The conclusion he came to was, that he would not announce the failure of Samuel Van Cortlandt until the day after to-morrow—the day after the musicale. Rose should know nothing until then. Like a man in grave danger, he had thought of a thousand things in those agonizing moments in which wheat dropped, point by point, relentlessly, without mercy. The roar and clamor of the Stock Exchange still rang in his ears. He had tried to recuperate his loss in wheat there. He was practically ruined, and yet he could not realize it. He went out, bought a new derby hat, entered a bar in Nassau Street, and ordered a stiff brandy cocktail—over it he came to another conclusion: to sell his house on Park Avenue and all it contained.
At a little before nine the following evening a long line of coupés and broughams, hired or owned, moved slowly toward the Van Cortlandt awning. As each equipage halted before it the street crowd of the poorer class, who had gathered together for a glimpse of the rich, caught hurried visions of dainty, satin-slippered feet, sleek silk ankles, and soft evening wraps. They stood craning their necks at fair women, in whose clean, well-kept hair glittered jewels, whose white throats were circled in pearls and brilliants, and who neither glanced to the right nor left, but followed their escorts up the carpeted steps, through the steel-grilled vestibule, and past Griggs, into the brilliantly lighted hall beyond, which was as far as the crowd, could see. The night was starry, crisp, and clear. The faint odor of a dozen perfumes hung in the cool air under the awning. This vapor of riches was all these fine ladies left in their wake to the poor curiously watching them.
Rose Van Cortlandt never looked more seductively beautiful than she did to-night—stunning in a gown of black jet, her bare neck and arms ivory white, a wreath of diamonds sparkling in her dark, undulated hair—thorough mistress of herself, and clean as a cat.
She stood receiving her guests in the big ball-room filled with the gilded chairs, a celebrated room by Marcotte, gay and fragrant to-night in American beauty roses, its extreme end screened by a forest of palms, leading out to the conservatory. Before this mass of palms stood a low platform, holding a long, black, polished concert grand, fresh from Steinway. The entire front of this platform was hedged with orchids and violets.
Rose had left nothing unordered. The neatly engraved programme announced no less an extravagance than the Mozart stringed sextet—six solemn-looking gentlemen, skilled in chamber music, who knew nobody present, and whose business it was to dispense symphonies and sonatas that no one understood, at the highest price attainable. Moreover, Madame Pavia Visconti, late of the Royal Opera of Milan (how late, that motherly looking, fat, and florid contralto did not confess), was to sing twice, relieved by Mr. Gwyn-Jones, basso, whose deep and formidable ballads had rumbled through New York successfully for two seasons. It was not until the second part, after the terrapin and champagne, that Sue Preston’s name appeared.
Never had the task that lay before her seemed harder to Sue than it did to-night. She had steeled herself to the coming ordeal for days, too brave to back out, and wholly in ignorance of the magnificence of the affair or the importance of the artists engaged. She had sung at the tea as she supposed for nothing; the next morning’s mail had brought a check from Rose Van Cortlandt for fifty dollars and a sweet note of appreciation. Mrs. Ford beamed with pride when she read it. Ebner Ford’s satisfaction was marked. To-night Rose Van Cortlandt had insisted on Sue accepting one hundred dollars.
“Really, Mrs. Van Cortlandt, I’m not worth it,” Sue had said in her embarrassment.
“Hush, dear,” Mrs. Van Cortlandt had returned, giving her a sound hug and a kiss. “I’m the better judge of that.”
At that moment up-stairs in her hostess’s bedroom where the young girl had left her wraps, lay a surprise beside her evening coat—a tiny green-leather box from Tiffany’s, containing a small brooch of pearls and diamonds and a check for a hundred dollars.