V. V.'s Eyes Part 22

Beirne, who had long claimed the eve of the New Year for the hospitable repayment of his social dues, had lived to see the list of his friends shrink fast as Old Years ticked out. Nevertheless, the scene now was indubitably inspiriting. Lively groups decorated all the purview. White shirt-fronts gleamed: white shoulders did the same. The fragrance of flowers filled the air, filled likewise with the gay hum of voices. From behind a coppice of shrub and palm Professor Wissner's band of select artists continually seduced the feet. Toward the dining-room regions rose the sounds of refined conviviality. Servitors moved about with trays. Mrs. Clicquot's product fizzed, for the proper ceremonious induction of another year.

It was a most enlivening ensemble, full of pleasant attractions to the senses; and through it moved Carlisle Heth, the most beautiful lady, with a look like that of a queen in a book. In that gay company she was the proudest figure, the object of all most captivating to the eye, save one; and that one, an Olympian in evening dress, sauntered splendidly at her side.

Mr. Canning to-night made his debut in the local gay world. Constant as had been his attentions for a number of days, he had hitherto held steadfastly to his valetudinarian stand against general society. He had gambolled, indeed, but he had gambolled strictly _a deux_. In his present willingness to break through his invalid rules, and appear as her acknowledged squire before the flower of her world, Carlisle's heart had recognized the crowning proof of his interest. Small wonder if in prospect this victorious evening had been starred in her mind in purple and gold....

The shining pair had just arrived, lateness being reckoned very differently in Houses of Heth and Houses of Dabney. Their brilliant progress down the long gay room, stopped often for the giving and taking of greetings, left behind awake of _sotto-voce_ compliment. Cally Heth, though the familiar sight of every day, was a spectacle, or view, not easily tired of. In a company in which most had known each other from birth, her distinguished stranger and captive naturally drew even keener interest.

"Look, there he is!" whispered an excited debutante. "Oh, what a dream!..."

"I never saw Cally look better. If she were _only_ a little taller, what a match they'd make." (This was Cally's second-best friend Evelyn McVey, herself a tall girl.)

"Wissner ought to hit up that well-known s.n.a.t.c.h from' Lohengrin' ..."

"Certainly, Mrs. Bronson. Delighted to introduce you--introduce him, that is. Just a little later, though. Wouldn't have me interrupt _that_, would you?"

Thus faithful Willie Kerr, somewhat hara.s.sed by the responsibilities of being next friend to a crown prince.

Backbiting among the well-bred murmurs there was of course. Mrs.

Berkeley Page, the hostile one who had made the remark about the Heths being very improbable people, naturally spoke in her characteristic vein. She made her observations to her great crony, Mr. Richard Marye, who plucked a gla.s.s of champagne from a beckoned lackey, and answered:

"Whoever conceived a Canning to be an anchorite?... My dear, why are you so severe with these very excellent and worthy people?"

"Is it severe," said the lady, "to refuse to be cozened by gay lips and dramatic hair?"

"Aspiration," mused her elderly friend, sipping comfortably, "is the mainspring of progress. Don't you admire onward and upward? What harm can a little climbing possibly do to you and me?"

"Oh, Mr. d.i.c.k! All the harm that the tail does when it begins to wag the dog. Don't you observe how these people set up their own standards, and get them accepted, whatever old fogies like you and me may say? They _unsoul_ us--that's what they do, and we may scream, but we can't stop them. Their argument is that money can do everything, and the intolerable part of it is that they _prove it_. Ah, me!--"

"Also, O temperament! O Moriarty! For my part, Mary, I'm a Democrat--"

"You're an old-fashioned Church of England man, and incidentally a great dear," said Mary Page. "And nothing on earth sickens you, and you know it, like this G.o.dless modern materialism...."

But who could smile more unaffectedly than Cally Heth at the bitter little peckings with which the dying order ever seeks to avenge itself on its brilliant supplanters? She pa.s.sed on down the long room, stunning admirer in her train. High hope beckoned imminently to-night. By the subtle intuitions of her s.e.x she had been notified that the steady approach of the symbol of her happiness consummate now quickened toward its shining end....

Mr. Hugo Canning, having returned for a week at most, had already remained for a fortnight. And it was obviously for her sake that he had lingered. Day by day, emerging from his Payne barricades, he had sought her out: loud his feet had thundered behind, with no more promptings of hers. Of the genuineness of his interest she could feel no trace of doubt: a score of "pa.s.sages" since the interesting moment in Willie's sitting room rose to the eye of memory. And the prince of partis attracted her no less compellingly. On nearer view, he had revealed himself as full of a fascinating contrariety, various as a woman. Moods played up and down upon him, charming mysteriously. He could be distrait and silent, the portrait of distinguished boredom. And then, as by the turning of a sudden page, he was gay again, tender, witty, all ardors....

More than the strains of the lovesick waltz beat in the girl's veins to-night. For this present there was no hope even of connected conversation. In the midst of the gay company the invasions of privacy were constant.

