by Berta Ruck
CHAPTER IV
THE CHARM BEGINS TO WORK
"Bescheidenheit ist eine Zier', Doch weiter kommt man ohne ihr."
Boche Proverbs.
"No woman can get me to call her pretty," enunciated Captain Ross,"until I've seen her walk."
The fiat, delivered in that ice-ax voice of his, cut through thepolyglot murmur of the visitors gathered in the shining bare salon, allmirrors and decorations of artificial iris. The voice continued to holdforth.
"Feet first; then figure. That's how it comes with me. Then hair.Fairrrr hairrr. Must be fair-to-golden. A woman who isn't bland"--thisis how he pronounced it, but his hearers assumed it to mean blonde--"awoman who isn't bland is only half a woman to me."
This saying was given out on the evening of the day when the Charm hadfallen into the hands of Olwen Howel-Jones.
She was sitting there at the time, on a red plush sofa next to herUncle, at the edge of the group formed by Mrs. Cartwright (who wore atawny-golden tea-gown and was knitting a khaki sock), Mr. Awdas, theyoung flying officer who looked so appropriately like an eagle with hisbold features and the head that was so narrow in comparison with hiswide, wing-like shoulders, and Captain Ross, the one-armed StaffCaptain, who was discoursing to them on the subject of Women, of whom(as he had been known to remark) he was the finest judge in Europe.
Olwen's little jet-black head was buried in the current number of"Femina," which she had picked up from the oval, crimson-covered tablein front of her, but she was devouring every word of the homily onWomen.
That Captain Ross should notice a girl's feet was glad news; her ownfeet being not merely tiny, but of a gratifying shapeliness. But herheart seemed to sink suddenly down into the slippers that shod them,when she heard the further "demmannd" that Beauty must be fair-haired.Ah, he would never look at _her_, then!
She never, apparently, looked at him. For, regarding this one man forwhom she would have given her eyes, the artless Welsh maiden had learntMrs. Cartwright's art of seeing without seeming to do so.
What she seemed to see were those glazed full-page Frenchfashion-plates.
What she did see were every look and turn of the man at two arms-lengthsfrom her, lounging in the red plush chair with its ornate ecru mats.What she saw can be seen by each girl in love; "the Heart-wishIncarnate," a glamorous, radiant creature indeed!
And----What was really _there_?
Let us borrow the eyes of the others, who were not in Love with thisCaptain Ross, to describe him.
Young Awdas, the flyer, would have told you, "_A top-hole fellow. Bucksrather; but you get used to it. Capital chap._"
Professor Howel-Jones might have said, mildly, "_He has somewhatdefinite opinions, even for a man of his youth; but we allow that tothose youngsters who have endured more in three years than we inthree-score._"
Mrs. Cartwright, in writing to her sisters at home descriptions of everyone staying at Les Pins, had set down:
"_Captain Ross. Special Reserve man. Keen soldier. Came over from Canada to join in '14. Arm lost on the Somme. Shell-shock; and gas--that's why he's here for his chest, which is bad again._
"_About 30; looks more. Thick-set, dark. Scarlet tabs suit him. Imagine Charles Hawtrey when young and two stone lighter; imagine a handsome black Tom-cat with a woman's mouth, from which issues a strong accent with the eternal 'Is that so--o--oh?' punctuating its speech; well, there you are. Sometimes he seems entirely Canadian; at other moments the complete Scot with every R burring like a cockchafer on a window-pane._
"_Right sleeve tucked into pocket. Amazingly quick and clever at doing everything with left hand; getting notes out of case, managing siphon, lighting cigar._
"_Eyes, hard brown, watchful as a robin's (I don't think they see anything, but he hates me)._
"_Would not be good-looking but for the lower half of his face; that mouth really beautiful, tenderly curved and sensitive, and constantly showing an even row of the milkiest teeth in the world._
"_Intensely sure of self (to put it kindly)._
"_Has the look that one recognizes as the trace of women's eyes and lips upon his face, but nothing that counts up to now, I think._"
The man thus unknowingly summed up brought out his cigarette-case withthat clever left hand of his and proffered it first to the woman who hadsummed him up and then to Jack Awdas.
