned in white pompadour
satin, trimmed with white chiffon and embroidered in pink roses and
pearls. The Von Taer home was handsomely decorated for the occasion,
since Diana never did anything by halves and for her own credit insisted
on attention to those details of display that society recognizes and
loves. Hundreds of long-stemmed American Beauties and Kentia palms were
combined in beautifying the spacious hall, while orchids in marvelous
variety nodded their blossoms in the great drawing-room, where the
young-ladies received. These rare and precious flowers were arranged in
bronze baskets with sprays of maidenhair. In the music room adjoining,
great clusters of Madam Chantenay roses embellished the charming scene.
Branches of cherry-blossoms, supplied by hot-houses, were banked in the
lofty dining-room, where a Japanese pergola made of bamboo and lighted
with red lanterns was erected at the upper end. The attendants here were
Japanese girls in native costume, and the long table was laid with a
lace cloth over pink satin, with butterfly bows of pink tulle. The table
itself was decorated with cut-glass baskets of Cecil Brunner roses
mingled with lilies of the valley and refreshments were distributed to
the standing guests as they entered.
The affair was in the nature of a typical "crush," for Diana's list of
eligibles included most of the prominent society folk then in town, and
she was too important a personage to have her invitations disregarded.
Beth and Patsy were fairly bewildered by the numerous introductions,
until names became meaningless in their ears; but Louise, perfectly
composed and in no wise distracted by her surroundings or the music of
the orchestra and the perpetual buzz of conversation in the crowded
rooms, impressed each individual upon her memory clearly, and was not
likely to blunder in regard to names or individuality in the future.
This is a rare talent, indeed, and scores, largely in one's favor; for
no one likes to think himself so unimportant as to be forgotten, under
any circumstances.
It was during the thick of the reception that one of Miss Von Taer's
intimates, a graceful blond girl, suddenly seized her arm and whispered:
"Oh, Diana! Guess who's here--guess, my dear!" Diana knew. Her eyes,
always narrowed until the lashes shielded their sharp watchfulness,
seldom missed observing anything of importance. She pressed her friend's
hand and turned again to the line of guests, while Louise, who had
overheard the excited whisper, wondered casually what it might mean.
Soon after she knew. A tall, handsome young fellow was bowing before
Diana, who--wonder of wonders!--for an instant unclosed her great eyes
and shot an electric glance into his smiling face. The glance was brief
as unexpected, yet it must have told the young man something, for he
flushed and bowed again as if to hide his embarrassment. It also told
Louise something, and her heart, which had given a quick bound at sight
of the man's face, began to cry out against Diana Von Taer's artifices.
"Mr. Arthur Weldon," said the hostess, in her soft voice; and now, as
the young man turned an eager gaze on Louise and half extended his hand,
the girl's face grew pale and she imitated Diana to the extent of
dropping her eyes and bowing with frigid indifference. Standing close
he whispered "Louise!" in a pleading tone that made Diana frown
wickedly. But the girl was unresponsive and another instant forced him
to turn to Beth.
"Why, Arthur! are you here, then?" said the girl, in a surprised but
cordial tone.
"That is not astonishing, Miss Beth," he replied. "The puzzling fact is
that _you_ are here--and under such auspices," he added, in a lower
tone.
Patsy now claimed him, with a frank greeting, and Arthur Weldon could do
little more than press her hand when the line forced him to move on and
give place to others.
But this especial young fellow occupied the minds of all four girls long
after the crowd had swallowed him up. Diana was uneasy and obviously
disturbed by the discovery that he was known to the three cousins, as
well as by the memory of his tone as he addressed Louise Merrick.
Louise, who had read Diana's quick glance with the accuracy of an
intuitionist, felt a sudden suspicion and dislike for Diana now
dominating her. Behind all this was a mystery, which shall be explained
here because the reader deserves to be more enlightened than the
characters themselves.
Arthur Weldon's nature was a queer combination of weakness and strength.
He was physically brave but a moral coward. The motherless son of a man
wholly immersed in business, he had been much neglected in his youth and
his unstable character was largely the result of this neglect. On
leaving college he refused a business career planned for him by his
father, who cast him off with scornful indifference, and save for a slim
temporary allowance promised to disinherit him. It was during this
period that Arthur met Louise and fell desperately in love with her. The
girl appeared to return the young fellow's devotion, but shrewd, worldly
Mrs. Merrick, discovering that the boy was practically disinherited and
had no prospects whatever, forbade him the house. Louise, until now but
mildly interested in the young-man, resented her mother's interference
and refused to give him up. She found ways to meet Arthur Weldon outside
her home, so that the situation had become complicated and dangerous
when Uncle John seized his three nieces and whisked them off to Europe.
