Years of Grace

by Margaret Ayer Barnes

  It was nearly four now. Nearly five in Bryn Mawr. Agnes and Marion were washing up the tea-things that very minute. They were laughing about something, of course. Something funny that Agnes would have said. Jane forgot them, however, at the sight of Muriel's awning. It was her first big party. Next week she would have an awning of her own.

  The doorman, resplendent in maroon broadcloth and brass buttons, flung open the cab door with a flourish. Jane followed her mother and Isabel up the red velvet carpet. She remembered, just in time, to pick up her pink taffeta train.

  The Lesters' big house was in very festive array. There were palms from the florist's and flowers everywhere. Great gold and russet bunches of chrysanthemums and roses of every kind and colour. The front hall smelled faintly Hke a greenhouse. A hne of caterer's men bowed them up the stairs. They were very early, which was quite as it should be. Janets

  place was awaiting her behind the great silver tea-kettle in the dining-room.

  Jane flung off her wrap in the lacy splendour of the Lcsters' guest-room. A waiting-maid seized it as it fell. She folded it meticulously and laid it on the bed. Jane looked in the long glass. So, she had a style of her own, she thought. Isabel had szdd so, and Isabel knew. Jane couldn't see it, however. But her gown was very pretty and her waist was very small and her cheeks were pink with excitement behind her sheer white face veil. She ran down the stairs ahead of her mother.

  The four Lesters were standing ceremoniously at the parlour door. The room seemed very bare and strangely neat, with all the furniture pushed back against the walls, and all the ornaments removed to make way for the magnificent flowers. Mrs. Lester looked perfectly enormous in purple satin. Muriel, at her side, incredibly angelic, in white lace. Her hair was a black cloud. Her eyes were very bright and blue, dancing with pleasure. She carried a great bunch of white sweet peas. She flung her arms around Jane excitedly. Edith, imported from Cleveland, was next in line. Jane hadn't seen her for nearly three years. She looked a lot older, Jane thought, and rather tired. Rosalie was chattering to the last guest, a funny old lady in a satin cape. Freddy Waters and the Cleveland brother-in-law were talking together near the front window. With their sleek blond heads and their black frock coats and their dove-coloured neckties they looked as much ahke as the two Dromios.

  Jane passed down the line and stood a moment, uncertainly, in the empty room. She didn't know the old lady and she never knew what to say to Freddy Waters. She hadn't seen the Cleveland brother-in-law since his wedding day, four yeju^ before. She wandered a bit uneasily toward the dining-room door. There was Flora behind the chocolate pot. Flora,

  very fair and frail, looking like a little Dresden shepherdess in pale blue silk. Jane took her place at the other end of the table. An obsequious caterer's man hovered behind her chair. Or perhaps he was the new butler. Jane couldn't remember. Some people that she didn't know were standing around the table, plates in hand. She was too far away from Flora to talk. She could hardly see her over the great orchid centrepiece.

  Somebody asked for some tea. Jane poured it out in silence. More people were coming into the room. Jane didn't know any of them. Lots of them wanted tea. Jane was kept quite busy. She could hear Flora chattering away at her end of the table. Flora knew ever so many people. Some men came in. Quite old ones. They gravitated around Flora. She seemed to have lots to talk about. One grey-bearded gentleman was a trifle deaf He was asking Flora a question.

  'Jane Ward,' she heard Flora say. 'Jane Ward. Mrs. John Ward's daughter.'

  John Ward's daughter?' Jane heard him reply. 'Didn't know there was another.' He was staring at her over the orchids. 'Pretty Httle filly.'

  Jane felt unaccountably exhilarated. She looked up at an old lady who was asking for tea, with a ravishing smile.

  'Doesn't Muriel look lovely?' she said politely. The old lady must at least know Muriel.

  'Muriel who?' said the old lady. But Jane was not discouraged. She went on smiling and trying to talk. Pretty little filly, he had said.

  Freddy Waters came in with three young men. He brought them up to Jane.

  'They want tea/ he said, and introduced them.

  Jane realized at once that she had been so excited that she hadn't heard their names. But she smiled very steadfastly.

