MAINLY CONCERNS THE OWL
Late that night Ulrica made merry at my expense. She had noticed me
walking _tête-à-tête_ with old Mr. Keppel, and accused me of
flirtation with him.
Now, I may be given to harmless frivolities with men of my own age,
but I certainly have never endeavoured to attract those of maturer
years. Elderly men may have admired me--that I do not deny--but
assuredly this has been through no fault of my own. A woman's gowns
are always an object of attention among the sterner sex. If,
therefore, she dresses smartly she can at once attract a certain
section of males, even though her features may be the reverse of
prepossessing.
Truth to tell, a woman's natural _chic_, her taste in dress and her
style of _coiffure_, are by far the most important factors towards
her well-being. The day of the healthful, buxom, pink-and-white
beauty is long past. The woman rendered artistic by soft chiffons,
dainty blouses, and graceful tea-gowns reigns in her stead. Women
nowadays are becoming very Continental. For instance, certain
illustrated journals tell us that fur coats of every description are
to be the mode, and a few foolish women think that if they possess
such a garment, no matter what its shape, so long as it is of fur,
they will be in the vanguard of Fashion! The really smart woman
will, however, think twice before she hides her figure by any such
bulky covering, merely because she happens to possess the fur, and it
will take the furrier all the ingenuity at his command to produce the
neat, short and close-fitting little coat or bolero which she would
condescend to wear. Yes, we are yearly becoming more and more
tasteful--more Parisian. Ulrica's suggestion caused me to laugh.
"Old Mr. Keppel walked with me because he wanted company, I suppose,"
I protested. "I had no idea such a misconstruction would be placed
upon our conversation, Ulrica."
"Why, my dear, everyone noticed it and remarked upon it. He
neglected his guests and walked with you for a whole hour in the
garden. Whatever did you find to talk about all that long time?"
"Nothing," I responded simply. "He only took me round the place. I
don't think he cares very much for the people he entertains, or he
wouldn't have neglected them in that manner."
"No. But I heard some spiteful things said about yourself," Ulrica
remarked.
"By whom?"
"By various people. They said that you had been angling after the
old man for a long time--that you had followed him to Nice, in fact."
"Oh, Ulrica!" I cried indignantly. "How can they say such things?
Why, you know it was yourself who introduced us."
"I know," she answered rather curtly. "But I didn't expect that
you'd make such a fool of yourself as you've done to-night."
"I am not aware that I have made a fool of myself, as you choose to
term it," I responded warmly. "Mr. Keppel invited me to walk in the
garden, and as his guest I could not very well refuse."
"You know what an ill-bred, vulgar old fellow he is, and you might
therefore have had some respect for his guests."
"I know that he is an honest, plain-spoken man," I said calmly. "He
may be ill-bred, but, nevertheless, he's more the gentleman than half
the over-dressed cads who so perpetually hang about us just because
we happen to be both good-looking."
"If I were in your place I should be ashamed at having made such an
exhibition of myself!" she exclaimed, with bitter sarcasm.
"I have made no exhibition of myself," I protested. "I like Mr.
Keppel for his blunt manliness--but beyond that--why, Ulrica, you
must be mad to suspect me of flirtation with him!"
"He's old enough to be your father," she snapped. "Yet Doris Ansell
whispered in the drawing-room that she had watched him holding your
hand in lover-like attitude."
"Then Doris Ansell lied!" I exclaimed angrily. "He never touched my
hand. It is a foul libel upon him and upon me."
"I saw you myself walking with him."
"And you were walking with Gerald. He was, as usual, flirting with
you," I said spitefully.
Her cheeks crimsoned, and I saw that my words had struck home. How
cruel and ill-natured was such gossip as this; how harmful to my good
name, and to his. I knew Doris Ansell well--a snub-nosed,
under-sized little gossip, and had always believed that she
entertained towards me some ill-will--for what reason I never could
ascertain.
"And why should you fly into such a rage?" she inquired, with
affected coolness. "If you were to change into Mrs. Ben Keppel you
would at least possess a very substantial income, even if your
husband was a rough diamond. You would exact the envy of half the
women we know, and surely that's quite sufficient success to have
obtained. One can't have everything in this world. Money is always
synonymous with ugliness where marriage is concerned."
"I don't see any object to be obtained by discussing the matter
further," I answered, with rising indignation. "Such a circumstance
as you suggest will never occur, you may depend upon it."
"My dear Carmela," she said, laughing, "you are still a child, I
really declare!"
"I am old enough to be mistress of my own actions," I answered
quickly. "I shall certainly never marry for money."
"Because of Ernest--eh?"