"All these nice people, and all so eager to be friendly with you!"

laughed Carlisle, with some want of naturalness, as she for the dozenth time detached herself and him from a little surrounding group. "And yet you've complained to me of _loneliness_!"

"There are times, Miss Heth, when one is never so lonely as in the midst of the crowd."

"Oh!... Then to save you from loneliness to-night I must remove you from the crowd?"

"You grasp my meaning. I want a lodge in some vast wilderness."

"That is rather rude, isn't it? Where should I come in?"

"You come into the lodge," said Canning, and smiled faintly.

Though the smile was faint, her eyes fell before it. When she raised them, they ran upon another interruption.

"This is Mrs. Mason, Mr. Beirne's sister. You will like to meet her, Mr.

Canning."

"Delightful," murmured Mr. Canning.

Because of his consistent recluseness, foregone to-night for her pleasure, Carlisle had meant rather to exhibit Mr. Canning to enraptured eyes than to subject him to a flood of undesired introductions. But because she did not want people to refer to her as catty behind her back, some sharing of her honors was inescapable. A few of her dearest girl-friends, a handful of the more prominent young men, a somewhat larger sprinkling of the older people: these were all who received the golden benediction. Evey McVey was of course among the favored few, but Mattie Allen, as usual so late in the evening, was not to be seen. She was undoubtedly "off" somewhere, probably high up on the stairs, with the most interesting man she had been able to attach.

Canning accepted all the introductions with a charming courtesy, but Carlisle detected beneath his agreeable manner a faint undercurrent of stoic weariness. The cold weather had lately touched the troublesome throat: Mr. Canning spoke to-night with perceptible hoa.r.s.eness. Carlisle a.s.sured him that he had won a permanent place in Foxe's "Book of Martyrs" (of which she had heard the other day), and invited him to partake of refreshments, for they had now at last reached the doors of the dining-room. He declined, as she had done, but accepted a gla.s.s of champagne from a bald-headed Greek who was pulling corks at a small table near by. On the point of pledging his lady's health, he was invaded again, this time by resolute Mr. Robert Tellford, who held the opinion that Carlisle looked an angel this evening, and was long since addicted to celestial society.

"The wine is excellent," said Mr. Canning, clinking gla.s.ses with Mr.

Tellford.

"The rooms are warm," said Robert, in about that sequence.

"People are beginning to leave, I observe," said Mr. Canning.

"Others are just coming in, I note," answered Robert, doggedly.

Carlisle laughed. "To-morrow will be a fine day. You talk like people in a play. Let's all wish each other a happy New Year...."

"Duty is done," she added later, with a small sigh, when Robert had been persuaded to remove himself. "We can now give ourselves up to lives of the grossest selfishness.... Oh, oh, _oh!... How_ would sitting down appeal to you, Mr. Canning?"

"Ice-water to Tantalus, Miss Heth. And seats are about as probable."

"_Look!_"

She nodded dramatically toward the hall and her sudden discovery: Mr.

Beirne's private lair, presumably; a pleasant little retreat on the other side of the house, luring the eye through a half-open door. A little to the back, and off the beaten track, this nook seemed to have escaped the irruption of guests altogether.

"My lodge, as I live!" said Canning, with interest. "And, for once, I really don't believe we'll find a spoony couple sitting in the best place. Let's advance casually, yet with lightning speed...."

They pa.s.sed out of the drawing-room into the hall, the hum of various gaiety in their ears. No voices reached them from the rest-haven ahead.

Carlisle was suddenly silent. A subtle and thrilling sense of expectancy possessed her, making talk somewhat difficult....

However, on the very threshold of privacy, her agreeable feelings met with a cool _douche_. A brazen couple _was_ already there, sitting in the best place. In this world of trouble there always, always was. The fact was disappointing enough, to say the least of it, but what made matters worse was that it was impossible merely to exclaim reprovingly, as one usually does, "Oh, there's somebody _here_!" and step back at once. Carlisle saw in the first glance that the girl in the best place was no other than her special friend Mattie Allen, already looking around over her shoulder, spying her. To withdraw from Mattie, under these circ.u.mstances, was simply not to be thought of.

She gave Canning a quick, backward, upward look which said, plainer than print, "How long, O Lord, how long?" Recomposing her features hastily, she stepped on in.

"Oh, _Mats!_ It's you at last! We've been looking everywhere for you.

Mr. Canning was _so_ anxious to meet you...."

She ended dead. The intruding "couple" had risen together, turning; and Carlisle saw, with the suddenest and oddest little sinking sensation, that the male half of it, Mattie's astounding capture, was the lame physician from the slums, he whose face and words had become inextricably a part of the most disturbing memories of her life.

She, in her radiance, had met the slum doctor's eye with a shock of recognition; she looked at once away. She felt like one who has walked singing into a malicious trap. Why, oh, why, need the man have been ambushed here, of all places under the sun, obtruding his undesired presence and marplot countenance once again on her and Mr. Canning?...

However, if there was no withdrawing, neither was there the slightest break in the smooth outer continuity of things. Dear Mattie (already with a sheep's eye for the king among men in the doorway) had seized the conversation even before Carlisle left it hanging.