  Pretty little filly. Very soon the young men were laughing. One of them pretended that the massive hot-water kettle was too heavy for her to lift. He filled the empty teapot himself Jane thought he was awfully attractive. She felt her cheeks growing hot in the crowded room. She hoped tliey were growing pinker. More young men came in. Her unknown swains introduced them. Jane didn't hear their names, either. One of them brought her some pink punch.

  'There's a stick in it,' he said, smiling.

  Jane felt quite daring, drinking it. She glanced across at Flora. Flora was drinking it too. She was surrounded by young men. The old ones had all gone. Two elderly ladies were waiting for their chocolate, a bit impatiently. They got it, finally, fi"om the caterer's man.

  The room was very hot, and very, very noisy. Jane had to scream to be heard. It was easier to talk when you screamed., she discovered, much easier than in a silent room. When you screamed, things seemed funny.

  Presendy there was a little disturbance at the dining-room door. Lots of young men came in, and then Muriel. Muriel looked flushed and terribly excited. Her cheeks were rose pink. She was waving her sveet peas and laughing at every one. Close behind her was Mr. Bert Lancaster. He looked old, Jane thought, among all those gay young people, but awfully handsome. His moustache was just right. It was waxed, the least Uttle bit, at the ends. There was a white sweet pea in his buttonhole.

  He cleared the way for Muriel to the tea-table. The crowd was thinning out. Muriel patted Jane's shoulder.

  'Tired, darling?' she asked, Mr. Lancaster offered her a cup of tea. She shook her head. 'I want something cold.'

  One of the young men sprang to get some punch. When he came back with it, Mr. Lancaster took the glass cup out of his

  hand and gave it to Muriel himself. The young man glared resentfully. Muriel smiled up into the eyes of Mr. Lancaster and drank the punch with little gasps of delight.

  'I was so thirsty,' she said. 'I'm awfully hot.'

  Mr. Lancaster took her arm very gently, just above the elbow. He steered her through what was left of the crowd to the bay window at the end of the room. He opened the sash a little. Muriel stood leaning against the red velvet window curtains, fanning herself vdth her sweet peas. Mr. Lancaster was bending over her, his eyes upon her face.

  'May I have a cup of tea, Jane?' said somebody softly. Jane started and looked up. It was Flora's mother. She had on a tiny black bonnet with one pink rose and a perky little black velvet bow that stood up behind. Her face was framed in the black lace ruff of her httle cape. It looked very pale against that background and when she raised her veil, Jane thought her lips were white. In a moment, though, she was laughing with one of the young men. Her laugh was very low and silvery and her eyes were very bright. Her black dotted veil was tucked coquettishly up over her httle nose. The young man seemed enslaved at once. Flora's mother looked up into his eyes and laughed again. The young man was immensely flattered. Jane was staring up at them, just as she had stared, a moment before, at Mr. Bert Lancaster and Muriel.

  'Do you know this dear child?' said Flora's mother. She introduced the young man. Jane smiled very dutifully, but she couldn't compete with Mrs. Furness. The young man returned to his devotion. Flora's mother put her teacup down. The tea was untasted. Two more young men were talking to her now. She turned to leave the room and all three went with her.

  Jane's eyes returned to Muriel. She was still standing with Mr. Lancaster by the window. He was talking to her, very

  earnestly, but Muriel's eyes were wandering brightly over the crowd. She was not bothering much to listen to him. Jane returned to her tea-pouring.

  Suddenly she saw Rosahe enter the room. She walked straight over to Muriel
and she looked very much provoked. She said something sharply and Muriel turned away with her toward the door. Mr. Lancaster followed.

  'You've got to stay in line with Mamma,' said Rosalie angrily, as they passed Jane's elbow. 'I've been looking all over for you.'

  They walked toward the door together. Mr. Lancaster was strolhng behind them pulling his moustache and smiling. On the threshold they almost ran into Flora's mother. She spoke at once to Mr. Lancaster and smiled, ver}' prettily, up into his face. He answered rather briefly, and, after a moment. Flora's mother turned away with her three young men. Mr. Lancaster followed Muriel into the parlour.

  Jane heard an excited whisper in her ear.