This was the tall blonde flyer, who was sitting beside her; a strikingyoung figure. A woman would have noticed first his eyes and thechangeful expressions that darted swift as racing planes across theirblueness. One was an eager, anticipatory look. "_What have you for me?_"it demanded of Life. "_Will you be wonderful? Shall I be satisfied?_"One was a look of joyous mastery. "_Love me_," it seemed to say to Fateherself. "_Give me and tell me all that I ask, for I am impatient Youth,and must be served._" One was a look less often seen; it was the"yonderly" look, the glance of those favoured (or cursed) with a glimpsenow and then beyond the kindly curtains of the Flesh and of Everyday....It seemed to question a surprised "_What? I can't quite see.... What?...I heard something...._"
Needless to say that the youth himself was entirely ignorant that any ofthese signals could be read. Generally, he was healthily unconsciousthat there was anything to be signalled.
To the French people in that hotel he was known as Monsieur de l'Audace.
His observer, his squadron, and several enemy airmen could have told youthat he deserved the nickname, but no other decoration had been grantedto him. In that last ghastly dive from the clouds he had so nearly lost,too, everything that was his; however, health and strength and fullpower of limb were returning now, and youth, and sleep o' nights, andcareless gaiety. Quite often now his laugh rang out; it was still atrifle husky, as was his boyish, nonchalant voice. (One of his manywounds had been in his throat.)
"Go on, Ross," he jeered amicably. "Let's have some more of yourpriceless pointers on the Sex. What was the one you gave me today goingalong the sea-wall? Oh, yes; 'Never make love to a woman with a pinkchin; she's older than she looks.'"
"Why, that's quite true," put in the deep voice of Mrs. Cartwright,mildly. She crossed one long, gold-draped leg over the other, and threwan amused glance through the cigarette-haze at the finest judge of womenin Europe. "D'you mind if I put that into a book, Captain Ross?"
"You'd better not put anything I say into any book you write," the StaffCaptain advised her, with a short laugh (while Olwen, head still deep inthe journal, drank in every syllable of the assured voice). "Your publicwouldn't stand for it, Domestica."
"This would not be a 'Domestica' book," returned the writer, with alittle tilt of her brown head over her knitting. "This is a little bookI'm going to bring out seven years hence, for my own two boys. A sort ofmanual to help them when they go courting. 'The Guide to the Girl,' Ishall call it."
"The title has one very all right sound," laughed Captain Ross. "But ifyou'll pardon my saying so, Mrs. Cartwright, I guess I could compilethat book considerably better than what you could."
"Not you!" declared Mrs. Cartwright. "Most of those manuals are writtenfrom the point of view of the man. That's where they fall short. _I_should make the Girl herself do the advising. I should let her give the'pointers,' as Mr. Awdas calls them. I should divide them into littlechapters: '_Of Proposing_,' '_Of Presents_,' '_Of In-Laws_,' '_OfCaresses_'----"
"'_Of Caresses_,'" took up Captain Ross, with another laugh, "is goingto get you banned by the libraries."
"Not it. I," said Mrs. Cartwright, knitting, "shall not treat thesubject in--in that way."
"Then that manual of yours isn't going to help your boys a lot,"affirmed Captain Ross in his most final tone. "For, see here----"
"Olwen _fach_," said the Professor, suddenly taking his pipe out of hismouth and looking over the smudged black sheet of "La Patria," "isn't ittime for you to go to bed?"
"Uncle!" came indignantly from b
ehind the fashion-plates: "It's onlyhalf-past nine!"
A smile went round the little group of the English about that table; theeyes of each turned upon Nineteen who was being treated as Ten yearsold. She would have kept up the screen of her "Femina," but Mrs.Cartwright, finishing off a row of her knitting, put it aside, and drewnearer to the girl.
"May I look at them with you?" she said, pleasantly, and the two sharedthe fashion-drawings, while the men watched; Captain Ross, with a curlof the lip and a remark about Women and their fairrrrm conviction that,because clothes are drawn one way in a picture that's the way they'lllook when they've gotten them on.
Mrs. Cartwright lifted her head quickly, but it was not to retort tothis. She had suddenly seen something (as usual, without looking at it)that surprised her. Then she dropped her head again.
"My dear!" she murmured to Olwen in an amazed little laugh. "Did youever know such a thing? There! Coming in through the dining-room door,now! You can see her in the mirror, behind those French children playingdraughts. It's the Hotel Spinster we were looking at, at lunch today,"chattered Mrs. Cartwright in the soft stream that scarcely moved herlips. "The woman I said had never had a man to look at her. Can Ibelieve my eyes? She's got a man with her now!"
