Part 21 (2/2)
In his complete bewilderment he created quite the most dreadful blunder that is registered against him in his long list of social sins.
”But don't you expect me to meet the young ladies?” he blurted out indignantly. ”Aren't you going to ask me to the party?”
A horrible pause followed, during which the walls seemed to rock around him and he felt the blood surging to his head. He was starting up from the table when Miss Enid laid a quieting hand on his sleeve.
”Of course you are to be invited, Quinby,” she said in her suavest tones; ”the invitation will reach you to-morrow.”
CHAPTER 14
On the night of the Bartlett party, Quin stood before the small mirror of his old room over the Martels' kitchen and surveyed himself in sections. The first view, obtained by standing on a chair, was the least satisfactory; for, in spite of the most correct of wing-toed dancing-shoes, there was a s.p.a.ce between them and the cuffs of his trousers that no amount of adjustment could diminish. The second section was far more rea.s.suring. Having ama.s.sed what to him seemed a fortune, for the purchase of a dress-suit, Quin had allowed himself to be persuaded by the voluble and omniscient salesman to put all of his money into a resplendent dinner-coat instead. The claim for the coat that it was ”the cla.s.siest garment in the city” was reinforced by the fact that it had adorned the dummy in the shop window for seven consecutive days and occasioned much comment by its numerous ”novelties.” Quin had no doubts whatever about the coat. Its glory not only dimmed his eyes to the shortcomings of the trousers, which he had rented for the occasion, but even made him forget the aching tooth that had been hara.s.sing him all day.
As he went down to present himself for the family inspection, it is useless to deny that he was very much impressed with the elegance and correctness of his costume. It had been achieved with infinite pains and considerable expense. Nothing was lacking, not even a silver cigarette-case, bearing an unknown monogram, which he had purchased at a p.a.w.n-shop the day before.
His advent into the sitting-room produced a gratifying sensation.
”Ha! Who comes here!” cried Mr. Martel. ”The gla.s.s of fas.h.i.+on and the mould of form.” Then he came forward for close inspection. ”Hadn't you any better studs than those, my boy?”
”They are the ones that came in the s.h.i.+rt,” said Quin, instantly on the defensive.
”Well, they hardly do justice to the occasion. Step upstairs, Ca.s.sius, and get my pearl ones out of the top chiffonier drawer.”
”I wish Captain Phipps could see you,” said Rose admiringly. ”You should have seen his face when I told him you were going to-night! He wasn't invited, you know.”
”Where did you see him?” Quin asked, brus.h.i.+ng a speck of lint from the toe of his s.h.i.+ning shoe.
”Here. He's been coming twice a week to work with Papa Claude ever since you left. Give 'em to me, Ca.s.s”--this to her brother. ”I'll put them in.”
”Aren't they too little for the b.u.t.tonholes?” asked Quin anxiously.
”Not enough to matter,” Rose insisted. Then, as she finished, she added in a whisper: ”Tell Nell somebody sent his love.”
”Nothing doing,” laughed Quin with a superior shrug; ”somebody else is taking his.”
The curb was lined with automobiles by the time he arrived at the Bartletts'. The house looked strangely unfamiliar with its blaze of lights and throng of arriving guests. He instinctively felt in his pocket for his latch-key, and then remembered, and waited for the strange butler to open the door. The inside of the house looked even less natural than the outside. The floors were cleared for dancing and the mantels were banked high with flowers and ferns. Under the steps the musicians were already tuning their instruments.
”Upstairs, sir; first room to your left,” said the important person at the door, and Quin followed the stream of black-coated figures who were filing up the stairs and turning into the room he had occupied a short week ago. It was just as he had left it, except for the picture that no longer adorned the mantel.
”Beg pardon, sir,” said the lofty attendant who took his overcoat, ”your stud's come loose.”
”I bet the d.a.m.n thing's going to do that all night,” Quin said confidentially. ”Say, you haven't got a pin, have you?”
”Oh, no, sir, it couldn't be pinned,” protested the man in a shocked tone.
Quin adjusted it as best he could, took a final look at himself in the mirror, and proceeded downstairs. Arrived in the lower hall, he glanced about him in some perplexity. Not a member of the family was visible, and he looked in vain for a familiar face. In his uncertainty as to his next move, he went back to the pantry and got himself a gla.s.s of water.
As he was returning to the hall, some one plucked at his sleeve and whispered:
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