  'Did you see that?' It was Isabel. Jane thoroughly despised her. She felt terribly sorry for Flora's mother and she hated Mr. Bert Lancaster. But, most of all, she despised herself for having seen it. She had seen it all, she had stared at it, just like Isabel. It quite spoiled the end of the reception.

  m Jane stood in Flora's bedroom, smoothing her hair before the long mirror, while Flora's maid sewed up the torn net flounces of her pink dancing-frock. Lots of other girls were there, too, repairing the ra'ages of the evening. Muriel, at her elbow, was busy changing her flowers. She had carried a big bunch of gardenias all the first part of the party and, now that they were bruised and brown, she Wcis replacing them with a second corsage of white violets. Jane knew tliat Bert

  Lancaster sent white violets, sometimes. Muriel looked very pretty. She had on a dress of bright blue satin that exactly matched her eyes and she had a snood of blue velvet ribbon in her hair.

  It had been a beautiful evening. Flora's dance had been a great success. They had just come up from supper and the cotillion was going to begin immediately. You could hear the orchestra faindy, from the ballroom upstairs. It was playing a waltz. Muriel began to sing the air, very sofdy:

  'Casey would waltz with a strawberry blonde,

  And the band played on. He'd glide 'cross the floor with the girl he adored, And the band played on '

  Jane's feet were twitching to the rhythm. She could hardly stand still long enough for the maid to take the last hurried stitches.

  'Ready, Muriel?' she said.

  Muriel pitched the gardenias into the waste-basket and skewered the violets more securely to her whalebones.

  Jane paused to pat Flora's mother's pug. He was a very old dog, now, and he was lying in his little blue-and-white basket on the sofa where the maid could keep him company. His name was Folly. It didn't seem very appropriate as he wheezed and snuffled over her caress. He wore a tan blanket for his rheumatism and he looked just Hke a litde pop-eyed old man in a light overcoat.

  'There!' said Muriel. 'Come on.*

  They ran lighdy up the stairs together to the third floor. The arched entrance to the ballroom directly faced the staircase. The ballroom stretched across the front of the house. Its six tall windows pierced the mansard roof The orchestra was bowered in palms on a litde platform at the end of the room. The walls were hung with smilax. The floor was quite empty,

  for the moment. It was ringed with gold caterer's chairs and in one corner there was a long table festooned with cotillion favours. Hoops and staffs and wreaths and hats of coloured paper. There was a great crowd of young men around the door and five or six girls. Among them Flora, queen of the ball, shimmering in white taffeta, a great sheaf of pink roses in her arms. Mrs. Fumess was standing beside her. She didn't look like a mother at all, Jane thought, in that violet velvet gown, with its long, slinky train. Her golden hair was just as bright as Flora's, and her willowy waist as slender. She was smihng and shaking her head at one of the young men over a spangled violet fan. Mr. Fumess, looking ver^' plump in his evening dress and just a little choked in his high stiff collar, was opening the windows to cool off the room before the dancing began again. He had quite a httle struggle with one of them. His bald head was shining in the Hght of the crystal chandelier. Several young men ran over to help him. The cold night breeze swept over the floor.

  Many more girls had come in, now, and the band was slipping into a polka. Flora's mother caught up her train over her long gloved arm and glided out on the floor in the arms of one of the young men. Her great puffy violet velvet sleeves accentuated the slimness of her figure. She was a beautiful dancer. In a moment two other couples had joined them. Muriel pranced past with an impetuous partner. Jane found an arm around her waist. She picked up her train and began polka-ing with ardour. The floor was crowded all too soon.

  The music stopped at the note of an imperious whisdc. Mr. Bert Lancaster was standing in the doorway. Mr. Bert Lancaster always led cotilHons.

  'Take seats!' he shouted.