"It is cruel, Ulrica, to taunt me like this!" I cried, bursting into
tears. "Surely I've suffered enough! You do not suffer because, as
you have said hundreds of times, you have no heart. Would that I had
none! Love within me is not yet dead. Would to God it were! I
might then be like you, cold and cynical, partaking of the pleasures
of the world without a thought of its griefs. As I am, I must love.
My love for that man is my very life! Without it I should die!"
"No, no, my dear," she said quickly, in kinder tones. "Don't cry, or
your eyes will be a horrid sight to-morrow. Remember we're lunching
over at Beaulieu with the Farnells. Come, dry your eyes and go to
bed. I didn't mean anything, you know." And she drew down my head
and kissed me tenderly on the brow.
I left her and went to my room, but her words rang constantly in my
ears. The idea that the old millionaire had been attracted by me was
a novel one. Surely that could not be possible. True, he had grown
confidential enough to tell me things that were held secret from all
his friends, yet I attributed this to his eccentricity.
No, it was surely not true that he was among my admirers. Through
the dark hours of that night I thought it all over. Sometimes I saw
in all that had occurred a disposition on his part to tell me some
secret or other. He had been so preoccupied, and had so earnestly
told me of the dull loneliness of his life, that colour was certainly
lent to the theory that he looked upon me with affection. Yet, after
all, I reasoned with myself that I could never in my life love a man
of that age, and determined never to barter myself for money and
position. I should even, if he told me the truth, be compelled to
refuse his offer.
But the whole theory was ridiculous. It had been started by that
lying, ill-natured woman for want of something else to gossip about.
Why should I heed it? I liked him, it was true, but I could never
love him--never!
Reader, you may think it strange that we two young women were
wandering about the Continent together without any male relative.
The truth is, that terrifying personage, so peculiarly British, known
as Mrs. Grundy, is dead. It is her complete downfall in this age of
emancipation, bicycles and bloomers, that more than anything else
makes the modern spinster's lot, in many respects, an eminently
attractive one.
We were discussing this over our coffee on the following morning,
when Ulrica, referring to our conversation of the previous night,
said:
"Formerly girls married in order to gain their social liberty; now
they more often remain single to bring about that desirable
consummation."
"Certainly," I acquiesced. "If we are permitted by public opinion to
go to college, to live alone, to travel, to have a profession, to
belong to a club, to wear divided skirts--not that I approve of
them--to give parties, to read and discuss whatsoever seems good to
us, and go to theatres, and even to Monte Carlo, without a masculine
escort, then we have most of the privileges--and several others
thrown in--for which the girl of twenty or thirty years ago was ready
to sell herself to the first suitor who offered himself and the
shelter of his name."
"I'm very glad, my dear Carmela, that you are at last becoming so
very sensible," she answered approvingly. "Until now you've been far
too romantic and too old-fashioned in your ideas. I really think
that I shall convert you to my views of life in time--if you don't
marry old Keppel."
"Kindly don't mention him again," I protested firmly. "To a certain
extent I entirely agree with you regarding the emancipation of woman.
A capable woman who has begun a career, and feels certain of
advancement in it, is often as shy of entangling herself
matrimonially as ambitious young men have ever shown themselves in
like circumstances."
"Without doubt. The disadvantages of marriage to a woman with a
profession are more obvious than to a man, and it is just the
question of maternity, with all its duties and responsibilities,
which is occasionally the cause of many women forswearing the
privileges of the married state."
"Well, Ulrica," I said, "speaking candidly, would you marry if you
had a really good offer?"
"Marry? Certainly not," she answered, with a laugh, as though the
idea were perfectly preposterous. "Why should I marry? I've had a
host of offers, just as every woman with a little money always has.
But why should I renounce my freedom? If I married, my husband would
forbid this and forbid that--and you know I couldn't live without
indulging in my little pet vices of smoking and gambling."
"Wouldn't your husband's love fill the void?" I queried.
"It would be but a poor substitute, I'm afraid. The most ardent love
nowadays cools within six months, and more often even wanes with the
honeymoon."
"I've really no patience with you," I said hastily. "You're far too
cynical."
She smiled, and then sighed gently. She looked so young in her pale
pink _peignoir_.
"Contact with the world has made me what I am, my dear Carmela."
"Well," I said, "to be quite candid, I don't think that the real
cause why so many women nowadays remain single is to be found in the
theories we've been airing to one another. The fact is, after all,
that we're only a bundle of nerves and emotions, and once our
affections are involved we are capable of any heroism."
"You may be one of those, my dear," was her rather grave response.
"I'm afraid, however, that I am not."
