CHAPTER XII
THE SQUARE BECOMES A TRIANGLE
Mrs. Wyndham, Jessamy, and Barbara, with Tom as escort, returnedheavy-heartedly from the Warren Street pier, where they had been seeingoff Phyllis at the beginning of her first venture into the world. Thebig _Puritan_, with her colors flying and her band playing, steamed outinto the river looking bright and festive, but to those from whom shewas bearing one fourth of themselves she seemed a kind of monster.
Violet opened the door to them when they reached home, and Truce archedhis back into a furry croquet-wicket in his pleasure on seeing themonce more; but Jessamy's tears sprang to her eyes again, rememberingthat the kitten's dear mistress was sailing away; if Phyllis had goneto Darkest Africa, it could hardly have been more dismally tragic thanthe short journey to Boston seemed to the two girls who loved her.
"We are a square no more," said Bab, drearily, as they seatedthemselves at the dinner-table.
"Still we are four," suggested Mrs. Wyndham, with a kindly smile forTom, toward whom Barbara's manner was distinctly forbidding.
"Oh, I can't take Phyllis's place," said Tom, cheerily; "but I shouldsay you were still as square as ever, since she is bound to be here,no matter where else she is. That sounds slightly occult," he added,laughing. "What I mean is--"
"You mean her heart's in the Highlands wherever she roams," saidBarbara. "But that is worse for us all; it makes her homesick, andwe miss her just the same. No, we are no longer a square; we are atriangle, and I feel as though we were not even a triangle standing onone of its sides--or whatever you call them--but a triangle standing upon one of its points, and very wobbly."
"We will hope it will not be long before we are squared again," saidher mother. "We must not take Phyllis's flight too seriously; we areso unused to separations we cannot realize how trifling this littletrip would be to less spoiled people. We shall have a telegram in themorning and such nice letters every day from our dear little girl thatperhaps we shall never be willing to let her come home again."
"I don't believe Horace Walpole and Madame S?vign?, melted down andpoured out on the tip of Phyl's pen, could bring us to that state ofmind," said Jessamy, giving Truce an extra fine bit of lamb for hismistress's sake.
The telegram announcing Phyllis's safe arrival came before luncheonthe next morning, and the following day brought her first letter.
"Dearest Auntie, Girls, and Truchi-ki," it began: "Behold me of anarrival--you see, I am inclined to French forms. I had the nicestkind of a journey--so nice that I should be delighted to repeat itto-night--with the steamer's bow headed the other way!"
"Dear old Phyl; telegraph her to do it!" cried Barbara.
"But I am here to stay, and not so homesick as you might think I wouldbe. Mrs. Dean is a dear, and Boston reserve may be as icy as the comicnewspapers say, but when it makes up its mind to thaw it really is aswarming as port wine, with much of the same rich, dignified quality.Mrs. Dean treats me with what I should call respectful affection, andthat is the kind of treatment that makes a snip of a girl, away fromhome for the first time, feel self-reliant; it puts her on her mettleto be as womanly, contented, and generally pretty-behaved as she isexpected to be. Mrs. Dean evidently intends to watch over me, and makeme happy if she can, and the least I can do under such goodness is tobe happy. She is going to save my self-respect by letting me feel shedid not take me for charity, but that she really wanted me for service.My duties are to read to her, attend to her correspondence, and bearher company from her breakfast, at half-past eight, till luncheon,at one. After luncheon she drives for an hour, when I accompany her,after which drive she lies down, and I am free till the seven o'clockdinner. In the evening I sit with her, reading or playing backgammon orcribbage, until nine, except those evenings when her nephews and niecescall, or, as she says with a significant twinkle, when she feels mindedto go to a concert or play, as she will sometimes, now that she has ayouthful companion to enjoy frivolity as much as she does.
"She is interested in my account of my little hopes, and says I mustcontinue writing while with her, and she will see to it that I havetime to do so for hours in the splendid great library. Oh, dearfolkses, do you suppose our library at Fortieth Street will be asglorious as this beautiful Greek temple here? Of course, I maintain toMrs. Dean that it is to be surpassed by the New York library when it isdone, but in my heart of hearts I wonder if ours can equal the Bostonone.
