“Practice every day—you have six days yet,” Mrs. Mechlin said.
“Do, Miss Mercedes. I would like you to fool Bob,” Miss Gunther said.
“But you must make your voice sound guttural. Your voice is naturally very musical. You must disguise it,” George suggested.
Mercedes followed his suggestion, and by carefully imitating Mrs. Mechlin's French maid (who spoke very broken English and stammered a good deal), she passed herself off for a stammering French girl, who was very talkative, in spite of the difficulty in her speech—maintaining her rôle so well that neither Bob nor Arthur recognized her until she took off her mask. Then the faces of the two young men were a study. They both had paid most ardent compliments to her feet and hands, and had earnestly begged for the privilege of calling upon her, which she granted, promising to give the number of her house when she unmasked. She had danced with both several times, and had asked them to present George and Clarence to her. Both of whom also asked her to dance, and while dancing had a good laugh at the expense of the two deluded ones.
When she unmasked, Selden left the ball in the midst of the peals of laughter from those who understood the joke. Bob stood his ground, with the crimson blush up to his ears and eyebrows.
“The fact of the matter is, that you will attract me always, no matter under what disguise,” he whispered to Mercedes.
“Pas si bete,” she answered, stammering fearfully, and looking the prettier for it.
The Liederkranz and Purim balls were highly enjoyed also, but Mercedes, though in domino, assumed no rôle. She was very amiable to Bob and Arthur, to heal the wound of their lacerated vanity.
The winter had now passed, and spring came—bringing to our Californians thoughts of returning home.
The sun was shining brightly on Madison Square—there had been a heavy shower that morning, in the early March—which had washed the snow off the pavements into the sewers, leaving the streets clean. Children were out with their nurses in the square, among the trees, which were trying hard to bud out, but as yet succeeded very poorly. Still, there were some little birds of sanguine temperament, chirping like good optimists about the ungainly, denuded branches, calculating philosophically on coming green leaves, though vegetation was slow to awake from its winter sleep.