Young Weldon, under an assumed name, followed and attached himself to
the party; but John Merrick's suspicions were presently aroused and on
discovering the identity of the youth he forbade him or Louise to "make
love" or even speak of such a thing during the remainder of the trip.
The young fellow, by manly acts on some occasions and grave weaknesses
on others, won Uncle John's kindly interest. The old gentleman knew
human nature, and saw much to admire as well as condemn in Louise's
friend. Beth and Patsy found him a pleasant comrade, and after all
love-making was tabooed they were quite a harmonious party. Finally the
sudden death of Weldon's father left him the possessor of a fortune. He
returned to America to look after his newly-acquired business and became
so immersed in it that Louise felt herself neglected when she came home
expecting him to dance attendance upon her as before. She treated him
coldly and he ceased calling, his volatile and sensitive nature
resenting such treatment. It is curious what little things influence
the trend of human lives. Many estrangements are caused by trifles so
intangible that we can scarcely locate them at all.
At first the girl was very unhappy at the alienation, but soon schooled
herself to forget her former admirer. Arthur Weldon, for his part,
consoled himself by plunging into social distractions and devoting
himself to Diana Von Taer, whose strange personality for a time
fascinated him.
The business could not hold young Weldon's vacillant temperament for
long; neither could Diana. As a matter of fact his heart, more staunch
than he himself suspected, had never wavered much from Louise. Yet pride
forbade his attempting to renew their former relations. It was now some
months since he had seen the girl, and his eager exclamation was wrested
from him by surprise and a sudden awakening to the fact that his love
for her had merely slumbered.
Diana, worldly, cold and calculating as was her nature, had been
profoundly touched by Arthur's devotion to her. Usually young men were
soon repulsed by her unfortunate personality, which was not easily
understood. Therefore her intense nature responded freely to this
admirer's attentions, and if Diana could really love she loved Arthur
Weldon. He had never proposed to her or even intimated it was his
intention to do so, but she conceived a powerful desire to win him and
had never abandoned this motive when he grew cold and appeared to desert
her. Just now he was recently back from Italy, where he had passed
several months, and Diana's reception was his first reappearance in
society. The girl had planned to bring him to her side this evening and
intended to exert her strongest fascinations to lure him back to his
former allegiance; so her annoyance may be guessed when she found her
three _protégées_ seemingly more familiar with the young man than was
she herself.
At last the line ended and the introductions were complete. The
_debutantes_ were at once the center of interested groups composed of
those who felt it a duty or pleasure to show them attention. Diana
wandered to the music room and waylaid Arthur Weldon, who was just about
to make his escape from the house, having decided it was impossible to
find an opportunity to converse with Louise that evening.
"I'm so glad you came, Arthur," she said, a quick glance assuring her
they were not overheard. "You landed from the steamer but yesterday, I
hear."
"And came straightway to pay my respects to my old friend," he answered
lightly. "Isn't it unusual for you to present _debutantes_, Diana?"
"You know these girls, don't you, Arthur?"
"Yes; I met them in Europe."
"And flirted with Miss Merrick? Be honest, Arthur, I know your secret."
"Do you? Then you know we were merely good friends," said he, annoyed at
her accusation.
"Of course. You called her 'Louise,' didn't you?"
"To be sure. And Patsy called me 'Arthur. You may have heard her."
"Patsy?"
"That's Miss Patricia Doyle--our dear little Patsy."
"Oh. I'm sure you didn't fall in love with _her_, at any rate."
"I'm not so sure. Everybody loves Patsy. But I had no time for
love-making. I was doing Europe."
"Wasn't that a year or so ago?" she asked, realizing he was trying to
evade further reference to Louise.
"Yes."
"And since then?"
"I've been away the last six or seven months, as you know, on my second
trip abroad."
"But before that--when you first returned?"
"If I remember rightly I was then much in the society of Miss Von Taer.
Is the catechism ended at last?"
"Yes," she replied, laughing. "Don't think me inquisitive, Arthur; I was
surprised to find you knew these girls, with whom I am myself but
lightly acquainted."
"Yet you introduce them to your very select set?"
"To please my father, who wishes to please Mr. Merrick."
"I understand," said he, nodding. "But they're nice girls, Diana.
You're not running chances, I assure you."
"That relieves me," she replied rather scornfully. "If Arthur Weldon
will vouch for them--"
"But I don't. I'll vouch for no one--not even myself," he declared
hastily. She was calmly reading his face, and did not seem to approve
the text.
