"Don't mention her!" interrupted Mrs. Forest.
"I don't see how we can help it," replied Blanch, "since fate has thrust her unbidden into our lives. We might as well recognize facts first as last since we are no longer in a position to choose either our surroundings or the persons with whom we are to associate. There is only one way to avert the catastrophe threatening us, and that is—by my marrying Jack."
Chiquita's beauty filled Mrs. Forest with a vague and nameless terror. But a glimpse of that dark siren was enough to apprise her of her son's peril, and she unhesitatingly implored Blanch not to let him out of her sight—to go off with him alone as often as possible and flirt with him to any length; a tremendous concession on Mrs. Forest's part—nothing less than a complete surrender, she being one of those proud but insipid mortals whose temperature could be easily gauged by the inclination of her long, slender, slightly upturned nose which seemed to be forever pointing toward a better world. For her, it was not enough that one's appearance and innate refinement marked one as a lady or a gentleman, but it must be proven by a long deduction beginning with some obscure ancestor of whom the world has never heard and whose shortcomings have been happily buried in the oblivion of time. Could she have had her way, the world would have been long since wrapped in pink tissue paper, tied with blue ribbon and labeled safe. How she ever came by her dauntless son remains a mystery; it certainly was no fault of hers.
Somebody of a pessimistic turn of mind once remarked that, if the human race were suddenly stripped naked, it would be impossible to distinguish the refined from the vulgar. A truly inspired utterance. For as Captain Forest viewed his family from his plane of vantage, especially after the leveling process had set in, they strangely reminded him of a flock of tame geese rioting in a pond. They made a great noise and stir, but convinced nobody.
Everybody having reached his level and been shorn of airs and affectations, it no longer remained a question of what one was, but what one could do. Consequently, it became daily more and more difficult to distinguish between personalities. It is true there were occasional flashes suggestive of submerged, latent faculties, but only flashes; stupidity and the
commonplace were the dominating notes.
It was a wonderful study in human nature, and hopeless though the general outlook appeared, the future was not entirely without its promise. The souls of Blanch and Chiquita shone like radiant twin stars from out the gloomy, abysmal depths of the Egyptian darkness that had settled over the world.
Perhaps the most remarkable and amusing feature of it all was that, with the exception of Blanch, the others still seemed able to take themselves seriously. They regarded the Captain's new outlook upon life as a complete reversion to the primitive type, but luckily for them, he had not yet lost his sense of compassion.
Recognizing the deplorable mental state to which his uncle was fast sinking, he kept him supplied with wines and cigars, obtained from his friend, Pedro Romero, the gambler. No man can partake of excellent wines and cigars for any length of time without feeling his oats, as the saying goes; and the Colonel proved no exception to the rule.
He had just finished a bottle of Burgundy and, as he sat in the garden with his sister, sipping his demitasse and inhaling the fragrant aroma of a Havana, he began to feel the return of his nerve. In fact, had he been approached on the subject, he would have admitted that he felt like a fighting-cock, in just the proper condition to quarrel with his nephew. Happily for the Colonel, the subject of his thoughts came sauntering into view at this juncture, and he squared himself, assuming an aggressive attitude preparatory to the encounter which he intended to precipitate with all possible dispatch.