The Nest Builder Part 14

"Yes, it advertises their emanc.i.p.ation. I went through it in Paris, but mine was a light case."

"And brief, I should think," smiled Mary, to whom Stefan's feline perfection of neatness was one of his charms.

At the hotel, on the other hand, the groups, though equally individual, lacked this harum-scarum quality, and, if occasionally noisy, were clean and orderly.

"Is it because they can afford to dress better?" Mary asked on their next evening there, noting the contrast.

"No," said Stefan. "That velvet s.h.i.+rt cost as much probably as half a dozen cotton ones. These people have more, certainly, or they wouldn't be here--but the real reason is that they are a little older. The other crowd is raw with youth. These have begun to find themselves; they don't need to advertise their opinions on their persons." He was looking about him with quite a friendly eye.

"You don't seem to hate humanity this evening, Stefan," Mary commented.

"No," he grinned. "I confess these people are less objectionable than most." He spoke in rapid French to the waiter, ordering another drink.

"And the language," he continued. "If you knew what it means to me to hear French!"

Mary nodded rather ruefully. Her French was of the British school-girl variety, grammatically precise, but with a hopeless, insular accent.

After a few attempts Stefan had ceased trying to speak it with her.

"Darling," he had begged, "don't let us--it is the only ugly sound you make."

One by one they came to know the habitues of these places. In the restaurant Stefan was detested, but tolerated for the sake of his wife.

"Beauty and the Beast" they were dubbed. But in the hotel cafe he made himself more agreeable, and was liked for his charming appearance, his fluent French, and his quick mentality. The "Villagers," as these people called themselves, owing to their proximity to New York's old Greenwich Village, admired Mary with ardor, and liked her, but for a time were baffled by her innate English reserve. Mentally they stood round her like a litter of yearling pups about a stranger, sniffing and wagging friendly but uncertain tails, doubtful whether to advance with affectionate fawnings or to withdraw to safety. This was particularly true of the men--the women, finding Mary a stanch Feminist, and feeling for her the sympathy a bride always commands from her s.e.x, took to her at once. The revolutionary group on the other hand would have broken through her pleasant aloofness with the force--and twice the speed--of a McEwan, had Stefan not, with them, adopted the role of snarling watchdog.

One of Mary's first after dinner friends.h.i.+ps was made at the hotel with a certain Mrs. Elliott, who turned out to be the President of the local Suffrage Club. Scenting a new recruit, this lady early engaged the Byrds in conversation and, finding Mary a believer, at once enveloped her in the camaraderie which has been this cause's gift to women all the world over. They exchanged calls, and soon became firm friends.

Mrs. Elliot was an attractive woman in middle life, of slim, graceful figure and vivacious manner. She had one son out in the world, and one in college, and lived in a charming house just off the Avenue, with an adored but generally invisible husband, who was engaged in business downtown. As a girl Constance Elliot had been on the stage, and had played smaller Shakespearean parts in the old Daly Company, but, bowing to the code of her generation, had abandoned her profession at marriage.

Now, in middle life, too old to take up her calling again with any hope of success, yet with her mental activity unimpaired, she found in the Suffrage movement her one serious vocation.

"I am nearly fifty, Mrs. Byrd," she said to Mary, "and have twenty good years before me. I like my friends, and am interested in philanthropy, but I am not a Jack-of-all-trades by temperament. I need work--a real job such as I had when the boys were little, or when I was a girl. We are all working hard enough to win the vote, but what we shall fill the hole in our time with when we have it, I don't know. It will be easy for the younger ones--but I suppose women like myself will simply have to pay the price of having been born of our generation. Some will find solace as grandmothers--I hope I shall. But my elder son, who married a pretty society girl, is childless, and my younger such a light-hearted young rascal that I doubt if he marries for years to come."

Mary was much interested in this problem, which seemed more salient here than in her own cla.s.s in England, in which social life was a vocation for both s.e.xes.

At Mrs. Elliot's house she met many of the neighborhood's more conventional women, and began to have a great liking for these gently bred but broad-minded and democratic Americans. She also met a mixed collection of artists, actresses, writers, reformers and followers of various "isms"; for as president of a suffrage club it was Mrs. Elliot's policy to make her drawing rooms a center for the whole neighborhood.

She was a charming hostess, combining discrimination with breadth of view; her Fridays were rallying days for the followers of many more cults than she would ever embrace, but for none toward which she could not feel tolerance.

At first Stefan, who, man-like, professed contempt for social functions, refused to accompany Mary to these at-homes. But after Mrs. Elliot's visit to the studio he conceived a great liking for her, and to Mary's delight volunteered to accompany her on the following Friday. Few misanthropes are proof against an atmosphere of adulation, and in this Mrs. Elliot enveloped Stefan from the moment of first seeing his Danae.

