"It's very well for Jupiter that he happened to think of the curtain,"said Mrs. Brinkley. "They couldn't have kept it up at that level much longer.""Oh, do you think so?" softly murmured Mrs. Pasmer. "It seemed as if they could have kept it up all night if they liked.""I doubt it. Mr. Trevor," said Mrs. Brinkley to the host, who had come up for her congratulations, "do you always have such brilliant performances?""Well, we have so far," he answered modestly; and Mrs. Brinkley laughed with him. This was the first entertainment at Trevor cottage.
"'Sh!" went up all round them, and Mrs. Trevor called across the room, in a reproachful whisper loud enough for every one to hear, "My dear!--enjoying yourself!" while Mavering stood between the parted curtains waiting for the attention of the company.
"On account of an accident to the call-boy and the mental exhaustion of some of the deities, the next piece will be omitted, and the performance will begin with the one after. While the audience is waiting, Mercury will go round and take up a collection for the victim of the recent accident, who will probably be indisposed for life. The collector will be accompanied by a policeman, and may be safely trusted."He disappeared behind the curtain with a pas and r swirl of his draperies like the Lord Chancellor in Iolanthe, and the audience again abandoned itself to applause.
"How very witty he is!" said Miss Cotton, who sat near John Munt. "Don't you think he's really witty?""Yes," Munt assented critically. "But you should have known his father.""Oh, do you know his father?"
"I was in college with him."
"Oh, do tell me about him, and all Mr. Mavering's family. We're so interested, you know, on account of--Isn't it pretty to have that little love idyl going on here? I wonder--I've been wondering all the time--what she thinks of all this. Do you suppose she quite likes it?" His costume is so very remarkable!" Miss Cotton, in the absence of any lady of her intimate circle, was appealing confidentially to John Munt.
"Why, do you think there's anything serious between them?" he asked, dropping his head forward as people do in church when they wish to whisper to some one in the same pew.
"Why, yes, it seems so," murmured Miss Cotton. "His admiration is quite undisguised, isn't it?""A man never can tell," said Munt. "We have to leave those things to you ladies.""Oh, every one's talking of it, I assure you. And you know his family?""I knew his father once rather better than anybody else.""Indeed!"
"Yes." Munt sketched rather a flattered portrait of the elder Mavering, his ability, his goodness, his shyness, which he had always had to make such a hard fight with. Munt was sensible of an access of popularity in knowing Dan Mavering's people, and he did not spare his colours.
"Then it isn't from his father that he gets everything. He isn't in the least shy," said Miss Cotton.
"That must be the mother."
"And the mother?"
"The mother I don't know."
Miss Cotton sighed. "Sometimes I wish that he did show a little more trepidation. It would seem as if he were more alive to the great difference that there is between Alice Pasmer and other girls."Munt laughed a man's laugh. "I guess he's pretty well alive to that, if he's in love with her.""Oh, in a certain way, of course, but not in the highest way. Now, for instance, if he felt all her fineness as--as we do, I don't believe he'd be willing to appear before her just like that." The father of the gods wore a damask tablecloth of a pale golden hue and a classic pattern; his arms were bare, and rather absurdly white; on his feet a pair of lawn-tennis shoes had a very striking effect of sandals.
"It seems to me," Miss Cotton pursued; "that if he really appreciated her in the highest way, he would wish never to do an undignified or trivial thing in her presence.""Oh, perhaps it's that that pleases her in him. They say we're always taken with opposites.""Yes--do you think so?" asked Miss Cotton.
The curtains were flung apart, and the Judgment of Paris followed rather tamely upon what had gone before, though the two young fellows who did Juno and Minerva were very amusing, and the dialogue was full of hits.
Some of the audience, an appreciative minority, were of opinion that Mavering and Miss Anderson surpassed themselves in it; she promised him the most beautiful and cultured wife in Greece. "That settles it," he answered. They came out arm in arm, and Paris, having put on a striped tennis coat over his short-sleeved Greek tunic, moved round among the company for their congratulations, Venus ostentatiously showing the apple she had won.
"I can haydly keep from eating it," she explained to Alice; before whom she dropped Mavering's arm. "I'm awfully hungry. It's hayd woyk."Alice stood with her head drawn back, looking at the excited girl with a smile, in which seemed to hover somewhere a latent bitterness.
Mavering, with a flushed face and a flying tongue, was exchanging sallies with her mother, who smothered him in flatteries.
Mrs. Trevor came toward the group, and announced supper. "Mr. Paris, will you take Miss Aphrodite out?"Miss Anderson swept a low bow of renunciation, and tacitly relinquished Mavering to Alice.
"Oh, no, no!" said Alice, shrinking back from him, with an intensification of her uncertain smile. "A mere mortal?""Oh, how very good!" said Mrs. Trevor.
