The Heart of Arethusa Part 39

But Ross would have stopped her if she had even tried, for he had promised Timothy he might go to the station absolutely alone. Timothy had asked him before breakfast. For once, Arethusa's wishes had been over-ridden; she had made all sorts of loud objections to the carrying out of this idea. But Ross knew, as well as if Timothy had given him his reason for making this request, that the miserable boy who was so sure he was leaving his Life's Happiness, forever, would far rather say a farewell to that Happiness in the presence of folks that he knew to help him keep a grip on himself than to wait until the last moments at the station; those moments when a parting is so surely at hand, that it brings a breaking-down even to those who would be strongest, sometimes.

It was so like Timothy to have the last word and then run away, that after Arethusa got over her violent anger with him for the Words of Blasphemy he had spoken of the Wonderful Mr. Bennet, she laughed and laughed at the thought. How many times he had done the very same thing!

Then came what Ross had called the "Real Event of the Season"--that long looked-forward-to January Cotillion.

CHAPTER XXII

The January Cotillion was always held in the very oldest hotel in Lewisburg. All other really fas.h.i.+onable entertainments had long ago ceased to be given there, for it was very far down-town, the heart of the wholesale district had crept up around it, and its character had somewhat changed of late years; but still, January after January, the Cotillion Club continued to give its one yearly and important event within these historic portals. And historic portals they truly were, for the ancient hostelry went back long before the Civil War to trace its beginnings. d.i.c.kens was said to have slept under its roof, on his memorable visit to America; duels, in those days when such settlements of affairs of honor were winked at by the law of the community, had not only found the reasons for being duels within these walls, but had actually been fought in that high-ceilinged old lobby. In one or two places could still be seen the traces of bullet marks that had gone wild. The most beautiful woman of her day in America had, in answer to a laughing challenge that she do so, ridden her horse straight up those broad front steps and into the dining-room. The stories in connection with the old hotel were many and varied.

Its ball-room, unlike the ball-rooms in the newer hotels in town, was on the second floor. It was popularly supposed to be built on springs and had long been considered to be the best dancing floor in the South.

No one really remembered now who had first inst.i.tuted the January Cotillion; just what long ago leader of society had first had the idea.

But it was still kept up, just as it had been started, winter after winter; and had so firmly established itself as the real social tradition of Lewisburg that invitations to it were almost fought for, and no one who had one, or could have one (saving Timothy) had ever been known to decline it. Once a year the Lewisburg aristocracy left its familiar haunts and betook itself to this old building by the water's edge to spend an evening of gayety within its dingy walls.

There were other dances given here, it is true, by the Sons and Daughters of the Morning, and the Pleasure Club, and the West End Society; but they were frowned upon by the truly socially elect, not one of whom would have wanted to be seen here by acquaintances as a frivoler, except on the one consecrated evening of the year, the second Tuesday in every January.

Arethusa had gathered all of this knowledge concerning the January Cotillion, and she was quite properly impressed to have been invited to attend.

The old ball-room had been made into fairyland for the Occasion, and as Arethusa stood in between the tall fluted columns that flanked its magnificent old doorway on either side, and looked about her, her eyes sparkled with delight. The walls, so sadly in need of a renewal of their frescoing, had been latticed with thin white strips to the edge of the heavy molding on the ceiling, and in this lattice work was twined smilax most lavishly. Bay trees and tall palms had been used to make recesses like little rooms, in several places, and these each seemed to fairly shriek at the beholder, "Do come and sit out a dance in me! That's just what I was put here for! Oh, do come!"

The faded upholstery on the tall, high-backed chairs had been covered over with slips of rose-colored chintz, and in each little recess had been placed a matching sofa. It was a very bad color to be close to Arethusa's hair, but so thoroughly pleasing to see that she never once thought of the other side of it. The crystal-draped chandeliers had all had their electric light bulbs shaded with big, pink tissue-paper roses, and extra lights, similarly shaded, had been scattered throughout the green and the lattice work on the walls. The whole room was bathed in a soft, rosy glow. An orchestra played all unseen behind a thick bank of palms on a little platform at the far end of the room.

It had quite the effect of music at a distance.

"Isn't it beautiful!" Arethusa drew a long, long breath of admiration.

"Oh, isn't it just beautiful!"

"Yes," replied Mr. Bennet. "The decorations are always rather good."

But his agreement altogether lacked a proper fervency, for he had a wretched cold of the thoroughly uncomfortable kind, and he did not feel fervent about anything in the world.

Arethusa was all solicitude. "You don't feel very well, do you? I'm so sorry! Let's go sit down in one of those dear little places." They had been rather early in their arrival at the January Cotillion, hardly anybody was here as yet. "Wouldn't you like to?" She was almost maternal in her desire to make him as comfortable as possible.

And Mr. Bennet was quite agreeable to the idea of being made comfortable.

So they strolled almost the length of the ball-room to find a little recess far enough away from the door, so that Arethusa could be sure there would be no draught to make his cold worse.

