HOW A MASQUERADE BEGAN.
A crush of carriages about a stately doorway; a flitting of gorgeous,
mysterious, grotesque and dainty figures through the broad, open portal;
a glow of lights; a gleaming of vivid color; a glory of rich blossoms; a
crash of music; a bubble of joyous voices; beauty, hilarity, luxury
everywhere.
It is the night of the great Warburton masquerade, the event of events
in the social world. Archibald Warburton, the invalid millionaire, has
opened his splendid doors, for the pleasure of his young and lovely
wife, to receive the friendly five hundred who adore her, and have
crowned her queen of society.
He will neither receive, nor mingle with his wife's guests; he is too
much an invalid, too confirmed a recluse for that. But his brother, Alan
Warburton, younger by ten years, handsomer by all that constitutes manly
beauty, will play the host in his stead--and do it royally, too, for
Alan is a man of the world, a man of society, a refined, talented,
aristocratic young man of leisure. Quite a Lion as well, for he has but
recently returned from an extended European tour and is the "newest man"
in town. And society dearly loves that which is new, especially when,
with the newness, there is combined manly beauty--and wealth.
With such a host as handsome Alan Warburton, such a hostess as his
brother's beautiful wife, and such an assistant as her sparkling,
piquant little companion, Winnifred French, who could predict for this
masquerade anything but the most joyous ending, the most pronounced
success? Ah! our social riddles are hard to read.
Into this scene of revelry, while it is yet early, before the music has
reached its wildest strains, and the dancing its giddiest whirl, comes a
smart servant girl, leading by the hand a child of four or five summers,
a dainty fair-haired creature. In her fairy costume of white satin with
its silvery frost work and gleaming pearls; with her gossamer wings and
glittering aureole of spun gold; her dainty wand and childish grace,
she is the loveliest sight in the midst of all that loveliness, for no
disfiguring mask hides the beautiful, eager face that gazes down the
long vista of decorated drawing rooms, library, music room, boudoir, in
wondering, half frightened expectation.
"They're beginning to dance down there," says the maid, drawing the
child toward a lofty archway, through which they can watch the swiftly
whirling figures of the dancers. "Why, _do_ come along, Miss Daisy; one
would think your Pa's house was full of bears and wild-cats, to see your
actions."
But the child draws back and grasps fearfully at the skirts of her
attendant.
"What makes 'em look so queer, Millie? Isn't you afraid?"
"Why no, Miss Daisy. There's nothing to be afraid of. See; all these
funny-looking people are your papa's friends, and your new mamma's, and
your uncle Alan's. Look, now,"--drawing the reluctant child
forward,--"just look at them! There goes a--a _Turk_, I guess, and--"
"What makes they all have black things on their faces, Millie?"
"Why, child, that's the fun of it all. If it wasn't for them masks
everybody would know everybody else, and there wouldn't be no
masquerade."
"No what?"
"No _masquerade_, child. Now look at that; there goes a pope, or a
cardinal; and there, oh my! that must be a Gipsy--or an Injun."
"A Gipsy or an Indian; well done, Millie, ha ha ha!"
At the sound of these words they turn swiftly. A tall masker, in a black
and scarlet domino, is standing just behind them, and little Daisy
utters one frightened cry and buries her face in Millie's drapery.
"Why, Daisy;" laughs the masker; "little Daisy, are you frightened?
Come, this will never do."
With a quick gesture he flings off the domino and removes the mask from
his face, thus revealing a picturesque sailor's costume, and a handsome
face that bears, upon one cheek, the representation of a tattooed
anchor.
While he is thus transforming himself, the outer door opens and admits a
figure clad in soft flowing robes of scarlet and blue and white, with a
mantle of stars about the stately shoulders, and the cap of Liberty upon
the well-poised head. The entrance of the Goddess of Liberty is
unnoticed by the group about the archway, and, after a swift glance at
them, that august lady glides behind a screen which stands invitingly
near the door, and, sinking upon a divan in the corner, seems intent
upon the classic arrangement of her white and crimson draperies.
"Now look," says Alan Warburton, flinging the discarded domino upon a
chair; "look, Daisy, darling. Why, pet, you were afraid of your own
uncle Alan."
The little one peers at him from behind Millie's skirts and then comes
slowly forward.
"Why, uncle Alan, how funny you look, and--your face is dirty!"
"Oh! Daisy," taking her up in his arms and smiling into her eyes; "you
are a sadly uncultivated young person. My face is tattooed, for 'I'm a
sailor bold.'"
[Illustration: "See all those funny-looking people are your papa's
friends."--page 65]
While uncle and niece are thus engaged in playful talk, and Millie is
intently watching the dancers, they are again approached; this time by
two ladies,--one in the flowing, glittering, gorgeous robes of Sunlight,
the other in a dainty Carmen costume of scarlet and black and gold. Both
ladies are masked, and, as they enter from an alcove in the rear of
the room, they, too, approach unperceived. Seeing the group about the
archway, one of them makes a signal of silence. They stop, and standing
close together, wait.