She introduced him as a genius--America's coming great painter, and he frankly enjoyed the novel sensation of being lionized by a group of clever and attractive women.

Mrs. Elliot affected house gowns of unusual texture and design, which flowed in adroitly veiling lines about her too slim form. These immediately attracted the attention of Stefan, who coveted something equally original for Mary. He remarked on them to his hostess on his second visit.

"Yes," she said, "I love them. I am eclipsed by fas.h.i.+onable clothing.

Felicity Berber designs all my things. She's ruinous," with a sigh, "but I have to have her. I am a fool at dressing myself, but I have intelligence enough to know it," she added, laughing.

"Felicity Berber," questioned Stefan. "Is that a creature with Mongolian eyes and an O-shaped mouth?"

"What a good description! Yes--have you met her?"

"I haven't, but you will arrange it, won't you?" he asked cajolingly.

"I saw a drawing of her--she's tremendously paintable. Do tell me about her. Wait a minute. I'll get my wife!"

He jumped up, pounced on Mary, who was in a group by the tea-table, and bore her off regardless of her interrupted conversation.

"Mary," he explained, all excitement, "you remember that picture at the magazine office? Yes, you do, a girl with slanting black eyes--Felicity Berber. Well, she isn't an actress after all. Sit down here. Mrs. Elliot is going to tell us about her." Mary complied, sharing their hostess'

sofa, while Stefan wrapped himself round a stool. "Now begin at the beginning," he demanded, beaming; "I'm thrilled about her."

"Well," said Mrs. Elliot, dropping a string of jade beads through her fingers, "so are most people. She's unique in her way. She came here from the Pacific coast, I believe, quite unknown, and trailing an impossible husband. That was five years ago--she couldn't have been more than twenty-three. She danced in the Duncan manner, but was too lazy to keep it up. Then she went into the movies, and her face became the rage; it was on all the picture postcards. She got royalties on every photograph sold, and made quite a lot of money, I believe. But she hates active work, and soon gave the movies up. About that time the appalling husband disappeared. I don't know if she divorced him or not, but he ceased to be, as it were. His name was Noaks." She paused, "Does this bore you?" she asked Mary.

"On the contrary," smiled she, "it's most amusing--like the penny novelettes they sell in England."

"Olympian superiority!" teased Stefan. "Please go on, Mrs. Elliot. Did she attach another husband?"

"No, she says she hates the bother of them," laughed their hostess.

"Men are always falling in love with her, but-openly at least-she seems uninterested in them."

"Hasn't found the right one, I suppose," Stefan interjected.

"Perhaps that's it. At any rate her young men are always confiding their woes to me. My status as a potential grandmother makes me a suitable repository for such secrets."

"Ridiculous," Stefan commented.

"But true, alas!" she laughed. "Well, Felicity had always designed the gowns for her dancing and acting, and after the elimination of Mr.

Noaks she set up a dressmaking establishment for artistic and individual gowns. She opened it with a the dansant, at which she discoursed on the art of dress. Her showroom is like a sublimated hotel lobby--tea is served there for visitors every afternoon. Her prices are high, and she has made a huge success. She's wonderfully clever, directs everything herself. Felicity detests exertion, but she has the art of making others work for her."

"That sounds as if she would get fat," said Stefan, with a shudder.

"Doesn't it?" agreed Mrs. Elliot. "But she's as slim as a panther, and intensely alive nervously, for all her physical laziness."

"Do you like her?" Mary asked.

"Yes, I really do, though she's terribly rude, and I tell her I'm convinced she's a dangerous person. She gives me a feeling that gunpowder is secreted somewhere in the room with her. I will get her here to meet you both--you would be interested. She's never free in the afternoon; we'll make it an evening." With a confirming nod, Mrs. Elliot rose to greet some newcomers.

"Mary," Stefan whispered, "we'll go and order you a dress from this person. Wouldn't that be fun?"

"How sweet of you, dearest, but we can't afford it," replied Mary, surrept.i.tiously patting his hand.

"Nonsense, of course we can. Aren't we going to be rich?" scoffed he.

"Look who's coming!" exclaimed Mary suddenly.

Farraday was shaking hands with their hostess, his tall frame looking more than ever distinguished in its correct cutaway. Almost instantly he caught sight of Mary and crossed the room to her with an expression of keen pleasure.

"How delightful," he greeted them both. "So you have found the presiding genius of the district! Why did I not have the inspiration of introducing you myself?" He turned to Mrs. Elliot, who had rejoined them. "Two more lions for you, eh, Constance?" he said, with a twinkle which betokened old friends.h.i.+p.

"Yes, indeed," she smiled, "they have no rivals for my Art and Beauty cages."

"And what about the literary circus? I suppose you have been making Mrs.

Byrd roar overtime?"