Part 21 (1/2)
”Then, tell me the names of your books, won't you?”
Somewhat diffidently I acquainted her with a few of the t.i.tles, whereupon she joyfully declared that she remembered one of them perfectly.
”The heroine was called Rose,” she said, triumphantly.
”It seems to me that it was Kate,” I replied, modestly.
”Yes, Kate, of course, and do you really think she was happy ever after with that extraordinary man Jonas?”
”I think I recollect marrying her off to one Fitzjames, but that is only a minor detail. A novelist, my dear young lady, may a.s.sert with some show of confidence that the weddings he brings about are warranted not to crock, but you must remember he deals with fiction. The future lies in the hollow of no man's hand and, since I write chiefly of modern days, I save myself the saddening task of following my heroines to the grave. To me they are all alive, yet, happy as the day is long, revelling in suns.h.i.+ne and basking in undying love.”
She folded her little hands on her lap, opened her big blue eyes very widely and sighed gently.
”How awfully delightful!” she said, ”and I think you're ever so clever.
But--but I think you'll have to pardon me.”
I rose, as she gained her feet and smiled at me again. Then she rushed off to another corner of the room and placed her hand on the coatsleeve of a six-footer who looked at her, joyfully. Her little turned-up face, in a fraction of a second, must have spoken several volumes. Then, slowly and very casually, they drifted off towards the big conservatory to the left.
Twenty minutes later, floating with the crowd, I chanced to be behind them. It is possible that they had found the retreat too populous.
”I am sure that you must have flirted disgracefully before I came,” the man accused her, tenderly.
”Not a bit! I just sat down with the dearest old fogy who is supposed to write novels, so that you shouldn't be jealous, if you saw me,” she replied, contentedly.
I moved away, rather swiftly. I should evidently have been delighted at the opportunity of rendering such signal service to so charming a little person. I had served as an aegid for her, as a buckler to protect her innocence and display it to the world in general and to six feet of stalwart manhood in particular. Yet, I confess that this little bud had driven a tiny thorn in me.
”Well,” I reflected, ”it is perhaps good to be an old fogy with scanty hair and the beginning of crow's feet. At any rate it helps make Frieda fond of me and has given me the trustful friends.h.i.+p of Frances. Baby Paul, I think, also appreciates his venerable friend.”
Just then, Gordon came to me.
”By Jove, Dave! You're rather a fine figure of a man, when you're properly groomed,” he told me.
”That's nonsense,” I told him, severely. ”I have just had a wireless informing me that I am a back number. Why are you no longer receiving at the side of your intended bride? She looks exceedingly handsome and graceful.”
”The engagement has really not been announced yet,” he answered. ”It is not official. The Van Rossums are going to Florida, because the old gentleman has lost some tarpon he wants to find again. After that they are going to California where he is to look up something about an oil well. I may possibly run over there to see them. The--It won't happen for ever so long, perhaps not till fall. Wish I could go out with you and beat you at billiards, but I'm to stay till the bitter end. Isn't she looking splendidly?”
My eyes turned to where Miss Van Rossum was still receiving guests. She was certainly a fine creature, full of the joy of living. If some of her tastes in the way of pursuits were somewhat masculine, it detracted nothing from her elegance and charm. These might, in later years, become rather exuberant, I reflected, looking at the amplitude of form displayed by her parents, but, after all, none of us are beyond the grasp of Father Time.
”Just as splendidly as she does in your exquisite painting,” I replied, nodding towards the portrait, wonderfully framed, that stood on an easel in the best light that could have been found for it.
A moment later he was torn away from me. From time to time he returned to the side of the young lady, who was always much occupied in conversation and pleasant laughter with many friends.
If Gordon thinks that the engagement is as yet something of a secret, he is badly in error. Hints, glances, little movements of heads in his direction, constantly apprised me that the information was scattered far and wide. Two dowagers close to me indulged in a stage whisper that revealed to me the fact that they wondered whether the projected marriage would not be something of a _mesalliance_ on the part of dear Sophia.
”After all, you know, he's nothing but a painter, and no one heard of him until three or four years ago!”
”But they say he charges enormously,” said the other.
This, evidently, was quite a redeeming feature in my friend's favor, but I am afraid it was the only one, from their point of view.
I soon decided that I had done my full duty and sought the stairway again. Here, I once more ran into Gordon.