The Bacillus of Beauty Part 36

Scarcely had they gone when in rushed the General and my prim duenna, Mrs.

Whitney; they'd been waiting until the coast was clear. It was with something like a scream that the two flew at me, crying in one voice:--

"Have you _really_ refused to be one of Peggy's bridesmaids? Why didn't you consult _me_?"

Peggy despairs of Mr. Poultney; she's going to marry some person in Standard Oil, and her wedding will be a function.

"Yes," I said, ignoring the latter question.

"But why--_why_--" Mrs. Whitney squeaked and panted, and her breath failed.

"Because--was it because Ann Fredericks was asked too?" Meg demanded.

"Yes, if you must know."

"But what has Ann done?" said Meg. She planted herself in front of me, her hard, handsome eyes blazing with impatience. "She's as homely as the Sunset c.o.x statue and as uncivil to you as she dares; but she's only a cousin of _the_ Frederickses, you mustn't mind her. What has Ann done, Helen?"

"She weighs two hundred and they call her 'Baby'! She's a fat slug on a currant bush! I won't talk about her."

I dashed into my room but Meg's staccato reached me even there.

"Just like Helen! Imagine Mrs. Henry's state of mind."

"And Ann's," said Mrs. Whitney.

"Oh, Ann's in mortal terror. But how can Helen expect pasty girls like Ann Fredericks--out last fall and already touching up--to forgive her beauty?

Trouble is, every girl who comes near Helen knows she makes her look like a caricature."

Meg paced the floor a minute, then slapped herself into a chair.

"Oh, I've seen the women scowl at her," said Mrs. Whitney.

"Scowl?" said Meg. "Why, I've seen a woman actually put out her foot for Helen to trip over. Old women are the worst, I do believe; some of the young ones admire her. What do you think old Mrs. Terry said--Hughy Bellmer's aunt--at the last of her frightful luncheon concerts, where you eat two hours in a jungle of palms and orchids, and groan to music two hours more in indigestion. 'A lovely girl, my dear Mrs. Van Dam,' she said; 'a privilege to know her. Pity that so many of our best people fight shy of a protegee of the newspapers.' _That_ from Mrs. Terry, with her hair and her hats--"

"And her divorce record," added Mrs. Whitney.

"She fears for her nephew; as if Helen would look at him! But the newspapers _have_ hurt Helen. I wish she'd announce her engagement; she has the cards in her hands, but she's got to play 'em; and poor Strathay's so devoted!--Why didn't you shade the lights Tuesday at your dinner? In that glare we were all worse frights beside her than usual."

"I hate murky rooms!" I cried, breaking out upon them, for I couldn't stand it any longer. "It's your 'rose of yesterday' who insists on twilight and shaded candles. I enjoy electricity!"

Meg gazed at me in despair.

"Helen, are you really bent on making enemies?" she asked. "What _did_ Ann Fredericks do?"

I couldn't have answered; it would have been no answer to say that she angers me with a supercilious stare; but the trouble of replying was spared me, for Mrs. Henry appeared that minute in the doorway, greeting me in her nervous puffy voice:--

"How _well_ you look!" she said. "_Such_ a treat to get a peep at you! Peggy really must try your dressmaker--but she's _so_ disappointed! You _must_ let me beg of you--_just_ like an own daughter and Peggy couldn't think more of a sister! You _will_ reconsider--"

Something in the way she thrust forward her head reminded me of how her tiara slipped and hitched about, on the night of her dance, and how Ned and I giggled when it had to be repinned.

"I'm afraid Peggy should have consulted me earlier," I said with a spite born of the recollection.

It would have been more than mortal not to take offense at that. Mrs.

Henry's face grew red, and after a few perfunctory words she and Meg left, and Mrs. Whitney went out with them.

As Mrs. Henry backed into the hall, she almost collided with Kitty, who had just come up.

"Talking wedding?" that tease asked, following me back into the parlour and pirouetting before a mirror. "Chastening experience for once in a way to see mysel' as ithers see me. Big wedding, won't it be? Florist told Cadge he was forcing a churchful of peach and apple blossoms. You're a bridesmaid, ain't you? That _was_ Mrs. Henry? Know I've seen her here. Looks apoplectic; and there's too much musk in her violet."

"That was Mrs. Henry, but I'm not on Peggy's list. How are the beastesses'

noses and toeses?"

"Ambulance rung for." Kitty darted to another looking gla.s.s. "Regular hall of mirrors, ain't it? Helen, why are photo-engravers--but say, I've seen a list of bridesmaids; Ann Fredericks was one, cousin of _the_ Frederickses; great for Helen, we all said--Pros. and Cadge and--"

"Has the list been printed?"

Kitty looked puzzled.

"What are you cross about?" she said finally. "I don't wonder you get tired of such doings, tugging a ton of bouquet down a church aisle, organ grinding Lohengrin. If ever I marry, I sha'n't ask you to stand up with me; I propose to be the central figure at my own wedding; Cadge can do as she chooses."

"Why, Kitty! Cadge and--why, Pros., of course."

"In June. Came to tell you."

For a moment Kitty's eyes danced, then the mist followed the sunlight, and the poor little creature buried her head in my lap, sobbing.

"Oh, what'll I do," she cried, "when Cadge takes away my brother and my brother takes away Cadge, and you--they say you're going off with that Englisher to be a Countess--not that I ever see anything of you now."

"Oh, hush, child; don't you know you're talking nonsense?"

Kitty took me at my word.

"Earl's lady is a Countess, ain't she?" she asked, her voice still shaky.

Then she sat suddenly upright and put back her red curls from her brow, winking vigourously. "Oh, if you do live in a castle, put in bathtubs and gas; and if you go to court, please, Princess, hide a kodak under your bouquet for me and--"

Crying and laughing by turns and tossing back her flaming locks, she started for the door.

"Helen," she said, turning as she reached it, "I have such bad symptoms!

Am I really the only girl that's jealous of you?"

"The only one that isn't jealous, you--you dear!" I exclaimed; and I believe it's almost true!

Kitty paused in the hall, playing with the roses in a bowl upon the table.

"We hear something of how the dowagers adore you. But let 'em wag their double chins; you'll scat the old cats from their cushions!" she said.

At the impetuous outflinging of her hands, the floor was strewn with pink petals.

"Cats?" repeated Mrs. Whitney, who just then made her appearance, "are they a hobby with Miss Reid?"