OF course I should recognize Simpson anywhere, even at a masked
ball. Besides, who but Simpson would go to a fancy-dress dance as a
short-sighted executioner, and wear his spectacles outside his
mask? But it was a surprise to me to see him there at all.
"Samuel," I said gravely, tapping him on the shoulder, "I shall have
to write home about this."
He turned round with a start.
"Hallo!" he said eagerly. "How splendid! But, my dear old chap, why
aren't you in costume?"
"I am," I explained. "I've come as an architect. Luckily the evening
clothes of an architect are similar to my own. Excuse me, sir, but
do you want a house built?"
"How do you like my dress? I am an executioner. I left my axe in the
cloak-room."
"So I observe. You know, in real life, one hardly ever meets an
executioner who wears spectacles. And yet, of course, if one CAN'T
see the head properly without glasses--"
"By Jove," said Simpson, "there she is again."
Columbine in a mask hurried past us and mixed with the crowd. What
one could see of her face looked pretty; it seemed to have upset
Simpson altogether.
"Ask her for a dance," I suggested. "Be a gay dog, Simpson. Wake
London up. At a masked ball one is allowed a certain amount of
licence."
"Exactly," said Simpson in some excitement. "One naturally looks for
a little Continental ABANDON at these dances." (PORTRAIT OF SIMPSON
SHOWING CONTINENTAL abandon.) "And so I did ask her for a dance
just now."
"She was cold, Samuel, I fear?"
"She said, 'Sorry, I'm full up.'"
"A ruse, a mere subterfuge. Now, look here, ask her again, and be
more debonair and dashing this time. What you want is to endue her
with the spirit of revelry. Perhaps you'd better go to the bar first
and have a dry ginger-ale, and then you'll feel more in the
Continental mood."
"By Jove, I will," said Simpson, with great decision.
I wandered into the ball-room and looked round. Columbine was
standing in a corner alone; some outsider had cut her dance. As I
looked at her I thought of Simpson letting himself go, and smiled to
myself. She caught the edge of the smile and unconsciously smiled
back. Remembering the good advice which I had just given another, I
decided to risk it.
"Do you ever dance with architects?" I asked her.
"I do sometimes." she said. "Not in Lent," she added.
"In Lent," I agreed, "one has to give up the more furious pleasures.
Shall we just finish off this dance? And don't let's talk shop about
architecture."
We finished the dance and retired to the stairs.
"I want you to do something for me," I began cautiously.
"Anything except go into supper again. I've just done that for
somebody else."
"No, it's not that. The fact is, I have a great friend called
Simpson."
"It sounds a case for help," she murmured.
"He is here to-night disguised as an executioner in glasses. He is,
in fact, the only spectacled beheader present. You can't miss him."
"All the same, I managed to just now," she gurgled.
"I know. He asked you for a dance and you rebuffed him. Well, he is
now fortifying himself with a small dry ginger, and he will then ask
you again. Do be kind this time; he's really a delightful person
when you get to know him. For instance, both his whiskers are
false."
"No doubt I should grow to love him," she agreed; "but I didn't much
like his outward appearance. However, if both whiskers are false,
and if he's really a friend of yours--"
"He is naturally as harmless as a lamb," I said; "but at a dance
like this he considers it his duty to throw a little Continental
ABANDON into his manner."
Columbine looked at me thoughtfully, nodding her head, and slowly
began to smile.
"You see," I said, "the possibilities."
"He shall have his dance," she said decidedly.
"Thank you very much. I should like to ask for another dance for
myself later on, but I am afraid I should try to get out of you what
he said, and that wouldn't be fair."
"Of course I shouldn't tell you."
"Well, anyhow, you'll have had enough of us by then. But softly--he
approaches, and I must needs fly, lest he should pierce my disguise.
Good-bye, and thank you so much."
. . . . . . .
So I can't say with authority what happened between Simpson and
Columbine when they met. But Simpson and I had a cigarette together
afterwards and certain things came out; enough to make it plain that
she must have enjoyed herself.
"Oh, I say, old chap," he began jauntily, "do you know--match,
thanks--er--whereabouts is Finsbury Circus?"
"You're too old to go to a circus now, Simpson. Come and have a day
at the Polytechnic instead."
"Don't be an ass; it's a place like Oxford Circus. I suppose it's in
the City somewhere? I wonder," he murmured to himself, "what she
would be doing in the City at eleven o'clock in the morning."
"Perhaps her rich uncle is in a bank, and she wants to shoot him. I
wish you'd tell me what you're talking about."
Simpson took off his mask and spectacles and wiped his brow.
"Dear old chap," he said in a solemn voice, "in the case of a woman
one cannot tell even one's best friend. You know how it is."
"Well, if there's going to be a duel you should have chosen some
quieter spot than Finsbury Circus. The motor-buses distract one's
aim."
Simpson was silent for a minute or two. Then a foolish smile flitted
across his face, to be followed suddenly by a look of alarm.
"Don't do anything that your mother wouldn't like," I said
warningly.
He frowned and put on his mask again.
"Are chrysanthemums in season?" he asked casually. "Anyhow, I
suppose I could always get a yellow one?"
"You could, Simpson. And you could put it in your button-hole, so
that you can be recognized, and go to Finsbury Circus to meet
somebody at eleven o'clock to-morrow morning. Samuel, I'm ashamed of
you. Er--where do you lunch?"
"At the Carlton. Old chap, I got quite carried away. Things seemed
to be arranged before I knew where I was."
"And what's she going to wear so that you can recognize HER?"
"Yes," said Simpson, getting up, "that's the worst of it. I told her
it was quite out of date, and that only the suburbs wore fashions a
year old, but she insisted on it. I had no idea she was that sort of
girl. Well, I'm in for it now." He sighed heavily and went off for
another ginger-ale.
I think that I must be at Finsbury Circus to-morrow, for certainly
no Columbine in a harem skirt will be there. Simpson in his
loneliness will be delighted to see me, and then we can throw away
his button-hole and have a nice little lunch together.