At least that was the ostensible reason; perhaps it was pride in her appearance that was the real influence. If so, it was justified. For I gazed at her a moment, standing beneath a flood of crimson light from the shaded hall lamp, and, strangely enough, realized I looked upon a higher type than myself. She is what Mr. Bang or Uncle would call a “sound girl,” and with the white collar of her opera cloak about her ears, her charms were well set off. She has a shy manner, and her cheeks are dimpled and cherry-red, almost as clear as my own. A man could see in her more than half the charms usually found in a novelist’s heroine and what more could any man want? What more could Mr. Bang want? I feel Mr. Bang is looking for a wife. Why does he not pay suit to this example of all those virtues he demands of woman?
Strange that these thoughts should have flashed through my mind. Strange that I should never before have given Ethel’s personality a thought.
We kissed Mumsie and passed to our cab. Uncle cheerily bade us a merry evening. We bumped away in our sleigh, a covered sleigh, a cab on runners. It seemed so weird. And the houses came into light and fell into shadow in a spectral procession.
The sleigh passed on to parts unknown to me and soon I noticed the houses were large and standing far back from the street. They represented property, position, power.
Our sleigh came to a halt. I saw before us a line of sleighs and motors stretching from the street to the portiere of a great stone mansion pouring out light from a score of windows. I could see muffled figures hurrying up the steps into the wide, open doors, and my heart began to thump. It pounded even harder as I made my entrance to the great hall. I expected to make my bow to the host and hostess and had my best smile ready; but all that happened was, a maid whispered to Ethel: “Straight up stairs, please.” Not very dramatic!
The dressing-room was crowded. Ethel and I had to wait a long time ere we could have a look in a glass. The dresses of the women were gorgeous, some a glitter of transparencies, others shimmering silk; all the colours—it was Paradise. There were dresses also a good deal bolder than the fashion plates. Chatter was going on all about us, a perfect Babel.
Of course, there were some girls there with simple gowns besides ourselves, but they and we had to wait while the peacocks restored their plumage. It seemed as if the best dressed could push the most. This observation, I am afraid, is worthy of Mr. Bang. How that man is affecting me! Unconsciously, I find, he is influencing my thought.
At last Ethel and I were able to go downstairs. At least the roses Mr. Bang gave me were as good as those anyone else was wearing, and I knew that my cheeks were not a mess of rouge and powder.
At the head of what evidently was the drawing-room, we found our host and hostess. We filed in, shook hands, and passed on. I was astounded, their faces looked so bored. Mr. Lien alone attempted a mechanical smile, as he took my hand in his. Mrs. Lien moved not a muscle. Nor were we treated differently from the general, for Ethel and I passed to chairs from which I could watch the reception of those who came after us.
From my seat I watched Mr. Lien. He was a small man, stooping, and weak of face and body. His hair was light, his forehead narrow, his nose large. When he spoke his head shook nervously; he was not a thing of beauty.