It had been a doubt with Mr. Kindred, as the holidays drew on, whether after all he would use his Christmas leave. He had it, easy enough, but what should he do with it? Home was too far away to be even thought of, and short of home, what was there he cared for? Magnus rather thought he would stay at the Post.
However, as the time drew near, and Mrs. Newcomb renewed her invitation, and Mrs. Beguile sent up hers, Magnus yielded to the prospective charms of the Metropolitan Museum, Central Park, and New York harbour; and joined the gay party that were going to town. Five days' escape from the reveille gun was, after all, worth something.
Busy, gay days! In their quiet "cit" dress the cadets roamed about all day, and then at night, in correct cadet costume, went to dinner here and supper there, until Magnus thought he must have been presented to all the pretty girls in town. Rooms were full of floating sashes and falling lace and skirts that could "stand alone": and the men in grey moved about among the airiest kind of clouds and billows; a maze of bewildering scents and sounds and visions, with old friends and new on every hand.
The last night of all there was a large gathering of young people at the house of Mrs. Beguile, and of course the West Pointers were petted and wondered over to their hearts' content. In fact Magnus had more of it than he wanted; he grew tired of being asked for bell buttons, and telling how often he had his hair cut. McLean enjoyed it, and Randolph could never have too many girls around, even if the fair creatures had to stand on tiptoe and peep over each other's shoulders. But Mr. Kindred was in a very critical mood, thinking of Cherry; and found himself comparing necks and shoulders on every hand. He was saying stringent things to himself anent one of the prodigal owners, when Mrs. Beguile touched him on the arm.
"I do not wonder you are lost in admiration," she said, following his eyes, which were just then fixed on the youngest Miss Fashion; an extremely handsome young lady, too much of whose dress seemed to have slid down to the floor in a mass of curling frills and furbelows.
"Like Venus rising from the sea, is she not, Mr. Kindred, with her white foamy draperies?"
Magnus considered this rendering.
"Why did Venus rise from the sea?" he asked abruptly. But now Mrs. Beguile looked at him.
"Why?" she repeated. "Dear me! how should I know? I'm not the least bit classical. Because she liked to, I suppose. But my dear Mr. Kindred, as our great poet has beautifully remarked, 'Life is a business, not good cheer.' Will you come with me and make yourself useful?"
"What an opening—to a man who has been totally useless for the last four days!" Magnus answered, as he followed his hostess to the supper room. "But if your poet had seen that table, Mrs. Beguile, he would have written down life to be good cheer and not business—couldn't help it, you know; it would have confused his mind to that extent."