I did not pursue the subject further. She was kind and sympathetic
in all else, save where my love was concerned. My affection for
Ernest was to her merely an amusing incident. She seemed unable to
realise how terribly serious I was, or what a crushing blow had
fallen upon me when he had turned and forsaken me.
Gerald called at eleven, for he had arranged to accompany us to
Beaulieu.
"Miss Rosselli," he cried, as he greeted me, "you're a brick--that
you are!"
"A brick!" I echoed. "Why?"
"Why, you've worked an absolute miracle with the guv'nor. Nobody
else could persuade him to set foot on the _Vispera_ except to return
to England, yet you've induced him to arrange for a cruise up the
Mediterranean."
Ulrica glanced at me with a confident air. I knew the thought which
rose in her mind.
"Are you glad?" I asked him.
"Glad? I should rather think so! We shall have a most glorious
time! He intends asking the Farnells, Lord Eldersfield, Lord and
Lady Stoneborough, and quite a lot of people. We've got you to thank
for it. No power on earth would induce him to put to sea--except
yourself, Miss Rosselli."
"No, Gerald," I said. "Please don't flatter me. It's bad form, you
know. Your father asked me if I would like a cruise, and I responded
in the affirmative, that's all."
"Well, at any rate, it's enough," answered the young man
enthusiastically. "The guv'nor has sent for Davis, the skipper, and
when I left him, was poring over a chart of the Eastern
Mediterranean. There's only one condition that I've made, and I
think you'll both agree with me."
"What's that?" inquired Ulrica, as she buttoned her glove.
"That we don't take that cur Barnes. I hate that fellow."
"So say all of us," Ulrica observed frankly.
"His air is so superior that people believe him to be at least a son
of the house," Gerald said quickly. "I know that he tells the
guv'nor all sorts of false tales about myself. He knew that I lost
pretty heavily at Monte when I went over with you the other night,
and as Mr. Barnes chanced to be there he was, of course, the amiable
gentleman who told the tale. I always feel as though I'd like to
give him a good sound kicking."
"Treat him with contempt," I urged. "Your father is not the kind of
man to believe mere tales without proof. Even if he is a bit
eccentric, he's the essence of justice--that you'll admit."
"Why, Miss Rosselli, I tell you that my old dad is the very best
fellow in all the world. I know all men of his stamp have their
little eccentricities, and therefore forgive him. If he's niggardly
towards me, it's only because he doesn't believe in a young man going
the pace too fast."
"Quite so," I answered, remembering how very lenient the world is
towards the son of a millionaire. "No man should speak ill of his
father--more especially of such an admirable type as your father is."
But I drew myself up short, for I saw a smile playing in the corners
of Ulrica's mouth.
"Let's be off," she said. "We'll take a fiacre to the station.
Gerald, tell them to get us a cab."
And young Keppel went forth to do her bidding.
The Carnival _bal masqué_ at the Casino--the great event of King
Carnival's reign--took place on the following Sunday night, and we
made up a gay party to go to it. There were seven of us, and we
looked a grotesque group as we assembled in the vestibule of the
"Grand," attired in our fantastic costumes and wearing those
mysterious masks of black velvet which so effectively conceal the
features. Ulrica represented a Watteau shepherdess, with wig and
crook complete, while I was _en bébé_, wearing a simple costume,
surmounted by a sun-bonnet with a very wide brim. One of the women
of the party was a Queen of Folly, and another wore a striking Louis
XV. dress; while Gerald represented a demon, and wore pins in his
tail in order to prevent others from pulling that appendage.
As the distance from the hotel to the Casino was only a few hundred
yards, we walked. Laughter was abundant, for the novelty of the
thing was sublime. Among our party only Gerald had witnessed a
previous Carnival ball, and he had led us to expect a scene of wild
merriment.
Certainly we were not disappointed. Having run the gauntlet of a
crowd who smothered us with confetti, we entered the great
winter-garden of the Casino, and found it a blaze of colour--the two
colours of Carnival. Suspended from the high glass roof were
thousands of bannerettes of mauve and gold, while the costumes of the
revellers were of the self-same shades. Everywhere flashed coloured
lights of similar hue, and the fun was already fast and furious. The
side-rooms, which, as most readers will remember, are ordinarily
devoted to gambling--for gambling in a mild form is permitted at
Nice--were now turned into handsome supper-rooms, and in the
winter-garden and the theatre beyond the scene was perhaps one of the
liveliest and most enchanting in the whole world.
Everyone had gone there for full enjoyment. In the theatre there was
wild dancing; the boxes were filled by the _grand monde_ of Europe,
princes and princesses, grand-dukes and grand-duchesses, counts and
countesses, noted actresses from Paris and London, and well-known
people of every nationality, all enjoying the scene of uproarious
merrymaking. We viewed it first from our own box, but at length
someone suggested that we should descend and dance, an idea which at
once found ungrudging favour.