"It just occurs to me, Millie," says Alan Warburton, turning suddenly to
the maid; "it just occurs to me to inquire how you came in charge of
Miss Daisy here. Where is Miss Daisy's maid?"
The girl throws back her head, with a gesture that causes every ribbon
upon her cap to flutter, as she replies, with a look of defiance and an
indignant sniff:
"_Mrs._ Warburton put Miss Daisy in my care, sir, and I don't know
_where_ Miss Daisy's maid may be."
"Umph! well it seems to me that--" He stops and looks at the child.
"That I ain't the properest person to look after Miss Daisy, I 'spose
you mean--"
"Millie, you are growing impertinent."
"Because I'm a poor girl that the _mistress_ of this house took in out
of kindness--"
"Millie; _will_ you stop!" and he puts little Daisy down with a gesture
of impatience.
"I'm trying to do my duty," goes on the irate damsel; "and Mrs.
Warburton, _my_ mistress, has given me my orders, sir, _consequently_--"
"Oh! if Mrs. Warburton has issued such judicious orders," and he takes
up his mask and domino, "I retire from the field."
"It's time to stop them, Winnie," says the lady in the garments of
Sunlight, taking off her mask hastily. "Alan never could get on with a
raw servant. I see war in Millie's eyes."
Then she comes forward, mask in hand, and followed by the laughing
Carmen.
"Alan, you are in difficulty, I see," laughing, in spite of her attempt
at gravity. "Millie, I fear, is not quite up to your standard of silent
perfection."
"May I ask, Mrs. Warburton, if she is your ideal of a companion for this
child?"
The tone is faintly tinged with scorn and sternness, and Leslie
Warburton's eyes cease to smile as she replies, with dignity:
"She is my servant, Mr. Warburton. We will not discuss her merits in her
presence. I will relieve you of any further trouble on her account."
"Where, may I ask, is Daisy's own maid?"
"In her room, with a headache that unfits her for duty. Come here,
Daisy."
Up to this moment Alan Warburton has kept the hand of the child clasped
in his own. He now releases it with evident reluctance, and the little
fairy bounds toward her stepmother.
"Mamma, how lovely you look!" reaching up her arms to caress the head
that bends toward her. "Mamma, take me with you where the music is."
"Have you been to Papa's room, Daisy? You know we must not let him feel
lonely to-night."
"Exceeding thoughtfulness," mutters Alan Warburton to himself, as he
turns to resume his domino. Then aloud, to his sister-in-law, he says:
"I have just visited my brother's room, Mrs. Warburton; he wished to see
you for a moment, I believe. Daisy, will you come with me?"
He extends his hand to the child, who gives a willful toss of the head
as she replies, clinging closer to her stepmother the while:
"No; I going to stay with my new mamma."
As Alan Warburton turns away, with a shade of annoyance upon his face,
he meets the mirthful eyes of Carmen, and is greeted by a saucy sally.
"What a bear you can be, Alan, when you try your hand at domestic
discipline. Put on your domino and your dignity once more. You look like
a school boy who has just been whipped."
"Ah, Winnie," he says seriously, coming close to her side and seeking to
look into the blue, mocking eyes, "no need for me to see _your_ face,
your sweet voice and your saucy words both betray you."
"Just as your bad temper has betrayed you! It's a pity you can't
appreciate Millie, sir; but then your sense of the ridiculous is
shockingly deficient. There goes a waltz," starting forward hastily.
"It's my waltz; wait, Winnie."
But the laughing girl is half way down the long drawing-room, and he
hurries after, replacing his mask and pulling on his domino as he goes.
Then Leslie Warburton, with a sigh upon her lips, draws the child again
toward her and says:
"You may wait here, Millie; I will take care of Daisy for a short time.
And, Millie, remember in future when Mr. Warburton addresses you, that
you are to answer him respectfully. Come, darling."
She turns toward the entrance, the child's hand clasped tightly in her
own, and there, directly before her, stands a figure which she has
longed, yet dreaded, to meet--the Goddess of Liberty.
With a gasp of surprise, and a heart throbbing with agitation, Leslie
Warburton hurriedly replaces her mask and turns to Millie.
"Millie, on second thought, you may take Daisy to her papa's room, and
tell him I will be there soon. Daisy, darling, go with Millie."
"But, Mamma,--"
"There, there, dear, go to papa now; mamma will come."
With many a reluctant, backward glance, Daisy suffers herself to be led
away, and then the Goddess of Liberty advances and bows before the lady
of the mansion.
"I am not mistaken," whispers that lady, glancing about her as if
fearing an eavesdropper; "you are--"
"First," interrupts a mellow voice from behind the starry mask, "are
_you_ Mrs. Warburton?"
"Yes."
"Then I am Richard Stanhope."