"I have not seen much more of the city than the library; not that fromthe inside. The coachman brought me through Copley Square this morningwhen I arrived, and this afternoon I went down among the shops withMrs. Dean. The shops look rather serious after our beauties; indeed,though Boston is handsomer than New York--that is, Commonwealth Avenueand around it, where Mrs. Dean lives, is fine--it is not cheerful andbright like our own queer, big jumble of a city, but looks as thoughit wore gray, and wore it on principle. We went down in the subway,and I felt dreadfully mortified not to have a hand-bag. Every woman,young and old, except myself, carried a little cloth bag, most of themshaped like school satchels held together by their leather handles. Ifelt as though I were out without some necessary article of clothing,not a hat or anything that might ever be superfluous, but something asdreadful to want as the waist of my dress, for instance. I certainlymust get a bag, if I want to be respectable--I wonder if Bostonpolicemen arrest girls who go out without bags, if they are alone? Mrs.Dean had one, so that may have saved me. Dearest, darlingest family, Ihope you miss me--not too much, but a little. And I hope Violet willkeep the kitchen and all my dear tins in apple-pie order; tell her Isaid so. And don't let Trucie miss me, yet don't let him forget me. AndI am glad I came away, yet I would give anything to drop down among youas I shall drop this letter into the box. Altogether, I am a bundle ofcontradictions, you see; but I am doing as well as one could expect meto, and am going to be busy and contented. Write me, one of you, everyday; for I love you more than you know, and it is a wee bit hard to bea wandering, prodigal daughter. Especially to such a home body as yourspoiled, but loving Phyllis."
"She is homesick, but she doesn't mean to let herself find it out,"said Jessamy.
"Dear little Phyllis! It won't hurt her to test herself under newconditions, but I hope she will feel that she can come back to ussoon," said Mrs. Wyndham. "Now, your note, Jessamy? From Mrs. Van Alyn,isn't it?"
"I think so," said Jessamy, examining the envelop, with that peculiarcarefulness every one bestows on the outside of a letter, instead ofopening it and looking at the signature. "Yes, it is, and she wantsBab and me to plunge into society; just listen!" she added, when shefinally had opened the note and glanced at its contents.
"'MY DEAR JESSAMY: We are going to have an entertainment, in aid of the Baby's Hospital, that promises to be quite charming. It is to be a Masque of Shakspere. The Mr. Lane whom you met at my house has written or constructed for us a Masque on the lines of those used in the Elizabethan period, in which many of Shakspere's characters, culled from all the plays, are introduced. He has used the Shaksperian text as far as possible, connecting it with original matter to bring out the very simple plot--it is practically but a meeting between all the dear characters whom we know, but who have hitherto never known one another. I beg you to help in this merrymaking, you and Barbara, and implore your mother to allow you to do so. First of all, I need you; secondly, you have been too long recluses from your old acquaintances, from whom mere change of circumstances should not wholly debar you. Jessamy is to be _Miranda_, for good and sufficient reasons, and Babbie will be, if she will, _Beatrice_. She is not quite large enough to realize exactly one's conception of "dear Lady Disdain," but she is admirably adapted for her otherwise, having by nature much of that young woman's ready wit and her loving heart, imperfectly concealed by the saucy tongue. I have asked your Doctor Tom to be _Benedick_--an added reason for our _Beatrice_ to be a success, if my observations the last few times that I have seen Bab with him and marked her snubbing of him are corre
ct. It will be a delightful frolic, for we all love play-acting, and it will be a remarkably pretty affair if it goes well. So don't refuse me, dear Jessamy and Barbara, and tell your mother I say that it is as wrong to hide her daughters in a Harlem flat as to hide her light under a bushel. Say yes at once, and oblige your friend, MARY VAN ALYN.'"
"It sounds beautiful, doesn't it, mama?" said Jessamy. "Do you think itwould be wise for us to begin to nibble at forbidden fruit? You know wecan't afford the time nor money to be gay very often."
Barbara's cheeks had been rosy red since Jessamy had read the allusionto Tom, which showed that her desire to treat him indifferently hadovershot the mark. "It might be rather stupid," she said. "We don'tknow who will be with us."
