Aurora called back her attention and gave it to them. A certain success of smiles and bright eyes she was almost sure to have, with men. Gerald went off to get her some tea, took it to her, and finding her in the midst of a sufficiently lively time with her new acquaintances, returned to Antonia’s niece at the tea-table for a chat and cup of tea. While hearing the news from this unassuming elderly girl, he could keep an eye on Mrs. Hawthorne at a distance, and catch any facial signal for help.
159Aurora was drinking her tea, holding her cup like a real lady, with her little finger delicately curled back. Aurora’s figure stood out from among those surrounding her like a thing of a different make, an earthen jar among glass vases, a Swede among Japanese.
Aurora was out of place, it could not be blinked; and that she was so visible, in her able-bodied comeliness, her supremacy of dimples, her extremely good corset, increased the offense. So did also the native assurance of her eye–which had something at all times of a jovial sea-captain, with his foot on his own deck.
Gerald looked from her to Antonia, slightly uneasy. Antonia’s face had characteristics of a man’s, but along with them indications above all feminine. Power and caprice in the great woman went linked. He saw her while listening to the princess turn her head toward the quarter of the room tinctured by Aurora’s unmodified presence, as if taking account of the voice and accent of the stranger in her house.
This seemed to him his opportunity, and excusing himself from Miss Grangeon, he started toward Aurora.
“There are more ways than one of skinning a cat!” came floating to him in Aurora’s deep-piled voice, borne on her frank laugh, as he approached.
He found her having a very good time, but ready to call an end to it and go to be presented.
“I’m awfully nervous!” she whispered to Gerald, but that was a manner of speech. Aurora’s nerves were author-proof. She meant that she was impressed by the greatness of the moment. She picked up her three books from the table near by, held them with her left arm so that her right hand might be free to clasp Antonia’s, and, smiling as a 160basket of chips–thus did she later describe herself–advanced toward the crowning honor of the day.
Antonia saw her coming and narrowed her eyes the better to see. Antonia’s face, at no time in her life soft, was as much like granite at this moment as it had the moment before been like old white soap; her eyes, fixed on the approaching pair, turned stonily unseeing.
Gerald bravely went through with the introduction, and tried to warm the atmosphere with winged words. Aurora’s hand was all ready to shake.