"Are you as fickle as ever, then, _mon cher_?" she asked, softly.
"I'm not fickle, Diana. My fault is that I'm never serious."
"Never?"
"I cannot remember ever being serious; at least, where a girl was
concerned."
Diana bit her lips to restrain a frown, but her eyes, which he was
avoiding, flashed wickedly.
"That is surely a fault, my Arthur," was her tender reply. "Were you
never serious during our quiet evenings together; our dances, theatre
parties and romps?"
"That was merely fun. And you, Diana?"
"Oh, I enjoyed the fun, too. It meant so much to me. I began to live,
then, and found life very sweet. But when you suddenly left me and went
abroad--ah, _that_ was indeed serious."
Her tone was full of passionate yearning. He laughed, trying to appear
at ease. Some sort of an understanding must be had with Diana sooner or
later, and she might as well realize at this present interview that the
old relations could not be restored. His nature was not brutal and he
disliked to hurt her; moreover, the boy had an uneasy feeling that he
had been a far more ardent admirer of this peculiar girl than any fellow
should be who had had no serious intentions; yet it would be folly to
allow Diana to think she could win him back to his former allegiance. No
compromising word had ever left his lips; he had never spoken of love to
her. Yet the girl's attitude seemed to infer a certain possession of him
which was far from agreeable.
Having gone so far, he should have said more; but here again his lack of
moral courage proved his stumbling-block, and he weakly evaded a frank
expression of his true feelings. "Life," he began somewhat haltingly,
to break the embarrassing pause, "is only serious when we make it so;
and as soon as we make it serious it makes us unhappy. So I've adopted
one invariable rule: to laugh and be gay."
"Then I too will be gay, and together we'll enjoy life," responded
Diana, with an effort to speak lightly. "I shall let your moods be my
moods, Arthur, as a good friend should. Are we not affinities?"
Again he knew not what to say. Her persistence in clinging to her
intangible hold upon him was extremely irritating, and he realized the
girl was far too clever for him to cope with and was liable to cause him
future trouble. Instead of seizing the opportunity to frankly undeceive
her he foolishly evaded the subject.
"You've been tempting fate to-night," he remarked with assumed
carelessness. "Don't you remember that to stand four girls in a row is a
bad omen?"
"Only for the one who first winks. Isn't that the way the saying goes? I
seldom wink, myself," she continued, smilingly. "But I have no faith in
ill omens. Their power is entirely due to mental fear."
"I think not," said Arthur, glad the conversation had taken this turn.
"Once I knew a fellow with thirteen letters in his name. He had no
mental fear. But he proposed to a girl--and was accepted."
She gave him one of those sudden, swift glances that were so
disconcerting.
"If you had a middle initial, there would be thirteen letters in your
own name, Arthur Weldon."
"But I haven't, Diana; I haven't," he protested, eagerly. "And if ever I
propose to a girl I'm sure she'll refuse me. But I've no intention of
doing such a crazy thing, so I'm perfectly safe."
"You cannot be sure until you try, Arthur," she replied pointedly, and
with a start he became conscious that he was again treading upon
dangerous ground.
"Come; let us rejoin your guests," said he, offering her his arm. "They
would all hate me if they knew I was keeping the fair Diana from them so
long." "Arthur, I must have a good long; talk with you--one of our
old, delightful confabs," she said, earnestly. "Will you call Sunday
afternoon? Then we shall be quite undisturbed."
He hesitated.
"Sunday afternoon?" he answered.
"Yes."
"All right; I'll come, Diana."
She gave him a grateful look and taking his arm allowed him to lead her
back to the drawing-room. The crush was over, many having already
departed. Some of the young people were dancing in the open spaces to
the music of a string orchestra hidden behind a bank of ferns in the
hall.
Louise and Beth were the centers of attentive circles; Patsy conversed
with merry freedom with a group of ancient dowagers, who delighted in
her freshness and healthy vigor and were flattered by her consideration.
Mrs. Merrick--for she had been invited--sat in a corner gorgeously robed
and stiff as a poker, her eyes devouring the scene. Noting the triumph
of Louise she failed to realize she was herself neglected. A single
glance sufficed to acquaint Diana with all this, and after a gracious
word to her guests here and there she asked Arthur to dance with her. He
could not well refuse, but felt irritated and annoyed when he observed
Louise's eyes fastened upon him in amused disdain. After a few turns he
discovered some departing ones waiting to bid their hostess _adieu_, and
escaped from his unpleasant predicament by halting his partner before
them. Then he slipped away and quietly left the house before Diana had
time to miss him.