"Mrs. Van Alyn will not ask any but acceptable young people, and itseems to me we can hardly refuse anything she suggests for you," saidMrs. Wyndham. "She has been your best friend all your lives--heavenlykind since the trouble came. You will enjoy it, and she is right todraw you into something bright and youthful. I certainly consent, andurge you to take part in the masque. Write your acceptance before yougo out."
"I'm only too delighted, if you think it won't upset us, mama," saidJessamy, with a beaming face, as she opened her desk. "I should love totry to act a little, and Mrs. Van Alyn has given us the dearest parts!Bab will be a splendid _Beatrice_, though she is small."
The note of acceptance was despatched, and from that moment the littlehome was a whirl of excitement. Fortunately, Violet had the talentof her race for cooking, else the Wyndham family might have died ofstarvation, for neither Jessamy nor Barbara could get her mind down topractical things.
Rehearsals began at once. The masque proved to be very clever andpretty, the plot a dream, in which most of the best-beloved people inShakspere's plays met, talked, told the story of their lives subsequentto the ending of the play in which they had moved, straightened outtangles, showed that sorrowful events were all a mistake and had neverhappened, and ended at the last in a beautiful old English dance, whichfaded away into a background of shadow, in which finally all were lostto sight and were understood to have gone back into the 1623 foliowhence they had emerged.
The return of Jessamy and Barbara to the set which had been theirswas hailed by most of their friends with pleasure. Many of them hadcalled on the Wyndhams when misfortune first befell them, but findingthem boarding, with no satisfactory place in which to receive theirfriends, and meeting them no more in the houses and places of amusementthey frequented, had ceased making efforts to hunt them up. Many ofthe girls came out during the winter spent by the Wyndhams at the"Blackboard," and the life of a d?butante leaves little time for extrapursuits, even the pursuit of former acquaintances, so the Wyndhamshad been suffered to drop out of mind rather through indifference andpressure of interests than from unkindness.
One girl there was--Grace Hammond--who hailed their reappearancewith anything but rapture. Grace Hammond's father was an old friendof Mrs. Van Alyn and of her brothers, who had made the fatal mistakeof marrying an entirely worldly woman, with a thoroughly vulgar loveof mere wealth, and Grace, unfortunately, had inherited her mother'snature, not her father's--a nature carefully fostered by that mother'straining. Mr. Hammond's fortune had been swallowed up in a Wall Streetventure; he had not been able to get beyond a sufficient income inhis efforts to make another, efforts seriously hampered by his wife'sextravagance. It was the intention of both Grace and her mother thatMrs. Van Alyn's beautiful house, wealth, social standing, and exquisitebreeding should be Grace's backing in her presentation to the world,counting on the claim of old friendship for Grace's father. Under thesecircumstances, the advent of the Wyndhams was especially provoking, themore so that Grace could not compete with Barbara for prettiness, wit,and charm, while Jessamy was an avowed beauty.
It would not do to betray the envy and bitterness she felt, so Gracedid what people of her type generally do--smiled sweetly in public andbided her time to oust or mortify those whom she chose to consider herrivals.
Jessamy and Barbara were not long in discovering that Grace hatedthem, but Mrs. Van Alyn was blissfully unconscious that one of theyoung people she loved to have about her was consumed with jealousspitefulness.
The great night came at last; it was the middle of May, and warm. Mrs.Van Alyn's long parlors, where first the play was to have been given,were found inadequate to the guests who applied for tickets, and asmall theater, closed for the season, had been secured without cost,as the masque was given for charity; only the lighting and similarexpenses were incurred in its use. The prospect of appearing, as Babsaid, "really on the boards, and not on carpet politely called theboards," was tremendously exciting. It seemed to change the wholeaffair, solemnizing it into something little short of professional. Allthe actors had to have hasty training in speaking and walking on a realstage, given at the last moment by a real actor and actress, who hadtaken up the masque with enthusiasm, and had done all in their power toperfect the young Shaksperians.
Jessamy and Barbara were wild with excitement. If it had not been fortheir mother, Phyllis's home bulletins would have been meager anddelirious during these thrilling weeks, but Mrs. Wyndham kept "thestray unit of their four times one are four," as she called Phyllis,informed of the progress of the housekeeping and the revels.
