_Miss Eleanor Morrison to Miss Marie de Rochemont, Charles Street._
MY DEAR MISS DE ROCHEMONT: Much to my surprise and annoyance I have this
moment found an invitation which I thought had been mailed to you
several days ago. It must have slipped out of the other notes some way
and has been lying under some papers here on my desk ever since. Can you
forgive this mischance and accept so tardy an invitation? It will give
us all the greatest pleasure to see you at half after eight. I
especially want to introduce to you a cousin of mine just returned from
the other side. She has been in college all her life, and I want her to
meet some of our most charming society girls to rub her shyness off and
make her take more interest in social life. Perhaps you may convert her!
Hoping that no previous engagement will prevent our seeing you Thursday,
Most sincerely yours,
ELEANOR MORRISON.
_Mrs. Olmsted Morrison to Mrs. Franklin Bennett, care of Brown, Shipley
& Co., London._
November 25th.
MY DEAR ALMA: What a surprise! I can scarcely collect my thoughts
sufficiently to write intelligently on the subject. I really was never
more surprised in all my life--more intensely and thoroughly surprised.
But I must try and tell you connectedly all about it. To begin
with--Helen did not come on the twentieth as we had expected, but
telegraphed us that she was detained in Boston and would not reach
Baltimore until the morning of the twenty-fourth. This was very
annoying, as I was most anxious about her gown for the dinner, and then
I imagined that she would be utterly dragged out after travelling all
night. Dear Eleanor would have been, I am quite sure. But Helen seems to
be one of those distressingly healthy people--no nerves, no
sensitiveness. She quite laughed when I asked her if she were not tired!
Well--she came on the eleven-five train, and, Alma, she is not at all
the kind of person I had expected. She is even handsome after a certain
style of her own--not one that I admire--not at all Eleanor’s style. But
certainly it could be much worse. The men even seemed to find her quite
good-looking. She has certainly preserved her complexion wonderfully
well--and as for her being short-sighted! Between ourselves I am sure it
is only an excuse for using a very beautiful lorgnon, and for looking
rather intently at one in a sort of meditative way which I consider
rather offensive, but which Percy Beaufort told me he found most
attractive. He is very disappointing, by the way; I had expected so much
of him, but I find him quite an ordinary young man.
I was really shocked at Helen’s levity. I had expected from her superior
education that her mind would be above trivialities, but the way she
laughed and seemed to enjoy the conversation of Reggie Montrose and
Jerry Fairfax! and if she had confined her attentions to those boys!
But, Alma, she even tried to infatuate Colonel Gray and Professor
Radnor! Two such men! She is far from being the quiet, thoughtful
student I had expected to so enjoy. Why, she had the audacity to say to
Colonel Gray, after one of his irascible explosions at things in
general--“My dear Colonel, you are a living example of squaring the
circle--quite round yet full of angles!” You know how rotund the Colonel
is, Alma. Think of it! To Colonel Gray, whose irritability is simply
proverbial. And he actually seemed to enjoy it! Men of a certain age
seem to be only too willing to make fools of themselves if a young girl
looks at them. And Percival Beaufort, who is so interested in London
charities, could not extract one word from her on the subject, I
believe; at any rate I distinctly heard her giving him an animated
account of the last “Eights Week,” and he was inquiring solicitously who
was the coxswain for Magdalen! Even Professor Radnor seemed to lose his
head, though I believe she talked more sensibly to him than to the
others, for he told me that she was one of the few women he had ever met
who seemed to thoroughly understand Abel’s demonstration of the
impossibility of solving a quintic equation by means of
radicals--whatever that means.
By the way, we need not have worried about her gown at all. It was quite
presentable, and had in it a quantity of rare old point d’Alençon which
Helen says Henry picked up in Paris. It quite vexed me to think that I
have none of that pattern--it is especially beautiful.
Eleanor would add a word, but she is feeling quite ill this morning,
dear child! She was so worried over the dinner. At the very last moment
Grace Fairfax failed her, and she was obliged to invite Marie de
Rochemont in her place. We were especially sorry that Grace could not
come, and that Jerry did. He is getting completely spoiled; his
assurance and inconsiderateness are truly wonderful.
By the way, we have changed our plans for the winter slightly. We are
going to the Bermudas for a month, and Helen will visit friends in
Boston for the rest of the winter. Write soon and let me know how Mr.
Bennett is feeling. Address here, all our mail will be forwarded.
As ever, your devoted friend,
MARIAN MORRISON.
_Mr. Jeré Fairfax to Miss Grace Fairfax, Washington, D. C._
BALTIMORE, November 25th.
