But it did not cheer him. Besides, though Cassy had laughed, there had
been a tugging at her heartstrings. Shabby, unkempt, in a frayed
dressing-gown, his arm in a dismal sling, he looked so out of it, so
forlorn, so old.
He had shuffled away. She bit her lip. Later, when he had had his
tenderloin and she had department-stored herself, a pint of grocer's
burgundy had reduced him to tears.
The day before it had seemed to her that the frock would do. But her
judgment had been hurried. Shops, crowds, the vibrations of both,
devitalised and confused her. In choosing the frock she had not
therefore given it the consideration which it perhaps did not merit, and
now her mirror shrieked it. The frock was not suited to her. Nothing was
suited to her, except the produce of baronial halls, where the simplest
thing exceeded the dreams of avarice, or else the harlequinades which
she herself devised. None the less she would have liked to have had her
father exclaim and tell her how smart she looked. He omitted it.
"Where are you going?"
"I told you. Dinner and the opera."
"Opera! There is no opera to-night. What do you mean? What did you tell
me?"
On the table were dishes and the lamentable bottle. Cassy, in doubt
whether to clear them then or later, hesitated. The hesitation he
misconstrued.
"You told me nothing. You tell me nothing. I am kept in the dark."
Cassy, adjusting the wrap which she had left open that he might admire
the unadmirable, moved to where he sat and touched him. "You're the
silliest kind of a silly. I told you yesterday. Perhaps the opera was
last night. But how could I go? Except that old black rag I had nothing
to wear. If there is no opera to-night, there will be a concert or
something. Don't you remember now? I was at the telephone."
He did remember, but apparently the recollection displeased. He growled.
"Yes. It was that Paliser."
"Well, why not? If it had not been for him, I would not have got the
catamount's money and you would not have had the burgundy."
But he was not to be mollified. The growl sharpened into a snarl.
"Paliser! I don't like the breed. By God, if----"
The peradventure of that Cassy got before he could utter it. Paliser! Of
all men! The absurdity convulsed her. Her laughter ran up and down the
scale.
"You're the dearest old duck of a goose I ever heard of." She turned.
Her wrap swished. "I only wish you were going too."
Below, in the street, a man, precipitatingly vacating the box of a
machine, touched his cap at her. "Beg pardon, mem. Miss Cara? Mr.
Paliser's compliments and he's sent a car."
Cassy glanced at the man, who looked like a Roman emperor. From the man
she turned to the car. Superiorly and soberly finished, it beckoned.
Now, though, the Caesar was holding open the door. Cassy got in. The
emperor hopped up. The car leaped.
On the front seat was a box with her name on it. In it was a handful of
orchids. The luxury of the car, the beauty of the demon-flowers, the
flight from the walk-up, yet more, perhaps, the caresses and surrenders
of spring, affected her. If, she thought, if only the things that might
be could be the things that are! If only----
On the pale cushions she leaned back. Before her a curtain parted. In a
wide, marble-flagged hall she was looking at a girl who was looking at
her. A moment before he had said: "That is Miss Austen to whom I am
engaged." A moment before she had seen her picture. The girl was good to
look at, so good that, without further acquaintance, you knew she was
good through and through. There was no mistaking that. But was she good
enough? Was any girl good enough for him? And who was that with her?
Probably her mother who probably too was the catamount's sister. They
had a family likeness. Then at once the scene shifted. Cassy was in a
room floored with thick rugs, hung with heavy draperies, and in that
room the catamount had hired her to sing! But the disgust of it passed.
The curtain fell. Cassy turned to the window, through which a breath of
lilac blew.
She sniffed and stared. Where was she? Where was the Riverside? Where,
for that matter, was the roar of the glittering precinct in which the
Splendor tossed its turrets to the sky? Here were dirty and reeling
goblins; budding trees that bowed and fainted; a stretch of empty road
that the scudding car devoured. Afar was a house that instantly
approached and as suddenly vanished. Dimly beyond was another.
Cassy, leaning forward, poked at the emperor. "I will thank you to tell
me where you are going. Don't you know where the Splendor is?"
Back at her he mumbled, but what she could not hear.
"Stop at once," she called.
Easily, without a quiver, almost within its own length, the car drew in
and the Caesar, touching his cap, was looking at her. "Beg pardon, mem.
There was a note for you in the box. Mr. Paliser said----"
But now Cassy had it.
Chere demoiselle--though I do not know why I call you that, except
that it sounds less perfunctory than dear Miss Cara, who, I hope
will do me the honour of dining in the country, if for no better
reason than because there is no opera to-night and I am her
obedient servant.