Chance of a Lifetime (22 page)

“No, Aunt Eloise, it came from Paquin in Paris. Aunt Harriet Masters, a friend of Mother’s, brought it to me last week. She has just returned from a two years’ trip abroad, and brought me some lovely things. You won’t really need to worry about me—”

Two more arrivals in the dressing room, friends of Mrs. Washburn, put an end to the conversation. And Sherrill turned away to the curtained window and gazed out on the lights of the city for an instant, to steady her shaken nerves and put up an audible prayer for help and strength.

She was interrupted by her cousin’s voice behind her in a low tone.

“Did you say that came from Paquin? I don’t believe it. Paquin wouldn’t put on a back that wasn’t low cut nowadays. Show me the label.”

“It’s on the back of the neck,” said Sherrill wearily, “if you care to look. I’m sure I don’t see what difference it makes.”

“Well, it makes this difference,” said Carol disagreeably, “that I don’t see you having to try to dress better than I do. If that’s a Paquin, I’ve got to have one! But I’m sure I don’t see how you managed to get yourself up all in style when you’re only a hick.”

“Come, girls, we’re going down now! Don’t keep us waiting!” came Mrs. Washburn’s command, and Sherrill closed her lips on the hot words that were on the tip of her tongue, and went down to her first formal dinner in New York.

T
here was no makeup on Sherrill’s face, but she needed none. Her cheeks were flaming gloriously, her eyes were sparkling with something besides pleasure, and she had bitten her lips until they were almost as red as her rude little cousin’s carmine cupid’s bow that pouted from her face as artificially as a little painted mask.

When Sherrill went downstairs, walking quietly behind all the rest, keeping herself as much in the background as possible, she became aware almost at once that her French frock was a great asset. She felt inconspicuous and well dressed, and knew that the other members of the party had accepted her as all right. She knew this by that woman’s intuition that can weigh the glances of her fellow women to the fraction of an atom and know just where they have placed her. Her fingers touched the soft blue silk of her frock in quiet thankfulness that it had helped her through the first hard minutes. It was no pleasure trip to be attending her first dinner party under the displeasure of an aunt who had compelled her to be there.

But the introductions were through with more comfortably than she had hoped, and she found herself going in to dinner with an elderly gentleman of courtly presence and a humorous turn, who paid her several compliments with his first sentences—told her she looked as if she had stepped out of an old-time valentine, and called her his sweetheart in a pleasant little impersonal way that made her feel very young and put her at ease.

She found herself seated at the table between him and a rather dumb-looking young man with a tiny mustache on his upper lip that resembled a smudge of soot. But he did not seem to consider Sherrill dumb. He almost neglected the lady he had brought in to converse with her, and between the two she scarcely had opportunity to eat.

But the conversation was froth, most of it, and Sherrill, usually quick at repartee, scarcely knew how to take some of the things that were said to her. The young man conversed of plays, or pictures, and Sherrill had seen neither of them. She spoke of books that he had not read and did not enjoy the questionable jokes that he told.

On the other side, the elderly man paid open court to her in most gracious flattery that was almost embarrassing. In the few intervals that she had to herself, she studied the people gathered around the table and realized from the scraps of conversation she heard that they were nearly all talking froth.

She studied the priceless cloth that covered the banqueting board, the heavy silver, the glittering crystal and monogrammed china, and compared it to the Thanksgiving dinner she had attended the night before in Howard Evans’ barn with guests from the Flats and wished she were back there again. She compared the guests at this table with those in the barn, and a startling thought came to her that they were of the same blood, made by the same Creator, living on the same earth, bound for the same ending, so far as this earth was concerned. She listened to their conversation and felt that the talk of the people from the Flats on the night before had been infinitely preferable to what was going on about her. Doubtless the Flats could win out in blasphemy and filth, against these people when they were off guard, but so far as last night’s dinner was concerned they had been interested and courteous and well behaved. What was it about these people that made her feel as if she were in an alien land? Not just the fact that they were strangers. No, they were almost talking a strange language. Their sentences were filled with allusions to things with which she had nothing in common.