  There was a mad rush for partners and a madder rush for the Httle gold chairs. Jane had promised this cotillion weeks

  ago. Miraculously, her partner found her in the confusion of the room. They ran for the coveted places near the favour table. Mr. Bert Lancaster advanced slowly to the centre of the floor. It was clearing rapidly. Mr. Lancaster stood waiting, whistle in hand, under the crystal chandelier. He had a lieutenant at his elbow. Jane had met him at supper. He was Stephen Carver, Flora's cousin from Boston. He knew all about cotillions, Flora had said. He was a very slim young man with frank blue eyes and curly blond hair and a budding moustache that didn't show for much, just yet. He had just come to Chicago to Kvc, and he didn't know many people. Jane thought he was very good-looking. Flora said he was nice. Every one was seated, now. Mr. Lancaster blew his whistle.

  The band immediately struck up *E1 Capitan' and Mr. Lancaster began running very swiftly around the circle, counting off couples as he ran. Sixteen of them rose to dance. They led off in a romping gallop. A Uttle group of dowagers had gathered behind the favour table, Jane's mother among them. The whistle blew imperiously. The dancers raced for favours. The first girl on the floor was Flora. She was holding a great hoop of paper flowers over her head. An eager young man dragged Mrs. Fumess, lightly protesting, from the group of dowagers. She caught up her train and whirled off in his arms. Jane caught the gleam of disapproval in her mother's eye The floor was crowded now. The whistle blew again. The girls formed in a great circle, with hoops upraised, the men in another around them. Mr. Lancaster was miracu lously agile and very active, coat-tails flying, in the centre. Stephen Carver had joined the line of men. Both circles began revolving rapidly in opposite directions. The whistle blew. The men took partners. The dancing started once more.

  Jane sat very excitedly on the edge of her gold chair, her eyes bright with pleasure. She didn't bother to talk to her partner. Cotillions were fun.

  'Wait for me!' a young man called, waving his white-gloved hand. He returned at once with a crepe-paper boa. Jane flung it around her neck and sprang into his arms. Halfway round the room the whistle parted them. Jane joined the great crowd of girls at one end of the floor. The whistle blew and the men came racing, slipping, sliding down upon them. Jane found herself in the arms of Stephen Carver. She looked up in his face and laughed.

  'You're the girl I met at supper,' he said. He was really very handsome. And he danced divinely.

  'You met lots of girls at supper,' said Jane, laughing.

  *I remcmber_>'ou,' said Stephen. Jane felt pleasantly elated. He was nice, just as Flora said. The whistle blew.

  'Refavour!' shouted the conmianding voice of Mr. Bert Lancaster.

  'Don't let's,' said Stephen. This seemed strangely anarchistic. Jane was a little doubtful. But Stephen's arm continued to hold her firmly, steering her steadily away from the favour table to the empty end of the room. Jane was afraid she was being conspicuous. But she loved to waltz. In a moment whirhng couples were all around them. The whistle blew and they were inevitably parted. In the serpentine Unc of girls, however, he incredibly found her again.

  'You're a beautiful dancer,' he said.

  *Our steps go well together,' said Jane simply.

  'You bet they do,' said Stephen, and his arm tightened
slightly. Jane was almost glad when the whistle sounded and he returned her to her chair. Of course he was Flora's cousin. But she had only just met him.

  Mr. Bert Lancaster was really outdoing himself. The danc-

  ing waxed fast and furious. Soon the girls looked a little dishevelled and the young men very hot indeed. The chairs were heaped with the debris of favours. The crowd around the punch-bowl in the hall grew thicker. In spite of Mr. Furness's open windows the room was very warm.

  Flora was on the floor every minute. Her mother was constantly whirhng past. Jane caught a glimpse of Mr. Lancaster dancing with Muriel. Muriel had on a red paper sunbonnet. Her hair was loosened around her flushed face and she was leaning back to look up at Mr. Lancaster as they waltzed. Her gloved hand, outstretched in his, held her swirling blue train. Mr. Lancaster seemed to hae forgotten all about the whistle. Stephen Carver blew his and the couples all parted, a little hesitantly. Mr. Lancaster remembered, then. He led a grand right and left with abandon and ended it just where he could catch up Muriel at the end of the line. They raced off together in a rollicking two-step.

  Mrs. Furness began to look just a little tired. Faint shadows showed beneath her eyes and in the hollows of her cheeks. She sat with the dowagers, now, smiling over her spangled fan, springing up to offer great armfuls of favours to insistent young men as they bore down on the table.