"Miss Walsh?" exclaimed Olwen, gazing with all her eyes into the mirrorthat showed her this group.
Miss Walsh, in a fur coat, had evidently just come in from the Forest;she carried a bough of arbutus, and her cheeks were pink from walking inthe clear night air. Close beside her came the man--yes! the male,masculine man who was her companion; the sturdy blue-clad Frenchsergeant who had been at the table d'hote. Across the intervening groupsof people he was seen to be all smiles and gestures, the traditionalgallantry of his nation spoke in the very bend of his back as he openedthe door, bowed again, clicked his spurred heels. Miss Walsh was holdingout her hand; her lips parted, obviously in one of her characteristic"Oh's"--the pink upon her cheeks deepened as she took leave of thiscavalier. One could almost hear her struggling French. She looked backagain; another bow, another click of the heels from her escort. Then thesergeant marched back down the room, beaming satisfaction painted uponevery line of his face, bold, swarthy, and somewhat bull-necked. He waswhat his own family described as "beau garcon"; a fine figure of a man.He disappeared, through the ante-room, towards that wing of the hotelinhabited by the management; Monsieur Leroux (bald, amiable, the shapeof a captive balloon), his three pigtailed daughters of exquisitemanners, and his alert wife (who ran everything--including him--in thehotel).
"Heavens!" ejaculated Mrs. Cartwright absently, as she took up herknitting again, "that must have been Madame Leroux's nephew. Hersister's son, the _artilleriste_. I heard all about him the other day.Gustave Tronchet his name is. Madame told me that he was coming here _enperme_ as her guest, seeing she had no son, and that he loved to eatwell and to be _bien_ generally. I suppose she is introducing him----!"
"Some romance!" laughed Captain Ross, jerking his head towards the doorthrough which the fur-clad form of the lonely traveller had disappeared.This was the first remark of his to which Olwen had paid scantattention. As suddenly as if some one had called her, she sprang up. Shehad dropped a kiss on her Uncle's thistle-down locks, had given her handto Mrs. Cartwright, had launched a shy glance and a "good night" in thedirection of the others, and had darted away, a slim sprite in grey withtouches of black, almost before the two young men could rise to theirfeet.
Mrs. Cartwright was still thinking of the stiletto-eyed Frenchmanageress who had introduced her nephew to the occupant of the bestroom in the hotel.
"What family spirit!" she admired. "What sense of possibilities! Whatrespect for Power--I mean money. What an admirable nation they are....Will ours ever learn foresight and thrift from theirs?"
"Ours--that is, mine--has family loyalty very strongly too," theProfessor joined in. "The Welsh, my dear lady, are as clannish in thatway as the French; they'll do anything for 'my nephew.'"
"They've an eye skinned for the dollars as well," volunteered CaptainRoss, his robin-like eye twinkling as he took out a cigar. "What's thatsaying--ah, yes, God made a Welshman, and God made a Jew, but thank Godhe never made a Welsh Jew!"
The Professor stiffened a little; and Mrs. Cartwright, seeing this, drewthe conversation back to the worldly aspects of germinating Romance....
The drift of all these remarks would have been entirely lost upon Olweneven had she stayed to hear them.
For she knew better. She knew that it was not Madame Leroux, themanageress, who was responsible for the coming together of a travellingspinster and of a French soldier on leave. She, Olwen, knew what wasresponsible for those attentions, that talk, that interested,deferential smile on the part of the man who had attached himself to hernew-made friend. Olwen knew what had attracted him where no man had everbeen attracted before. Yes! She knew! This was the work of the Charmthat she herself had seen hidden away so near to an unsought heart....
This nephew of a French hotel manageress ... of course he wasn't exactlythe sort of admirer who belonged in Granges with grounds full ofrhododendrons, but he was a _man_, triumphed Olwen. There'd be others,people that Miss Agatha Walsh could think seriously about; but he wasthe _beginning_! He'd shown the success of her experiment. The Charm_could_ work. That letter was _not_ all nonsense! It was all true! Andsince the Charm had worked for Miss Walsh, it would work for--well,others! Joy, oh joy!
Bursting with joy, in fact, the girl darted out of the _salon_,scampering upstairs in all haste to overtake Miss Walsh, and to hearmore of this.
She hoped to catch her up at her bedroom door, but already Miss Walshhad gone in.
Olwen knocked; was asked, "Who's there?"
"Only me--Olwen!"
