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Page 12
Eliot came and drew the curtains, and a glance at the little cupids told
her it was time to dress for dinner.
"I'll wear my buttercup dress to-night, Eliot," said Eugenia, when her
black hair had been carefully brushed and plaited in two long braids.
"It always makes my eyes look so big and dark, somehow, and brings out
the colour in my lips and cheeks."
"You are a young one to be noticing such things as that," said Eliot,
under her breath. She wanted to say it aloud, but she only pursed her
lips together as she got out the dress Eugenia had asked for. It was of
some soft, clinging material, of the same sunny yellow that buttercups
wear, and Eugenia knew very well how becoming it was to her brunette
style of beauty. After she was dressed, she spun around before the
pier-glass until she heard her father's step in the hall.
Although she had been so impatient for his coming, she said nothing
about the invitation from Locust until they had gone down to dinner and
were seated in the great dining-room together. She knew that that was
not the way Mollie or Fay or Kell would have done. Any one of them would
have rushed at her father the moment he came in sight, and would have
put her arms around his neck and poured out the whole story. But Eugenia
had never felt on such intimate terms with her father. She admired him
extremely, and thought he was the handsomest man she had ever seen, but
her love for him was of a selfish kind. So long as he indulged her and
never opposed her will, she was a most dutiful little daughter, but as
soon as his wishes crossed hers she pouted and sulked.
To her surprise, he made no objection to her accepting the invitation to
the house party, except to say, half-laughingly, "Don't you think you
are a little selfish to want to run off and leave me alone when I've
scarcely seen you all winter?" Then he laughed outright as she made a
saucy little grimace in answer. He would miss her very much when she was
gone, for she was a bright little thing and amused him, but he had a
feeling of relief as well to think that a month of her vacation would be
pleasantly occupied. She had been so discontented away from her little
friends.
After dinner they strolled into an alcove, screened from the hall by
great pots of palms, and sat down to listen to the music, and watch the
people passing back and forth. It was a gay scene. Ladies in elaborate
evening gowns passed out with their escorts to the opera, or waited for
the carriages that were to take them later to balls or receptions.
Everywhere there was the gleam of white shoulders, the nodding of
jewelled aigrettes, the flashing of diamond tiaras. Above it all rose
the odour of flowers, the hum of voices, and the music of violins.
Mr. Forbes, smiling through half-closed eyelids at this passing of
Vanity Fair, looked down at Eugenia. She was leaning forward in a
picturesque pose against the arm of her high-backed chair. The light
fell softly on her pale yellow gown and her dusky hair. The red lips
were parted in a smile as she watched the pretty pageant, and there was
a bright colour in her cheeks.
Mr. Forbes was proud of his handsome little daughter. He admired her
ease of manner, and boasted that she was as self-possessed under all
circumstances as any grown woman he knew. It pleased him to have his
friends predict that she would be a brilliant social success. He was
doing everything in his power to make her that, and yet--sometimes--a
vague fear crossed his mind that she was growing cold and selfish.
Sometimes she seemed far too old and worldly-wise for a child of her
age. He sighed as he looked at her. They were sitting so near each other
that his hand rested on the arm of her chair. Yet he felt that they had
grown widely apart in their long absences.
"What are you thinking about, Eugenia?" he asked, suddenly. She turned
with a little start.
"Oh, I had forgotten that you were there!" she exclaimed. "I was
thinking of Locust, and how glad I would be to get away from this
tiresome place. It's such a bore to do the same thing night after night,
and always watch the same kind of people."
A shadow crossed his face, but she did not see it. She had turned back
to her day-dreams in which he had no part. Happy little day-dreams, of
what was to come with the coming June.
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