Part 27 (1/2)
Last night came the Van Dams' dance and my triumph--and a greater triumph still; for to-day I have a wonderful, beautiful chapter to add to my own book, to the story of the only woman whose life is worth while.
I see the vista of my future, and--ah, little book, my eyes are dazzled! A rich woman would be a beggar, a clever woman a fool, an empress would leave her throne to exchange with me. Nothing, nothing is impossible to the most beautiful woman that ever lived, whose life is crowned by love.
Love is all; all! In a palace without Ned I'd weep myself blind; with him a desert would be Eden. Love is all!
That blessed dance!
The General invited me ten days ago, the afternoon when--when John Burke-- poor John!---scolded me about the photographs.
”Just a 'small and early,'” she said, broaching her errand as soon as she had fairly driven John off the field--there was just the faintest suggestion of relief in her tone--”Peggy's mother's giving it--Mrs. Henry Van Dam.”
She looked at Aunt with an a.s.surance as calm as if there were no interdict upon social experiments.
”Impossible!” gasped Aunt, glancing despairingly in the direction in which her ally had disappeared. ”Why, Nelly doesn't leave the house; I've stopped her attendance even at Barnard.”
”And quite right; but a private house isn't a big school, nor yet the Opera. Of course you say yes, don't you, Helen?”
”Yes, yes! A dance! Oh, I'm going to a dance! Play for me, Milly; play for me!”
Humming a bar of a waltz, I caught Aunt Frank in my arms, and whirled her about the room until she begged for mercy.
”Oh, you dear people, I'm so happy!” I cried as I stopped, my cheeks glowing, and, falling all about me, a flood of glistening hair; while the General, whose creed is to wonder at nothing, gazed at me in delighted amazement.
”You splen--did creature!” she cried.
”I--I would like to go; Aunt Frank, you will let me?” I said meekly, as too late I realised how differently a New York girl _bien elevee_ would have received the invitation. But, indeed, my heart jumped with rapture.
Without John, Mrs. Baker really didn't know how to refuse me.
”But--but--but--” she stammered.
”Surround her with a bodyguard, if you like,” said the General. ”You'll have Judge Baker and Hynes, of course; and that--what's the name of that shy young man who's just gone? He looks presentable.”
”But--but--” protested Aunt; ”Bake'd never go; and--Nelly--has--do you suppose Mr. Burke has evening clothes?”
”Naturally,” I said with nonchalance, though my quick temper was fired. I was as sure he hadn't as I was that Mrs. Van Dam knew his name, and that he would oppose the dance even more strongly than did Aunt; and I wished that I could go without him. But it was useless to think of this, with even the General suggesting a bodyguard. I resolved that he should at least consult a decent tailor.
”Why not have detectives as guards--as if I wore a fortune in diamonds?” I grumbled.
”Let us at least have Mr. Burke. Now, Helen, what do _you_ propose to wear?” concluded the General.
Mrs. Van Dam took an extraordinary interest in my toilette. She even came to see my new evening dress fitted, and put little Mrs. Edgar into such a flutter that she prodded me with pins. I'll simply have to ask Father to increase my allowance; cheap white silk, clouded with tulle, was the best I could manage.
”H'm--Empire; simple and graceful,” p.r.o.nounced Oracle. ”Square neck, Helen, or round?”
”Why--I've never worn a low dress--not really low,” I said, longing but dubious. ”Pa says--”
”Nonsense!”
”A shame!” chimed Mrs. Edgar.