CHAPTER II
When the curtain fell on the first act of _Thais_, that evening,Hayden drew a long sigh. He had been enjoying it with that keen,pleasant appreciation, that boyish glow of enthusiasm which stillremained with him. Then he turned his attention to the house andamused himself by picking out an occasional familiar face, andadmiring the carefully dressed heads and charming gowns of the womenabout him, and the whole brilliant flower-garden effect of theaudience.
Presently, he noticed with some surprise that in spite of a crowdedhouse the two seats next him remained unoccupied; but just before thecurtain rose again he turned his head suddenly to discover that oneof the seats at least, the one farthest from him, was filled. Therecognition of this fact came almost with a shock, a pleasurableshock, for the new arrival was a young and beautiful woman and hisfirst feeling of surprise was shot with approbation at thenoiselessness of her entrance, an approbation that he longed toexpress verbally.
She had slipped past several people, and taken her seat without anyof the jingling of chains, rattling of draperies and dropping ofsmall articles which usually proclaim the disturbing appearance ofthe late feminine arrival, and seem, in fact, her necessaryconcomitant. But this young woman though she had so recently enteredyet managed by some magic at her command to convey the impression ofhaving been in her seat all evening.
Hayden hated to stare at her. He was, in fact, entirely too well bredto do anything of the sort, and yet, quite disgracefully, he longedto do nothing on earth so much, and further he was inclined tojustify himself in this social lawlessness.
If women, either wilfully or unconsciously, succeeded in making picturesof themselves, they must expect to be gazed at. That was all there was tothe matter. Only, and there was the rub, Hayden couldn't very well profitby the courage of his convictions, in spite of his truculentself-assurance, for the simple reason that he wasn't capable of it.
The lady was, he decided by virtue of his stolen glances, abouttwenty-five years old, although her poise of manner indicated a composurebeyond her years. And she was tall and slender, with a straight, regularprofile, and dark hair which fell back from her face in soft naturalwaves, and was very simply arranged. She had, in fact, a simplicity,almost an austerity of what one might call personal effect, which formeda contrast, certainly interesting and to Hayden at least as certainlyfascinating, between herself as she impressed one and her very elaborateand striking costume.
Her wonderful gown--even Hayden's untutored masculine senses appreciatedits wonderfulness--was of some clinging green material which embraced herin certain faultless lines and folds of consummate art. About the hem itwas embroidered with silver butterflies, irregularly disposed yet allseeming to flutter upward as if in the effort to reach her knees. Thesealso decorated her low corsage and spread their wings upon her sleeves.She wore no jewels; and her only ornament was a large butterfly insilver, upon her breast, with diamond- and ruby-studded wings and rubyeyes.
A butterfly! Was he dreaming? Had he thought so much of butterflies thathe saw them everywhere? For since his return from South America, Haydenhad exhibited a marked interest in butterflies, although, curiouslyenough, this enthusiasm was not in the least entomological.
But to return to the lady. One foot was thrust a little from her gown,and Hayden was quick to notice that it was encased in a green satinslipper with a buckle which was a replica of the butterfly on her breast,only smaller in size. The whole idea of her costume struck him asfanciful, original and charming; and then--and then--it was only acoincidence, of course; but it started a train of thought which graduallymerged into giddier hopes.
His admiration of her seemed to be universal, at least within theconfines of the opera-house, for it was evident that either the lady orher gown, or both, attracted a vast deal of attention to which she on herpart was either entirely oblivious or else so accustomed as to beindifferent. At last, she turned toward Hayden a little with a slightchange in her expression which he translated as annoyance. He was at onceovercome with a swift feeling of embarrassment, of compunction. It seemedto him that he must have sat with his eyes riveted on her. Resolutely, heturned them toward the stage until the poignant sweetness of theintermezzo began to dream through his consciousness as an echo of "thatmelody born of melody which melts the world into a sea," and then,involuntarily, without premeditation, obeying a seemingly enforcedimpulse, he had turned toward her and she had lifted her eyes, violeteyes, touched with all regret; and a sudden surprised ecstasy had invadedevery corner of his heart and filled it with sweetness and warmth, forthe music, that enchanting, never-to-be-forgotten intermezzo, hadrevealed to him--the fairy princess.
In a moment that he dreamed not of, around some unexpected corner oflife, she had turned her feet and he, crass fool that he was, was notsure that it was she; like all faithless generations, he had waited for asign, until at last, in the ebb and flow of the music, she had lifted hersweet eyes and he had known her finally, irrevocably, and for ever.
He could not gratify his own insistent longing to move nearer her, or togaze and gaze at her, so during the next act he confined his glancesrigorously to the stage. Almost immediately, however, after the curtainfell, he happened to glance, by mere chance, toward one of the boxes, andhis heart stood still, for there far back in the shadowy depths, she wasstanding talking earnestly to a dark, thin woman in rose-color withdrooping cerise wings in her shining black hair.
He turned involuntarily, half believing himself the victim of somehallucination and expecting to see her still sitting in her seat, only tofind that she really had gone. For a moment, a cold chill ran down hisback. How could she have vanished without his knowing it? It seemedincredible. What an uncanny way she had of coming and going! He glancedup at the box again where he fancied he had seen her; but the lady incerise was now seated, talking to two or three men.
Good heavens! He began seriously to doubt the evidence of his senses. Hadshe, his fairy princess, ever really been in the house at all or had hedreamed her--her and her butterflies? Was she, after all, some fantasyborn of the music and his dreaming imagination? And would it ever bepossible to dream her again; or, if she were real, where, where could hefind her? To discover a fairy princess and to lose her, lose her, as heruefully confessed, like a needle in a haystack, was worse than never tohave found her.
The final curtain fell. He rose with the rest of the house, dejectedlyenough, let it be said, when, glancing at his feet, he saw one of thesmall butterflies that had evidently fallen from her shoe. He almostshouted. Cinderella had left her glass slipper at the ball, or what, inthis case symbolized it, and he had found it. He slipped it carefullyinto his pocket and wasted no time in hastening home; but once in theseclusion of his own apartment, he drew it forth and carefully examinedit. It was an exquisite trinket fashioned with infinite care andperfectly conceived, with delicate threadlike antennae, wings so thin asto be almost transparent, and ruby eyes. He smiled afresh with a kind oftriumphant satisfaction.
Before him stretched a vista of golden opportunities, for this valuableand unique ornament must be returned. Naturally, it was a commission thathe could intrust to no one but himself. Any one would concede that; andshe, of course, in accepting it, would have to show a decent appreciationof his good offices; and they would probably discover mutual friends oracquaintances, or if they did not happen to possess such a thing as afriend or even an acquaintance in common, he would find exercise for hisingenuity by very speedily rectifying that difficulty. Either to inventor to discover some kind of a mutual friend or acquaintance was a task towhich he felt himself fully equal, and with this comforting reflectionuppermost in his mind, Hayden finally composed himself to slumber. Only,and this was his last conscious thought, he did wish she had lookedhappier. She was like a flower, exactly like the violets that droopedbelow the silver butterfly on her breast.
"Oh, faint, delicious, springtime violet!" But again--that little pangwas like a stab at his heart--he did wish that her sweet eyes had notbee
n touched with all regret.
The Silver Butterfly Page 2