So Christmas Eve came, and the costume ball at the Townes’. There were, as Baldy had told Jane, just six of them at dinner. Cousin Annabel was still in bed, and it was Adelaide Laramore who made the sixth. Edith had told Mrs. Follette frankly that she wished Adelaide had not been asked. “But she fished for it. She always does. She flatters Uncle Fred and he falls for it.”
Baldy brought Evans and Mrs. Follette in his little Ford. They found Mrs. Laramore and Frederick already in the drawing-room. Edith had not come down.
“She is always late,” Frederick complained, “and she never apologizes.”
Baldy, silken and slim, in his page’s scarlet, stood in the hall and watched Edith descend the stairs. She seemed to emerge from the shadows of the upper balcony like a shaft of light. She was all in silvery green, her close-clinging robe girdled with pearls, her hair banded with mistletoe.
He met her half-way. “You shouldn’t have worn it,” he said at once.
“The mistletoe? Why not?”
[205]“You will tempt all men to kiss you.”
“Men must resist temptation.”
“Well, queens command,” he smiled at her, “and queens ask——”
She was doubtful of his meaning. “Do you think that I would ever ask for kisses?”
“You may. Some day.”
Her blue eyes burned. “I think you don’t quite know what you are saying.”
“I do, dear lady. But we won’t quarrel about it.”
She switched to less dangerous topics. “I’m late for dinner. Is Uncle Fred roaring?”
“More or less. And Mrs. Laramore is purring.”
They rather wickedly enjoyed their laugh at the expense of an older generation, and went in together to find Frederick icy with indignation.
Waldron announced dinner, and Frederick with Mrs. Follette on his arm preceded the others. Baldy and Edith came last.
“How many dances are you going to give me?”
“Not as many as I’d like. Being hostess, I shall have to divide myself among many.”
“Cut yourself up into little stars as it were. Well, you know what Browning says of a star? ‘Mine has opened its soul to me—therefore I love it’!”
His tone was light, but her heart missed a beat. There was something about this boy so utterly[206] engaging. He had set her on a pedestal, and he worshipped her. When she said that she was not worth worshipping, he told her, “You don’t know——”
She was unusually silent during dinner. With Evans on one side of her and Baldy on the other she had little need to exert herself. Baldy was always adequate to any conversational tax, and Evans, in spite of his monk’s habit, was not austere. He was, rather, like some attractive young friar drawn back for the moment to the world.
He showed himself a genial teller of tales—and capped each of Frederick’s with one of his own. His mother was proud of him. She felt that life was taking on new aspects—this friendship with the Townes—her son’s increasing strength and social ease—the lace gown which she wore and which had been bought with a Dickens’ pamphlet. What more could she ask? She was serene and satisfied.
Adelaide, on the other side of Frederick Towne, was not serene and satisfied. She was looking particularly lovely with a star of diamonds in her hair and sheer draperies of rose and faintest green. “I am anything you wish to call me,” she had said to Frederick when she came in—“an ‘Evening Star’ or ‘In the Gloaming’ or ‘Afterglow.’ Perhaps ‘A Rose of Yesterday’——” she had put it rather pensively.
He had been gallant but uninspired. “You are too young to talk of yesterdays,” he had said, but[207] his glance had held not the slightest hint of gallantry. She felt that she had, perhaps, been unwise to remind him of her age.
She was still more disturbed, when, towards the end of dinner, he rose and proposed a toast. “To little Jane Barnes, A Merry Christmas.”
They all stood up. There was a second’s silence. Evans drank as if he partook of a sacrament.
Then Edith said, “It seems almost heartless to be happy, doesn’t it, when things are so hard for her?”
Adelaide interposed irrelevantly, “I should hate to spend Christmas in Chicago.”
There was no response, so she turned to Frederick. “Couldn’t Miss Barnes leave her sister for a few days?”
“No,” he told her, “she couldn’t.”
She persisted, “I am sure you didn’t want her to miss the ball.”
“I did my best to get her here. Talked to her at long distance, but she couldn’t see it.”
“You are so good-hearted, Ricky.”
Frederick could be cruel at moments, and her persistence was irritating. “Oh, look here, Adelaide, it wasn’t entirely on her account. I want her here myself.”
She sat motionless, her eyes on her plate. When she spoke again it was of other things. “Did you hear that Delafield is coming back?”
“Who told you?”
[208]“Eloise Harper. Benny’s sister saw Del at Miami. She is sure he is expecting to marry the other girl.”
“Bad taste, I call it.”
“Everybody is crazy to know who she is.”
“Have they any idea?”
“No. Benny’s sister said he talked quite frankly about getting married. But he wouldn’t say a word about the woman.”
“I hardly think he will find Edith heart-broken.” Towne glanced across the table. Edith was not wearing the willow. No shadow marred her lovely countenance. Her eyes were clear and shining pools of sweet content.
Her uncle was proud of that high-held head. He and Edith might not always hit it off. But, by Jove, he was proud of her.
“No, she’s not heart-broken,” Adelaide’s cool tone disturbed his reflections, “she is getting her heart mended.”
“What do you mean?”
“They are an attractive pair, little Jane and her brother. And the boy has lost his head.”
“Over Edith? Oh, well, she plays around with him; there’s nothing serious in it.”
“Don&r............