“Yes, and the Government House set of Ottawa corresponds to a court
circle.”
“Exactly, and you know the stories they tell about our Government House
set. One is that a visitor one day found a number of young ladies in the
drawing-room playing a game with one of the aides. The young gallant
would sit on a chair and a damsel would sit on his knee, another on her
knee, and so on with the others until the line of damsels on the young
aide’s knee would stretch across the room. Then he would stand up and
all of them would fall amid shrieks of laughter.”
Mr. Fraser told this with such satisfaction that he angered me; I was
still more angered when Uncle remarked:—
“Sounds as if it were an incident culled from memoirs of Charles the
Second.”
“Do you know whether the story is true or not,” I asked.
“No! I told it as current gossip to be taken for what it is worth,”
replied Mr. Fraser.
“Quite likely it’s true: it’s not much worse than the
‘What-a-liar-you-are’ story,” said Mr. Bang.
I was so annoyed that I would not give Mr. Bang an opportunity to
exercise his bitterness, so I held my tongue and did not ask the perhaps
expected question. Mumsie was not so wise, and gave him the opening.
“This is of a maiden from the prairies, who went to dinner at Government
House. An aide was commissioned to take her in to dinner and she asked
him whether she should wear her gloves at the table. The aide replied,
‘Yes,’ but when the young lady found she had been deceived, she
immediately tore off her gloves, remarking, as she did so, ‘What a liar
you are.’ This story has become an Ottawa classic.”
“How could such a girl get an invitation to Government House?” I
demanded, “surely———”
“She had de beeg pull wid Laurier,” replied Uncle.
Mr. Fraser smiled and remarked.
“You Tories will never forget that story.”
“Please tell it to me,” I was glad of a change.
“You tell it, Bang,” requested Fraser.
“No, you tell it,” and so requests and protests were bandied. At last
Mr. Fraser complied.
“A French-Canadian, a habitant farmer, met a compatriot one January day
some years ago, and remarked:
“‘Queen Victoria shees dead.’
“‘Queen Victoria shees dead! who get shees job?’
“‘Prince of Wales gets shees job.’
“‘By gosh, dat Prince of Wales feller mus’ have beeg pull wid Laurier.’
“From what I have seen and heard,” then said Mr. Bang, “I believe Ottawa
society would accept a Hottentot lady and swear she was Diana, so long
as she came as a Minister’s wife.”
“I hope you don’t refer to the heroine of the ‘What-a-liar-you-are’
story, for she is quite a friend of mine,” said Mr. Fraser.
“Do you find her amusing?”
“Quite.”
I felt satisfied that the young lady referred to had snubbed Mr. Bang at
some time. His rancour must have been born of personal spite. So I made
some remark to that effect, smiling sweetly.
Mr. Bang ignored my jibe for a moment; and then he told the following
story:
“Once I was staying at Ottawa for some days. Some person told me it was
the custom for visitors to call upon the wives of Ministers. Why people
should desire to call, or why the obligation to receive all and sundry
should be thrown upon Ministers’ wives, I don’t know; but, being idle, I
called upon one of them. I knew the daughter of the house and talked to
her for the regulation five minutes, and then made a motion to leave.
The girl begged me to stay, and I stayed. From my corner of the room,
the constant stream of frivolity in and out amused me, it was a novelty.
I stayed, making myself useful, until the ebb set in and then I went
away. I attended the rink that evening and the first thing I heard was
that I had visited at a Minister’s house that afternoon and stayed over
an hour. This girl had asked me to overstay custom for the sole purpose
of having something to gossip about. Knowing that she and her people
were a source of innocent merriment, she planned to make me, in turn, an
object of ridicule. But can any civilized being understand the mind that
would stoop to such folly? Yet Ottawa accepted these people, as ‘so
quaint don’t you know?’ They were quaint indeed.”
To-day was not as cold as yesterday, and we went for a drive. We drove
about Rockcliffe and through the grounds of Government House—Rideau
Hall. At dinner Uncle announced that he had secured tickets for an
exhibition of skating to be held this evening.
Such skating as I saw I had never before pictured in the wildest flights
of fancy. There was skating free, and skating in pairs, and there were
figures done by fours. Such grace, such rhythmic motion, such ease, such
exactness! And the music, the band helped one to ecstasy. One would
think to watch the skating that those people had been bred to it, they
swung from circle to circle with such marvellous ease and assurance.
The dance of the fairies will ever live in my memory. The rink was
darkened and a shaft of green light was thrown upon the ice. Over the
ice came a band of maidens led by a most beautiful skater of delightful
form, swaying and flitting, their white draperies responding to their
motions which were tuned to the music. The leader came down the middle
of the ice, her followers filed at the sides. They were as sprites. I’m
sure nothing so lovely was ever seen before. They filled the rink,
swayed, marked time, as it were, and then retreated. They went as they
came, rhythmic, beautiful.
There were other scenes, pageants, call them what you will, but I paid
little heed to them. The dance of the fairies had appealed to me so
strongly that the others made little impression. And then when the
lights went up after the dance of the fairies, I saw among the
spectators Charlie Lien. It made me sick at heart. I had decided, as the
vulgar say, to cut him out; and now—I found my heart pounding. All my
resolutions faded as a fog-bank dissolves before the rising sun. Oh
dear!