She tried to fancy any of these men and women and young people as having been present at that supper last evening. How would they have fitted? Well, she could select several of them that might have been good sports and entered into the fun, enjoyed the singing and the color and pleasantry, but would they have fitted any better than the people from the Flats into the little gathering around the fire at the close? Would they have bowed their heads in prayer and entered into that hush that brought heaven to seem so near?

“Do you know,” said the young man with the smudge on his upper lip, “it really is criminal to look so serious as you are looking now.”

Sherrill’s face lighted up.

“Oh, I didn’t mean to look so serious,” she said. “I was just thinking.”

“But you shouldn’t,” said the young man jauntily. “It isn’t being done. People as young as you often die of thinking. And why aren’t you drinking your champagne? That isn’t at all wise, you know.”

“I don’t care for it,” said Sherrill briefly.

“Oh, but you should,” the young man, Elbert Girard, said. “It’s very old and very costly. Are you really serious that you don’t want it? Well then, would you mind, since it’s sitting so close to me?” And he lifted her glass and drained it as if it were his own. Presently a servant filled it again, and again he drained it. So Sherrill sat and reflected that, in the eyes of whoever might happen to notice, she appeared to be drinking a good deal of champagne. Having been brought up with very decided opinions on the subject of drinking, she felt most uncomfortable. It was, therefore, a great relief to her when at last the dinner was ended and they all repaired to the reception room. It seemed to her that she had been an age in this alien world, and she was beginning to feel terribly weary. She slipped into a seat in a corner behind a table and made show of examining a book that lay there. Her aunt presently discovered her and came over.

“Sherrill, you are to go with Carol now. I have made your excuses to the hostess, and all you have to do will be to stop beside her and say how sorry you are that it is impossible for you to remain for the evening. She understands you have a previous engagement and you only came to fill in.”

“Engagement?” echoed Sherrill blankly, the momentary relief changing to dismay. “Is Carol going elsewhere? I thought she was going home.”

“Home! At this hour of the evening? Certainly not. You are going to one of the merriest little dances of the season, and you are quite lucky to have got here in time to go. It isn’t everybody that is invited.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to seem inappreciative, Aunt Eloise, but really I am very tired, and I’d be so glad to get to bed after my journey.”

“Nonsense!” said the elder woman. “You are young! You mustn’t mind being a little tired. You can sleep till noon tomorrow. You mustn’t humor yourself that way.”

“Well then, would you mind if I just stayed here, please? I don’t dance, and I’m sure I would not be anything but a burden to my cousin.”

“You don’t dance! What can your mother have been thinking of? Well, you’ll soon learn. No, Sherrill, I’ve accepted this invitation for you, and it’s very rude to stay away. Besides, we’re all going to play bridge here, and there wouldn’t be a partner for you. Come, you must hurry. Carol is waiting for you in the dressing room.”

Sherrill arose precipitately. She certainly would be no more at home at a bridge party than at a dance. She hurried up to the dressing room, wondering if she could persuade Carol to leave her at the house. But when she reached the dressing room there was no sign of Carol, and the maid in attendance told her the young ladies had all gone down to the car. Sherrill hurried after them but found to her dismay that Carol had gone off in the first car and left her to go in the company of strangers, most of whom she had barely met. It was no use to ask them to take her back to her uncle’s house, even if she could have made herself heard. They were all talking at once, and a young man who had sat next to her at the dinner table seemed impatient to be off, so Sherrill took the place assigned her and tried to think of some other way out. It seemed to her that she just could not go through anything more tonight. Every nerve was sore and tired. She would get hold of Carol, somehow, and tell her that she was almost sick she was so tired, and perhaps Carol would find a way to send her home, or at least go home early herself.

But Carol was not to be interviewed. The dancing was already in full swing, and she was in the midst of it. When the music broke and changed, she seemed to disappear utterly.

