Part 46 (2/2)
BEDECKING ORNAMENTS OF PRAISE Love's Labor's Lost, ii. 1.
When Maurice Wynne's bitter word stung her, Berenice Morison stood for a second too overwhelmed to speak or move. She felt the blood mount to her temples, and she could see reflected in the eyes of acquaintances around a mingled curiosity and amus.e.m.e.nt. Wynne pa.s.sed on, and she shrank into her seat, which fortunately was near.
”Who in the world is that, and what did he say to you when you gave him that favor?” exclaimed her neighbor. ”I don't see how you dared to do it!”
A gentleman took the speaker away, so that Berenice was spared the necessity of answering. She watched Wynne advance to the group of which Mrs. Wilson was the centre, and she understood well enough that his being here was some contrivance of the latter's. She was angry with Wynne and humiliated by the insult that he had flung at her, yet she had room in her heart for rage against the woman who had brought him there. She looked at Mrs. Wilson laughing and jesting, she watched the comedy proceed as the black domino covered the white shoulders and the gown of gold and crimson, yet most of all was she conscious of how straight and strong Maurice stood among the gay group which surrounded him. The sternness of his mouth, the gravity and indignation of his look, seemed to her most manly and n.o.ble. She felt that he had by his bearing mastered the absurd circ.u.mstances in which he was placed; she smiled bitterly to think how poor and flippant had been her own thoughtless jest. When Maurice threw the favor on the table, Berenice saw Clara Carstair take it up and give it to Parker Stanford. She watched Wynne and Mrs. Wilson leave the hall, two solemn, black-robed figures pa.s.sing like shadows among the dancers. When they had disappeared she sat with eyes cast down, her thoughts in a whirl of regret, anger, and confusion.
”Well, did you ever know Mrs. Wilson to get up a circus equal to that before?” queried her partner, coming back to his place beside her. ”She gets more amazing every day.”
”She certainly gets to be worse form every day. It's outrageous that everybody lets Mrs. Wilson do anything she chooses, no matter how bad taste it is.”
”Oh, she amuses folks,” Mr. Van Sandt said. ”n.o.body takes her seriously.”
”It is time that they did,” answered Berenice rather sharply. ”Such a performance as this to-night makes us all seem vulgar,--as if we were her accomplices.”
”Oh, you take it too seriously; besides, I thought that you helped it on a bit.”
Berenice was silenced, but she was none the happier for that. She was vexed with herself for having any feeling about the incident; but the word of Wynne came afresh into her mind, and brought the blood anew to her cheek. She said to herself that she hoped that she should meet him soon again, that she might wither him with a glance of burning contempt, ever after to ignore him.
”You think I wouldn't do it,” she sneered to some inner doubt; ”but I would!”
She was interrupted by a partner, and went whirling down the bright hall to the tingling measures of a new waltz; yet all the while she was thinking of the moment she had stood face to face with Maurice. She scoffed at herself for giving so much weight to a thing so trifling; she made a strong effort to appear gay, only the more keenly to realize that at heart she was miserable.
Mrs. Staggchase, on her way out of the hall a little later, stopped and spoke to her.
”Come, Bee, it is time for you to go home. You don't seem to profit by the G.o.dly example of Elsie Wilson at all.”
”Heaven forbid that I should take her as my exemplar!” Berenice flung back with unnecessary fervor.
”Well,” Mrs. Staggchase observed good-humoredly, ”there are things in which it is conceivable that you might find a better model. By the way, what did Cousin Maurice say to you when you gave him that german favor?
Of course I haven't any right to ask, but you see I am interested in bringing the boy up properly.”
Berenice flushed with confusion and vexation.
”It was something no gentleman would have said!”
”Ah,” the other returned with perfect calmness, ”that is the danger of doing an unladylike thing. It is so apt to provoke an ungentlemanly return. Men, you know, my dear, haven't the fine instincts that we have. However, I'm sorry that Maurice didn't behave better than you did. Good-night, dear.”
Mrs. Staggchase had hardly gone when Parker Stanford came up with a favor.
”I am tired, Mr. Stanford,” Berenice said. ”Thank you, but you had better ask some one else.”
”I'd rather sit it out with you,” he answered.
”Nonsense; one doesn't sit out turns in the german.”
”They do if they wish.”
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