Jessamy and Barbara set out dinnerless on the night of their "firstappearance on any stage," as Jessamy reminded her mother it was,appetite lost in excitement.
She and Bab shared their dressing-room--what a delicious feeling ofimportance it gave them to know it was a dressing-room used by a realactress during the season!
Jessamy's _Miranda_ costume was most beautiful; perhaps none of theothers quite equaled it in poetic beauty, though most of the othercostumes were more splendid. It was sea-green and white, hung withpearls and shells and narrow ribbon made to represent seaweed. A gauzyveil, white and filmy as sea-foam, floated from her beautiful hair,which hung, half loose, half confined with pearls, about her shoulders.Little Barbara looked her best in white and gold, with devices forincreasing her height, and her hair piled high on her saucy head, heldtilted scornfully as became both her actual self and _Beatrice_.
Grace Hammond was _Viola_, not in doublets, but in a short skirt,with sword at side and a rakish cap set boyishly on her dark hair._Ophelia_--come to life, as the lines explained, for she had not beendrowned, but had revived when they laid her in the grave--and _Juliet_and _Desdemona_, both happily resuscitated after the curtain had fallenon the play, and now come forth to prove it to those who loved andmourned them, _Hermione_, _Rosalind_, _Cordelia_, _Portia_, _Katherine_the Shrew, and _Katherine_ the Queen, _Queen Constance_, _Titania_,_Hero_, and a few of the lesser known of Shakspere's lovable women,shyly opened their dressing-room doors one by one, and went to thewings to join _Ferdinand_, _Benedick_, _Romeo_, _Bassanio_, _Othello_,_Hamlet_, _Laertes_, _Orlando_, and all the other gallants in velvets,satins, laces, and ribbons, with _Malvolio_, gartered and bedizened, tolead the opening march.
The masque was but half an hour late in beginning, a wonderful featof promptness for an amateur charitable entertainment. The curtainrose upon the pretty setting and a picturesque grouping of all thecharacters, which, immediately after the applause greeting it had begunto die away, broke up into a march to display the individual beautyconcealed in the whole.
Then the masque proper began. There was, naturally, considerabledifference in the talents of the actors, but their training hadbeen good, and none was conspicuously bad. Grace Hammond actedwith real ability, although she did not understand the characterof _Viola_, construing her by her boyish costume rather after thespirit of _Katherine_. Jessamy's _Miranda_ was the admiration of allbeholders--sweet, innocent, alluring--all that a sea princess shouldbe--while Bab charmed the most fastidious with her _Beatrice_, burredlike a chestnut exteriorly, but womanly sweet and true of heart within.
Murmurs from the wings, plaudits from the audience, showed Grace thatthe Wyndhams, and more especia
lly Barbara, whom she disliked more thanJessamy, were carrying off the honors of the evening, and her pettysoul was filled with rage and bitterness.
There came a moment when Barbara had her most effective bit of acting.It was _Ophelia's_ entrance, and _Beatrice_ was to rush to her witha glad cry at seeing her return from the grave. Grace, as _Viola_,stood directly in the center. Barbara, from the left of the stage,saw _Ophelia_ crossing from the right, and sprang forward. Grace madea motion as if to free herself from something interfering with herskirt, short though it was, and stepped slightly forward, as she did socontriving to extend the point of her sword toward the swift feet of_Beatrice_. Barbara did not see--indeed, there was no time to see--themalicious act. She bounded forward, and fell headlong, face downward,on the stage. Mr. Lane, in the wings, directing and watching his playwith all the nervousness of a young author, said something vigorous andexcusable under the circumstances, turning whiter than he was before atthe sight of the accident.
"The miserable girl!" he muttered. "She has spoiled the play!"
Tom, as _Benedick_, was not far off; standing near Grace, he sawplainly the entire action. With great presence of mind, he leaped toBarbara's assistance. Stooping, he raised her, helped her free herfeet from her entangling skirt, and whispered: "Are you hurt, Bab?For goodness sake, pull yourself together and go on!"