Sherrill drifted into another room finally, after having run the gauntlet of a number of invitations to dance. She felt that if anybody else asked her and she had to explain again that she did not dance, she would scream or laugh or something. She was getting almost hysterical in her weariness. She felt utterly out of place and disgusted. Wine was flowing freely, and some of the young people were already silly with its effects. Carol was conspicuous for her loud voice and silly laughter, and also for the way in which she danced. Sherrill’s cheeks burned with shame for her. It seemed dreadful to think she belonged to her. Did her father know that she acted this way when she was out of his sight? Why didn’t her mother guard her?

From her retreat in the library, Sherrill could see the dancing, and every time her cousin circled the room and came within view, her eyes grew more troubled. It almost seemed as if she, guest though she was, were responsible for what her cousin was doing. Finally when she saw Carol stop dancing and sit down across the large room for a moment alone, she made her way to her side and suggested pleasantly that they might both go home now, pleading her own weariness.

But Carol only stared at her vacantly and then broke into a loud, mirthless laugh of contempt, finishing with a ribald little local improvision, whose chorus changed into the old drunken song, “We Won’t Go Home Till Morning.”

With burning cheeks, Sherrill retreated to the library and ensconced herself in a big chair near a light with a book. She did not notice what the book was, nor if she held it upside down or right side up, for her thoughts were burning, and her brain was seething with disgust and horror and anger that she should have allowed herself to be in such a position.

She had been sitting for some time wondering if the night would never end, when she heard a voice at her elbow. “Ye gods and little fishes! Why this seclusion? Am I intruding? Say, you don’t look as if you belong here with this unholy mob!”

“Oh, I
don’t
!”

Sherrill go to her feet in a panic, laying the book down on the table, and lifting frightened eyes to look at a tall, attractive youth with mocking laughter in his eyes. He was perhaps three or four years older than her, and utterly sophisticated in appearance, yet he seemed to be entirely sober and respectful, and her fear died away.

“You—don’t seem to belong, either,” she added, with relief in her voice.

“Oh, but I do!” said the young man. “I very much belong. I’m Barney Fennimore, and this party happens to be given in my honor. Not that I care much for this sort of thing, but my aunt does, so she gives it. But if you mean I’m not drunk like the rest, you’re entirely correct. I don’t go in for it. Don’t care for the bad taste next day. Besides I’m in training.”

“In training?” queried Sherrill, studying the bright handsome face of the young man.

“I’m in training for flying. Record breaking and that sort of thing, you know. Want to keep what brains I’ve got steady. Say, you’re something like a flower in the desert, do you know it? So unexpected.”

“Well, then perhaps you’re a palm tree yourself”—Sherrill laughed. “You see, I was looking around for an oasis, and I had begun to think there wasn’t such a thing.”

“Let’s sit down and have a chat,” said the young man, drawing up a chair. “I’d like to know how you get this way. I didn’t know girls came like you anymore.” He was looking her over from dainty silver toe of shoe to shining golden crown of head and found her satisfying to the eye.

“I’m not so unusual in the town where I live,” said Sherrill lightly. “I just come from a Christian home, that’s all.”

“A Christian home!” said young Fennimore. “What’s that? Never saw one. Just how is that different from any other home?”

“Why—” said Sherrill looking at him thoughtfully, “it’s a home where God is heard, and where the Lord Jesus has first place. It’s a home where children are taught to expect to be separated from the world. This sort of thing”—waving her hand in a slight gesture toward the other room—”has no place in it.”

The young man looked at her perplexedly.

“Do you mean you never have any good times—any happiness?”

“Oh no!” she answered quickly. “We have lots of good times. But we wouldn’t call that in there a good time. We would call it a nightmare! But happiness? Oh yes, wonderful happiness. We find that in belonging to the Lord Jesus, and it isn’t dependent upon earthly things.”

She looked up at him with a smile so bright on her weary young face that he was puzzled.

“Tell me about it, please,” he said wistfully. “I’ve never heard anything like this. It’s almost uncanny. You are sure you aren’t just a spirit? Yet you seem to have a good, healthy look like any other girl, flesh and blood, blue taffeta and silver shoes!”