Ellaline was there. Sonia had an impression—ridiculous, of course—that
she was yawning and licking her chops. Pampered little pet! Nobody ever
brooked her. They said that “Ellaline had a way with her.” In committee
you could be very certain her voice would break in with half-languid
amusement: “What a leprous idea!” And everybody apparently—the
ninnies!—would suddenly have their eyes opened to see the white symbols
of leprosy on the idea they had just been cherishing to their bosoms as
perfect, and hasten to expose themselves nakedly to the scratch of
Ellaline’s voice, and inoculated by her decisions against their own
diseased ones!
Ellaline, in a flame frock of a type only Ellaline could wear and not be
funny, waved a hand in greeting:
“’Lo. . . hardly expected you, m’dear!”
That surely was gratuitous! Two spots of pink grew in Sonia’s cheeks.
And then, suddenly, she remembered she wasn’t afraid of the Set any
more. They weren’t her Set; they had been only because they were
Teddy’s; and now Teddy. . .
Sonia laughed.
“Didn’t you?” she took Ellaline up. And then, marvelling that her remark
seemed as casual as Ellaline’s own: “My dear, you don’t belong in here
with that frock on. It’s a false note!”
The thing was perfectly true. The tea room was a bower in pastel shades:
delicate pink-paper blossoms sprouting in profusion from springs of real
branches; daffodils, narcissi, flags of a peculiarly clear, restrained
blue like an April sky. Sonia in her green belonged; Ellaline didn’t.
Sonia nodded and moved on, inspecting with calm eyes the rest of the
decorations.
A voice spoke in her ear:
“Bull’s-eye for you, Sonia!”
She turned, not expecting masculine invasion in such a place. It was
Jimmy Bogert.
“Supposed to be in bed nursing a bad leg,” he grinned. “Can’t keep a
good man down, so I tottered round to see the fairies in fairyland!” His
eyes regarded her in frank approval. He mumbled sardonically: “Heard
about last night, Sonia. Serves El jolly well right! Let’s go and look
at the flutings and flutterings that have made the great waste spaces
blossom like the rose!”
Sonia smiled up at him. Jimmy Bogert was in the Set with a large capital
S. A warm captivating satisfaction moved over her—like the warmth of a
bath to tired limbs. She had always thought Jimmy a little on the fresh
side. She’d no idea he was so nice. She presented her back to Ellaline
and the Set, moving off with Jimmy Bogert, conscious of what the Set
were thinking, conscious of what Ellaline was feeling, wishing that
Teddy might be here to see. The last thought came from some far place
within her, where it was hard and cold, and very uncomfortable. It was
warmer to bring it out and look at it and toy with it, here on Jimmy’s
arm, and under the leashed balloons, and beside the booths arranged in
streets that transformed the great building into a village, ablaze with
the spirit of carnival.
* * * * *
A curious sense of duality troubled Sonia, and drove her on to become
part of this very spirit of carnival, to throw everything else to the
winds, and abandon herself to the gaiety that the place and her
companion induced. The more there crept into her mind thoughts of Teddy,
the more she determined on this gaiety at all costs.
“Here, Sonia, have a shot at this!”
“What?”
“Archery! You hit that red heart there and get something—cigars or
something useful.” Jimmy nodded to the attendant. “We’ll take two trials
each.”
She concentrated on that. Her cheeks were flushed a little, her brows
pencil-marks of concentration; she was glad she’d worn green sports
wear; she was glad that she had shared with a brother the making and
firing of bows and arrows.
“Sonia, you little devil! I couldn’t do that to save my life. Let me
try. No, it’s no good. Go ahead, try again.”
People were applauding. Jimmy Bogert’s mouth was close to her ear.
“You witch! That’s my heart you plugged twice, then! Tell Teddy he’s out
of luck. He shouldn’t let you out of his sight in spring green, doing
Robin Hood stuff. Let’s ramble. An ice for two, I think, after that!”
The tea room was busy now; that blessed green of hers belonged under the
showering blossoms. In the general hum there was privacy. He leaned
toward her, pushing aside his half-finished ice. She knew, of course, he
hadn’t wanted one any more than she hers; this was just an excuse to sit
_tête-à-tête_. His eyes seemed determined by their unswerving glance,
half mocking, to make her blush or something.
“Tell me,” he said. “Does Teddy know you’re. . . like this?”
“Like what?”
“A green witch.”
“Why should he?”
He was silent, his eyes still frankly upon her.
“I think,” he said at last, “Teddy’s a you-know-what kind of condemned
young fool.”
Almost she flew loyally to Teddy’s defense. Instead she forced a smile
that faded as implications began to appear. Jimmy had not meant,
perhaps, to glance quickly just then at Ellaline who passed at a
distance. So he knew; he and probably all the Set, what her eyes had
been opened to see last night, how Teddy stood with Ellaline.
“Had enough of that stuff, Sonia?”
She nodded.
“Where do we go from here?”
“Anywhere you say, Jimmy.”
There were a thousand and one things to see, to do, to inspect, silly
things to be enjoyed only if you obeyed the beckoning of the Spirit of
Carnival. Sonia became conscious of time.
“Jimmy, I really must go!”
“Go? Where did you pick that word up?”
“But, Jimmy. . .”
“Listen, lovely lady. There’s a dark, desperate plot afoot. Early
supper and dance at the Salle Doree, and drink confusion to your
enemies. I mean it. Us two; toodledoo!”
Was he mad to think of such a thing? Tonight of all nights?
“I can read you like a book,” he said. “You’re thinking to put me off.
Tomorrow never comes. Tomorrow, Allah knows, you will likely withdraw
into your lovely green shell, and think some silly nonsense about it
being improper—with hubby away. I mean it, Sonia. You take my advice
and give a jolt right at the start. A jolt in time saves. . . whee-whoo,
you know. . . work for the unrusting divorce mills, and all that.”
Why did she listen? Why did anyone do anything here in this place they
mightn’t do elsewhere? Was it because the lighting was so queer and
clever, playing tricks all down the street-like aisles, or because the
decorations were so cubistically meaningless, or because the Committee
in some bright moment of inspiration had caused incense in every booth
to rise from gay-lighted, pagan shrines; little wisping essences of the
woods in spring?
They were standing for a moment by the tent-like booth where, within an
inner sanctuary, a gipsy woman told fortunes, when someone called:
“Going to have your palm read, Jimmy? She’s a wizard. Or are you
afraid?”
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