DEAR GRACE: I suppose I’ve got to keep my solemn promise to write to you
all about the blow-out, though it’s an awful effort for me to write
letters, and I’m so razzle-dazzled too! You simply weren’t in it! She’s
stunning! The fellows all call her “La Belle Hélène.” Claghart started
the name and it took like wildfire. The fair Eleanor is furious. She
looked perfectly insignificant by the side of that magnificent creature.
What the dickens did Margaret mean by her letter? Why, Helen Hammersley
is a perfect beauty. It isn’t good to spring a surprise like that on a
fellow. Bad for one’s nerves. Claghart is terribly shaken. Found out she
had met ever so many celebrated artists, English and French, and they
jawed for hours. Fact is Claghart’s got the cinch on the rest of us
because she’s so awfully interested in art--I heard her tell him so. Oh!
I almost forgot to tell you the joke! You see, Mrs. Morrison had put her
up at her end of the table, with the rector of All Souls on one side of
her--the old duffer!--and that fossil, Professor Radnor, on the other,
and of all people in the world that ante-bellum specimen, Colonel Ralph
Gray, opposite! Think of that, with Montrose and Claghart and myself at
the other end, cut off from her by half a dozen married people! Think of
the injustice, the tactlessness of such a proceeding! Well, I simply
determined to shake things up a bit, so after the bird I said, as
sweetly as only yours truly can say, “Mrs. Morrison, I was at the
Dwights’ the other evening to a progressive dinner-party. Charming idea,
don’t you think?” I knew all the men would back me up, and sure enough
Reggie Montrose sang out, “Yes, indeed, Mrs. Morrison! Why not try it
to-night?” and before the words were fairly out of his mouth, Claghart
had jumped up with his wine-glass and his napkin in his hand, and was
moving up one seat nearer “La Belle Hélène.” Of course there was an
awful muss and Eleanor was furious, I could see, but she pulled herself
together and smiled awfully sweetly at Claghart. Marie de Rochemont
turned perfectly green--give you my word of honor. Margaret was the only
one who seemed really not to mind. She’s a nice little thing, but she
won’t have much show in society if Helen Hammersley is around.
I wish I could tell you about “La Belle Hélène,” but I’m not much for
descriptions. She’s different from any girl I ever knew--not very tall,
but awfully good figure--fixes her hair like those stunning girls of
Gibson’s you know, and she’s got a way of looking at a fellow--earnest
and yet half laughing--that’s enough to drive one out of one’s senses.
She’s got that _je ne sais quoi_, you know--something awfully fetching
and magnetic and all that sort of thing. (You’ll think me a drivelling
idiot!) She wore a beauty of a gown, white satin--or gauze, I’m not sure
which. Was going to ask Claghart--being an artist he’s up to such fine
distinctions--but forgot it. I say, Grace, why don’t your gowns look
like that? You’d better ask her who built hers. Tell you what, she’s
just fascinating--not stiff or uppish a bit, but she’s got a certain
sort of dignity you girls don’t seem to acquire, some way or other.
She simply hoodooed old Gray, not to mention Percy Beaufort, the
Professor, and several dozen others, including your devoted brother.
There was one solemn moment at the cotillion when every man in the room
was around her. The other girls looked black, I promise you! What the
deuce, Grace, makes you girls so jealous? I actually believe Eleanor
didn’t like her cousin’s brilliant success at all, and yet you told me
she was so anxious about it. Can’t make you girls out.
You say she’s been to college all her life and is awfully smart? Well, I
suppose she is--she looks that way--but she didn’t come any of it on us.
And yet she’s clever, that’s sure, for she knows all the points of
difference between the Rugby and Association game, and I heard her
talking golf with Claghart and telling Professor Radnor that dancing was
a healthful amusement, and he was asking her, in the most idiotic way,
if she’d teach him the two-step. Wasn’t that rich! And old Gray said to
a lot of fellows in the smoking-room that, “By Jove, she was the
handsomest girl he’d seen in a quarter of a century, and that if she was
an example of a college-bred girl he wished they’d _all_ go to college.”
Well, I must stop. I really believe, Grace, this is the longest letter I
ever wrote, and I want you to put it to my credit--understand? and the
next time I try to arrange a trip to Mount Vernon with certain people,
you’ll please be more amenable to reason--See?
I think I’ve told you everything except that I’m going to stop here for
a few days--they’re always asking me, you know, and I told Margaret last
night that I’d accept this time. Eleanor looked as if she didn’t half
like it. Why not, do you suppose? But I can’t tear myself away. I’m
desperately in love with “La Belle Hélène,” besides I’m awfully
interested in watching the running between Claghart and Montrose. It
will be a close finish, I think, with Claghart in the lead, Montrose a
good second, and a full field not far behind. Excuse sporting instincts
and language.
As ever, your aff. brother,
JERRY.
How’s your throat? Better, I hope. Hers is lovely--“like a piece of
marble column”--at least that’s what Reggie confided to me at 3 G. M.
this morning.