"Come in," was the muffled answer. It came from behind a handful of MissWalsh's hair, quite abundant and almost pretty, now that she had removedthe flattening net and taken it all down. The first glance showed Olwenthat it was not just "down" for the night. There was a side glass inMiss Walsh's hand; a thick loop of her locks was coiled up at the back,ready for the side "bits" to be drawn across in a simpler fashion thanthe upholstery of puffs and curls. Yes! She was seeing how she lookedwith her hair done a different way! Ah, sign of the times, that couldspell only one thing: M--A--N!
"I--I only came in to say good night to you," Olwen began (reallylonging to ply with questions; how--how soon did IT work--whathappened----).
Miss Walsh turned a face as transfigured as Olwen's own above herquilted dressing jacket.
She looked ten years younger. She held her head at almost the angle ofthose who have _not_ been born with the saddle. All fluttered andflushed she was, but delighted; a once bleak landscape that a sun-raylightens. For it is your lifelong teetotaller who, rescued from Death,perks up at the first sip of restorative. It was the elder Miss Walsh'scloistered companion who was responding to that tonic: masculineattention. She turned a new smile upon Olwen.
"Oh, it's you," she exclaimed, with new notes in her voice. Then shebroke into the breathless talk which was to her as new a function asshopping for herself.
"I've been out!" with a wave towards the arbutus-bough on her table."Oh, it is such a lovely night! Oh! You've no idea how glorious thestars looked, peeping down between the branches of the pines! I've_never_ seen them so wonderful, never. I went for a stroll in the Forestafter dinner, do you know----Oh! You saw me come in? Oh, I never sawyou. Yes; I--I went with somebody----" she babbled on. "That MonsieurTronchet, the French soldier. He is a sergeant ... but everybody in theArmy is anything just now, aren't they? He showed me the Avenue leadingout into the woods.... Was it very extraordinary of me to go out for awalk with him? Oh, I don't think it matters, do you? Everything's sodifferent ... in France. He spoke to me at dinner; I believe I'd takenhis place by mistake--then we talked----"
"_Ah_," came softly from Olwen, standing there listening, listening toher witness for the power of the Charm. It had forced this man to speak;it had drawn him!... "Oh, a
nd he's such a delightful person," Miss Walshpoured out between gasps. "He has been telling me such a lot of the mostinteresting things about himself and the War! He spoke slowly, when Iasked him. I could really understand most of it. He expresses himself sowonderfully! The French all do, I suppose. But he finds the English sosympathetic. Oh, and what do you think? You won't laugh, I know; you'reso sweet. I am going to be his _marraine_. God-mother, that is. They allhave them in the French Army, he tells me; somebody who just writes veryoften and takes an interest. He told me he hadn't any. So I promised. Weare to write to each other when he gets back to the front. Oh, andtomorrow--what do you think? He is going to take me across the lagoon inthe motor-boat!" breathed Miss Walsh, and her eyes were now those of achild who has been promised a fairy treat. "I don't think any one hasever taken me in a boat before. This is a wonderful place, isn't it? Iam so glad I came!--Oh, are you going to bed now? I shall see youtomorrow. I feel as if I knew _such_ a lot of nice people already! Goodnight!" and her door closed upon a very happy face.
Equally excited, and even happier, little Olwen sped up another flightof stairs to her room. Stars danced in her eyes. It was true! It was alltrue! she rejoiced. _Now----!_
Yes; now, Captain Ross, _en garde_! Stipulate as you choose for thecolour of Beauty's hair; swear that no woman is Woman to you except ablonde. One little sooty-haired brunette is now no longer to be castdown by your specifications. Say what you like; she has confidence inwhat she is going to do.
* * * * *
She burst into her room, snapped on the lights, ran to the drawer,snatched out work-basket, thimble, needle, silk; now the mauve ribbon!Now the packet containing that so potent Charm!
Then down she sat again to work as she had worked that afternoon, butin all certainty instead of doubt. Snip--snip--snip. Three lengths ofribbon, and to each a sachet.
"I'll have to buy yards and yards and yards of this ribbon presently,"thought Olwen feverishly as she stitched. "And I'll have to send to thataddress for all the Charm that they can send me; all that there is inthe world!"
She rolled a sheet of note-paper into a little funnel; and through thisshe filled--ah, so cautiously!--the sachets with the musky, seed-likepowder.
She sighed: "_What_ a pity that I've only got enough here for four ofus!"