The little recess she finally selected was so well screened with green that their occupancy of it on the pink chintz-covered sofa was as effectively hidden from the ball-room proper as if they had actually been in some other apartment. This delighted Arethusa.

"We'll call This One ours," she said, with an air of proprietors.h.i.+p, patting the sofa, "and we'll come back here and sit in it every now and then."

"It would be nice to sit out a dance or two," suggested Mr. Bennet, tentatively.

He was rather inclined to the opinion it would be quite beyond his powers to dance the evening straight through.

His suggestion was received with ecstasy by the Romantic Arethusa. For to sit in this rose-colored recess, side by side on a rose-colored sofa with the Wonderful Mr. Bennet, with a rose-colored glow all over them, while the orchestra played dreamy music afar off and the rest of the world of the Cotillion whirled unconsciously by, appeared to Arethusa as the most that any girl could ask of fate. There was nothing more Perfect as a Situation to be offered to anyone, she was quite positive.

The January Cotillion, in these days of trots and one-steps and hesitations, had of recent seasons become almost a misnomer for this particular party. There was no cotillion at all about it, save for a grand march of all the couples in the early part of the evening, and the fact that favors had remained a feature. But why waste time in the performance of slow figures when one might be joyfully trotting? Yet tradition could by no means dispense with the favors; they were most highly prized. And a feminine person who went through more than three seasons of Lewisburg society without her share of spoils from the January Cotillion, was indisputably a Rank Failure.

But Arethusa had no lack of favors from the very beginning of this affair, thus indicating partners. Her spoils were amply sufficient for her to show in proof that she was a Social Success, and not a Failure.

Mr. Bennet was not once forced to exert himself, when he felt so very little like exertion, to find gentlemen who were willing to dance with her; they flocked around her of their own accord. So instead of making any effort to join the romp, after he had performed a Duty in the grand march, he lolled against a pillar by the door and watched it all, which was much more to his taste this particular evening.

A man detached himself, after awhile, from the group of "stags" in the center of the room and strolled over to join Mr. Bennet.

"Don't seem to see you dancing much with the fair Arethusa," he said.

"What's the matter, Grid? Feeling anyways seedy?"

"Got a peach of a cold," replied Mr. Bennet.

"Which is plain to be seen, now that I look more closely. You're not nearly so pretty with it, either. Rubs off considerable of your usual irresistible bloom. Beauing Arethusa Worthington for a change, I suppose?"

The afflicted one nodded.

"Well, she's one girl that I know that you never have to bother about showing a time to; she has it all by herself. I'll hand it to her there. So there's no real use in your sticking around up here. Come on down with me and we'll play a round or two of pool. It'll be much better for you than standing up here in this draughty hall."

Mr. Bennet demurred.

"Oh, come on! I've no business clearing out, either, but we won't stay a minute.... It'll do you good."

Just what medicinal properties a game of pool may be said to possess was not made plain, but Mr. Bennet seemed, after a moment or two of thought, inclined to agreement with the idea. He cast a weather eye about for Arethusa, but as her dancing partner had changed since he last observed her, not five whole minutes before, he felt himself perfectly safe in leaving her to her own devices for awhile, while he sought more congenial occupation than that of a mere spectator of the enjoyment of others.

Arethusa saw him, as he turned away from the ball-room door and his shapely back disappeared down the hall, and her warm heart smote her at the sight.

"He feels just perfectly rotten, I know!"

And she.... She was dancing around gayly, enjoying herself leaving him so wretched and alone! She visioned him stretched out somewhere in another room on a lumpy hotel sofa, suffering!

She grew so distraught as this vision broadened in its scope as to the Misery of the Wonderful Mr. Bennet, that she missed step with Billy Watts, with whom she was dancing, entirely. She then stepped squarely on his foot, and missed the time again. And it was not only once or twice she did this most unpardonable thing, but three distinct times in quick succession.

Billy stopped short in the middle of the floor, disgusted.

"See here, Arethusa, what's the matter with you? I've asked you the same question about sixty times, and you've just been climbing all over me!"

Billy had somewhat adopted Timothy's tone with Arethusa. They were the oldest and best of friends by now, and he gave himself all the privileges of such a friend. Arethusa liked it ... generally.

She was most apologetic.

"I'm sorry, Billy." (She knew him quite well enough after these weeks to drop the formal, "Mr. Watts.") "I wasn't thinking about my feet just then. I was worrying about Mr. Bennet, He's real sick tonight, and he just went out somewhere. Do you reckon I'd better go see what's the matter with him?"

"Well, of all things!" Billy seized her forcibly around the waist and swung her back into the throng of dancers. "There's nothing the matter with that nut! He's probably off enjoying himself in his own sweet way."

But Arethusa wrenched herself away from his grasp; her quick anger flared.

"You just take that back right now, Billy Watts! Mr. Bennet's not a nut. And he's sick, he told me so himself! If you don't take it back, I won't dance another step with you, not one!"

Billy laughed, good-naturedly. "I didn't say he wasn't sick, did I? But you don't have to trail around after him nursing him; he's plenty old enough, and ugly enough to take care of himself."