Part 33 (1/2)
The following night our very informal dinner took place. We had asked some other people, to make up a party of ten, and so we had quite a formidable array of ”valor and beauty” around the long, refectory table. Mr. and Mrs. Howells and their daughter, the Chinese Minister and his wife, Bobby Willard and his sister Ruth, Wright, Bill and myself, all rather diplomatically placed, made up the group. It was a rather amusing, and incidentally, an excellent meal. Over the ma.s.sed orchids on the table, I could see Wright almost feverishly attentive alternately, to Ruth Willard in pale-blue on his left, and to Mercedes, in an amazing frock of black lace, a cl.u.s.ter of orange flowers at her girdle, seated between him and my husband. At my end of the table I had Mr. Howells and the courteous gentleman from the Orient. And Mrs. Howells, at Bill's right, watched indolently her daughter's radiant progress and applied herself, mutely, to the business of eating. In consequence, Mercedes, during the greater part of the meal, drove tandem; and it was really pretty to watch--only, by the salad course, it had grown monotonous.
After dinner we had two tables of bridge. Fortunately, I played rather a good game, Father having taught me patiently, in order to provide one more time-killer, during my shut-inism. As we were ten, two were left to play the piano, to sit out on the verandah, to stroll about the grounds. I had cleverly manoeuvered that Wright and Ruth be left, but something went wrong, and Bill, announcing that he did not care to play, was joined by Mercedes, who insisted that the only rule she knew was ”not to trump her partner's ace.” I fancied, however, that she was well equipped with the finesse instinct.
”And even that I often forget,” she said, laughing. ”Me, I have so little use for rules!”
So it eventually and naturally came about that Bill and Mercedes stayed out of the game, joined now and then by whoever was dummy.
For a while they remained at the far end of the room, at the piano--Bill, black and white in his dinner clothes, dreaming over the keys, Mercedes, leaning on the piano, her huge orange feather fan at her lips, singing s.n.a.t.c.hes of Spanish songs from behind its shelter, her dark eyes glowing. It was, I was forced to admit to Mrs. Howells, playing at my table, a pretty picture, softened and romantic in the flicker of fire light which shone over the two and danced on the mahogany case of the Steinway.
Later, they went out: Wright followed them presently, in his momentary freedom as dummy, for ”a breath of air and a cigarette.”
I made a Grand Slam.
Wright, returning, to take his place, paused to regard the score over my shoulder, and to whisper,
”Is that the girl Bill picked out for me? What does he take me for, a lion-tamer?”
”Hus.h.!.+” I said, conscious of Mrs. Howells' proximity. But she was criticizing her husband's last play and did not hear us.
It was twelve o'clock before our guests left. Mercedes, in a gorgeous black and orange cloak, seemed reluctant to depart.
”I've had _such_ a wonderful evening!” she told me, ”and Billy was _so_ entertaining!”
I had always disliked the schoolgirl manner of talking in exclamations and italics.
Wright, bidding me good-night, remarked, with mock gravity,
”I'm going to buy a whip and a gun tomorrow, Mavis! That Howells girl needs a dressing down.”
”Dressing down?” I asked, not a little maliciously, recalling with inner amus.e.m.e.nt, Mercedes' somewhat revealing gown.
But if Wright did not understand me, as I hoped he would not, my husband did, and his inevitable ”Meow!” followed me into my room and lingered there for some time.
War to the knife--!
CHAPTER XIV
GUAYABAL, CUBA-- and Heaven knows what date.
Father, dearest--
We have enjoyed your letters so much, and I am glad that you have Uncle John to bear you out in your statements that you are almost well and strong again, otherwise it would seem too good to be true. What a fright you gave us all, you dear Daddy.
It is perfect here: if only you were with us I would be the happiest girl in the world. Peter is all better again. I hope I shall never live through another night like the one when we nearly lost him. Bill is wonderful with children--I never saw such patience and tenderness and sanity.
We see quite a lot of Mercedes. I am sure she would enchant you, she is so pretty. But I should be jealous, you know, if she ever adopted you as a second father, as she threatened to do when I showed her your picture. Your picture, by the way, is the next thing to the flesh and blood you! I talk to it by the hour.