The hall was buff and light-blue to her eyes, and the procession of figures over the arch, the immense stage, the ceiling, the lights, all were of great beauty and interest.
But the people! the beautiful dresses! the dainty bonnets! the flow of perfumed drapery! the movement of strong, clean, supple limbs!—these were the most glorious sights of all. She had no room for envy in her heart. She was very happy, for she seemed to have reached a share in ultimate magnificence.
She longed for gowns and bonnets like these, but there was no bitterness in her longing.
She herself was a beautiful picture as she sat there. From her bust, proud and maternal, rose her strong smooth neck, and young, graceful reflective head. If the head had been thrown back she would have seemed arrogant; with that reflective, forward droop, she produced upon the gazer an effect both sweet and sad. In the proud bust was prophecy of matronly beauty, and also of the freshness of youth.
Mason, seated below among a group of musical critics, looked at her with brooding eyes. At that moment she seemed to be the woman he had long sought. Certainly the glamour was around her then. She sat above him and her brown hair and rich coloring stood out from the drapery like a painting. A chill came over him as he thought of the letter he had sent to her that very morning. It was brutal; he could see it now. He might have put the criticism in softer phrases.
Isabel leaned over and spoke to Rose and then Rose began searching for him. He was amazed to feel a thrill of excitement as he saw that strong, dark face turned toward him; and when his eyes met her's he started a little, as if a ray of light had fallen suddenly upon him. She colored a little, he thought, and bowed. Where did the girl acquire that regal, indifferent inclination of the head? It was like a princess dropping a favor to a faithful subject, but it pleased him. "The girl has imagination!" he said. "She claims her own."
Then he meditated: "What an absurdity! Why should I fix upon that girl, when here, all about me are other women more beautiful, and rich and accomplished, besides. That confounded farmer's girl has a raft of stupid and vulgar relatives, no doubt, and her refinement is a mere appearance."
He solaced himself with a general reflection.
"Furthermore, why should any man select any woman, when they are all dots and dashes in a web of human life, anyhow? Their differences are about like the imperceptible differences of a flock of wrens. Why not go out and marry the first one that offers, and so end it all?"
The mystery of human genius came also to Rose as Mr. Harvey pointed out to her the city's most noted men and women. They were mere dabs of color—sober color, for the most part—upon this flood of humankind. She was to Mason, probably, only a neutral spot in the glorious band of color, which swept in a graceful curve back from the footlights. It was wonderful, also, to think that these smiling men were the millionaire directors of vast interests—they seemed without a care in the world.