Barbara was shaken by the force of her fall, and mortified almostbeyond bearing. Tom's voice steadied her a little, and she managed towhisper: "Not seriously, Tom; but what shall I do?"
"Don't let that beast of a girl down you," he whispered back. "Saysomething in reply to me." Then, aloud, he said, laughing: "'Tis thefirst time, dear Lady Disdain, I have caught you tripping. That Ishould live to see the day that proud _Beatrice_ throws herself at myfeet! But, faith, dear lady, I have long guessed you liked me well."
Barbara tossed her head in approved _Beatrician_ fashion. "'Tis myfeet, and not my head, hath tripped, good my lord. 'Twas joy at sightof sweet _Ophelia_ there somewhat overcame me, and at her feet, notyours, I lie prostrate. _Ophelia, Ophelia_, and are you really amongthe living?" And from this point the dialogue continued as in themanuscript.
There were many among the audience who understood what had happened,and the rest guessed; everybody recognized and admired the pluck thatcarried Barbara through a humiliating situation. The entire house roseand shouted, and from the wings came applause no less hearty. Mr. Lanewas beside himself with delight. "Such a girl!" he cried rapturouslyto the world in general. "I never saw such grit! And she saved myplay--she and Leighton, bless 'em! Her voice was shaking when shespoke, yet she got herself in hand and went on! I tell you, I never_saw_ such grit."
At the end of the play, Barbara and Tom had to reply to a separaterecall, an honor that made Grace set her teeth hard. Her spite hadturned against herself; she was furious, humiliated, for many knewthat she had acted as she had done purposely, and she felt sure thather chance of Mrs. Van Alyn's favor had gone forever.
A little supper served later to the actors at Mrs. Van Alyn's gave Babher opportunity for revenge, and perhaps won for her more than theplaudits of the evening, delightful though they had been. In a fewmoments' talk snatched with Jessamy, she had decided that it would beboth kind and finer to shelter Grace from the consequences of her ownmeanness. Not one of the actors but stood aloof from the girl after thefatal moment when she had thrust out her sword to trip Barbara and hadupset her own reputation. At the supper, looking at Grace's crimson,sullen face, Barbara began actually to pity her, fortified in Christiansentiments by the petting she herself was receiving on all hands, andthe way Grace was shunned.
As they rose from the table, Bab slipped around to Grace's chair. "I'msorry you hate me, Grace," she said. "I think I never harmed you; butif we are not friends, at least on the surface, all these people willimagine you put out that sword purposely, and you will be dropped byevery one you care to know. Be friends with me, Grace; I will helpyou, and you will be glad later that the little slip of temper wascovered up."
Grace looked up, and Grace looked down. It had not seemed possible thatshe could be redder than before, but a fresh wave of color spread toher hair, then receded, leaving her deadly white. Something good therewas in the girl, and Barbara had touched it. She turned and kissed Bab,then burst out crying before them all. "Barbara Wyndham is a saint anda trump," she sobbed. "I was jealous of her--"
"There, never mind," interrupted Bab, this time with no need of effortin her kindness, for her warm little heart was melted. "Grace and Iare friends, so if I am satisfied, surely no one else need ask whathappened, nor imagine she meant to harm me. You are all her friendstoo, aren't you; and we all think she was a great _Viola_, don't we?"
"Splendid! Fine! Lovely!" murmured the guests, and Barbara kissed Gracebefore them all.
Tom took Barbara home that night, while Mr. Lane was the escort of the_Miranda_, whom he seemed to think embodied the charms of land and seasprites. The girls begged to be allowed to walk a little way towardhome, longing for fresh air after the exciting evening, and Mrs. VanAlyn made an exception for once to her rule of allowing no young guestto leave her house late except in her carriage.
"I can't tell you how I respect and admire you to-night, Bab," saidTom, earnestly, as he shook her hot little hand in parting. "You are afirst-rate actress, but you're more--a first-rate lady."
"Don't praise me, Tom," said Bab, gently; she seemed to have played outher r?le of "dear Lady Disdain" for the time. "It was less goodnessthan a desire to be above all such meanness, I am afraid. I'm ratherproud, Tom, and that is not creditable."
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