The Bacillus of Beauty Part 24

No sooner had Cadge left us than Mr. Bellmer, pink and stammering in my presence, and after him the General, called to inquire for me.

It was wonderful to see the change in the strong, self-confident girl's manner. She beamed at my appearance, and her every word was caressing and deferential. The night before had had a magical effect. I was no longer "Diane," the ingenue whom she patronized as well as admired. I was a powerful woman, a great lady.

"Did our Princess enjoy waking this morning to find herself famous?" she asked, echoing Milly's word for me; and then, to Mrs. Baker's horror, she, too, had a tale to tell about reporters; they had been besetting her for information about her companion of the Opera.

"But I never see people of that sort, you know," she said, with an accent that piqued me, though I couldn't help feeling glad that Cadge had gone.

She showered me with messages from Mrs. Marmaduke Van Dam and from Peggy and Mrs. Henry. She had a dozen plans for my entertainment, but Mrs. Baker opposed a flurried negative:--

"We'll run no more risks like last night's; Nelly must stay at home--till folks get used to her."

"Then I can never go anywhere; never!" I cried in despair, yet laughing.

It's impossible sometimes not to laugh at Aunt. But Mrs. Van Dam gave me a look that promised many things.

"You won't be left in hiding after such a debut; you'll electrify society!" she said; and when she had gone, I wore away the day wondering what she meant, until I could send for the afternoon papers.

I laughed until I cried when they came, and cried until I laughed. The red extras reviewed the occurrence at the Opera from Alpha to Omega, publishing "statements" from ushers who had shown us to our box; from people in the audience and from the cab man who drove us home. And they supplemented their accounts with pen and ink sketches of "Miss Helen Winship at the Opera," evolved from the fallible inner consciousness of "hurry-up artists."

When Uncle came home, he found me reading an interview with him which contained the momentous information that he would say nothing.

"We shall not again forget," he said with a deep sigh of relief, "that

--the face that launched a thousand ships And burned the topless towers of Ilion

--was Helen's. But the Metropolitan still stands. An argument not used on heart-hardened Pharaoh was a plague of press representatives."

I'm afraid he'd had a trying day.

The worst of my day was still to come.

After dinner, when I happened to be alone a minute in the library, Mr.

Hynes came in. Oddly enough I'd been thinking about him. I had determined that the next time he called I would for once be self-possessed; I would act as if I had not seen how oddly he conducts himself--now gazing at me as if he would travel round the earth to feast his eyes upon my beauty and now actually shunning Milly's cousin. I was quite resolved to begin afresh and treat him just as cordially as I would any other man:

But the moment he appeared away flew all my wits.

"I think Milly'll be here in a minute," I stammered, and then I stopped, tongue-tied and blushing.

He came towards me, saying abruptly: "May I tell you what I thought when I saw you above us--" I didn't need to ask when or where. "--I thought: The Queen has come to her coronation."

One's own stupid self is so perverse! Of course I meant to thank him for his silent help the night before, but I asked with a rush of nervous confusion:--

"You--were you there?"

I could have suffered torture sooner than own that I had seen him.

"Were you there, Ned?" repeated Milly, blundering into the room. "Why, we didn't see you."

Of all vexatious interruptions! Behind her came John and most of the family.

"The servant of The Presence would fain know if The Presence is well,"

John said, coming quickly to my side and peering down at me with a dark, worn look upon his face, as if he hadn't slept, and a catch in his voice that irritated me, in spite of his playful words. I knew well enough that his anxiety had been on my account, but it was so unnecessary!

"The child bears up wonderfully," cried my Aunt, before I could answer; "but to-morrow'll tell the story; to-morrow she'll feel the strain."

Then they all broke out talking at once. John drew a big chair for me to the fire, and there was such an ado, adjusting lights and fending me with screens.

"You _are_ well?" John asked, obstinately planting himself between me and the others.

"Perfectly. How absurd you are!"

It was so ridiculous that I should be coddled after the triumph of my life, as if something awful had happened to me.

I had felt annoyed all day, so far as anything can now annoy me, by John's too solicitous guardianship, and it vexed me anew when he began to pile up cautions against this and against that--to warn me against going out alone upon the street, and to urge care even in my intercourse with Cadge. He is quicker than my Aunt; he divined the source of the _Star_ article, and he almost forbade me to cleave to such an indiscreet friend.

"Oh, last night won't happen again," I said carelessly; "and you don't know Cadge; she's as good as the wheat."

I wasn't listening to him. I was twisting his ring impatiently on my finger and watching in the play of the fire a vision of the great Opera House, the lights, the jewels, the perfumes, the white, wondering faces.

"Can't you see, Nelly," replied John, with irritation, "that this Bryant woman's article practically accuses you of risking lives to gratify a whim of vanity?"

"Why, John Burke, how can you say such a thing?" exclaimed Aunt Frank, overhearing his words and as usual answering only the last half dozen.

"Risking lives! Poor Nelly!"

"I didn't say it," John patiently explained; "but other people--"

"n.o.body else will talk about Nelly's vanity. Why, she hasn't a particle.

As for the papers, I won't have one in the house--"

"Except the _Evening Post_?" suggested Aunt Marcia.

"Which Cadge says isn't a newspaper," I contributed.

"--so we needn't care what they say."

I was ready to laugh at John's discomfiture, but the possible truth of his words struck me, and I cried out:

"People won't really believe I did it on purpose, whatever the papers say--that I went there just to be looked at! Oh, that would be horrible!

Horrible!"

"Of course not," John said with curt inconsistency to bring me comfort; but I had a reply more sincere--a fleeting glance only, but it said: "The Queen can do no wrong."

"Oh, I hope you are right; I hope no one thought that," I said confusedly in answer to the glance. And then I bent over the Caesar that Boy laid upon my lap, while Uncle asked:--

"Well, my son, is there mutiny again in the camp of our Great and Good Friend, Divitiacus the Aeduan?"

A few minutes later John said good-night with a ludicrous expression of pained, absent-minded patience. I didn't go to the door with him; I scarcely looked up from Boy's ablative absolutes.

Oh I treated him shabbily. And yet--why did he use every effort that day to keep me ignorant of my own rightful affairs, only to come at me himself with a club, gibbering of newspapers?