Masked as everyone was, with the little piece of black lace tacked to
the bottom of the black velvet _loup_, in order to conceal the lower
part of the features, it was impossible to recognise a single person
in that whirling crowd. Therefore, immediately we descended to the
floor of the theatre we at once became separated. I stood for a few
moments bewildered. The blaze of colour made one's head reel.
People in all sorts of droll costumes were playing various kinds of
childish antics. Out in the winter-garden clowns and devils were
playing leap-frog, and sylphs and angels, joining hands, were
whirling round and round in huge rings, playing some game and
screaming with laughter. Almost everyone carried miniature
representations of Punch, with bells attached, large rattles, or
paper flowers which, when blown, could be elongated to a ridiculous
extent.
Never before, in all my life, had I been amidst such a merry and
irresponsible crowd. The ludicrousness of Carnival reaches its
climax in the ball at the Casino, and whatever may be said of it, it
is without doubt one of the annual sights of Europe. I had heard it
denounced as a disgraceful exhibition by old ladies, who had been
compelled to admit that they had never been present; but I must say
that from first to last, although the fun was absolutely unbridled, I
saw nothing whatever to offend.
I was standing aside watching the dancers, when suddenly a tall man,
dressed in a remarkable costume representing an owl, approached, and
bowing, said in rather good English, in a deep, but not unmusical
voice:
"Might I have the pleasure of this dance with mademoiselle?"
I looked at him in suspicion. He was a weird-looking creature in his
bird-dress of mauve and gold, and the strange mask with two black
eyes peering out at me. Besides, it was not my habit to dance with
strangers.
"Ah!" he laughed. "You hesitate because we have not been introduced.
Here in Nice at Carnival one introduces oneself. Well, I have
introduced myself, and now I ask you what is your opinion of my
marvellous get-up. Don't you think me a real fine bird?"
"Certainly," I laughed. "You're absolutely hideous."
"Thanks for the compliment," he answered pleasantly. "To unmask is
forbidden, or I'd take off this terrible affair, for I confess I am
half stifled. But if I'm ugly, you're absolutely charming. It's a
case of Beauty and the Bird. Aren't my wings fetching?"
"Very."
"I knew you were English. Funny how we Frenchmen can always pick out
English and Americans."
"How did you know I am English?" I inquired.
"Ah! now that's a secret," he laughed. "But hark! it's a waltz.
Come under my wing, and let's dance. I know you'd dearly love a turn
round. For this once throw the introduction farce to the winds, and
let me take you round. The owl is never a ferocious bird, you know."
For a moment I hesitated, then consenting, I whirled away among the
dancers with my unknown partner.
"I saw you up in that box," he said presently. "I was waiting for
you to come down."
"Why?"
With woman's innate coquetry, I felt a delight in misleading him,
just as he was trying to mislead me. There was a decided air of
adventure in that curious meeting. Besides, so many of the dresses
were absolutely alike that, now we had become separated, it was
hopeless for me to discover any of our party. The Nice dressmakers
make dozens of Carnival dresses exactly similar, and when the wearers
are masked, it is impossible to distinguish one from the other.
"Well," he said evasively, in answer to my question, "I wanted a
partner."
"And so you waited for me? Surely any other would have done as well?"
"No, that's just it. She wouldn't. I wanted to dance with you."
The waltz had ended, and we strolled together out of the theatre into
the great winter-garden, with its bright flower-beds and graceful
palms--a kind of huge conservatory, which forms a gay promenade each
evening in the season.
"I don't see why you should entertain such a desire," I said.
"Besides," and I paused to gain breath for the little untruth, "I
fear now that my husband will be furious if he has noticed us."
"I might say the same about my wife--if I wished to import fiction
into the romance," he said.
"Then you have no wife?" I suggested, with a laugh.
"My wife is just as real as your husband," he responded bluntly.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that if you really have a husband, it is an extremely
surprising confession."
"Why surprising?"
"Well, it's true that husbands are like Somebody's sewing-machines,
no home being complete without one," he laughed. "But I really had
no idea that Mademoiselle Carmela Rosselli possessed such a useful
commodity."
"What!" I gasped, glaring at the hideous-looking Owl. "You know me?"
"Yes," he responded, in a deeper tone, more earnestly than before.
"I know quite well who you are. I have come here to-night expressly
to speak with you."
I started, and stood glaring at him in wonderment.
"I have," he added, in a low, confidential voice, "something
important to say to you--something most important."