THE MODERN MOTHER

Dominion, Volume 14, Issue 298, 10 September 1921, Page 8

THE MODERN MOTHER

AVE, MATER DOLOROSA-PERHAPS!

(By

F.E.B)

She was a very beautiful woman. The veiled lights, glehming in varied tint# from beribboned globes, shone softly on her, transforming her already radiant face into a. vision of delight, touching her wonderful auburn hair with the finest of retouching pencils, scintillating on aigret, comb, and excellently achieved Marcel wave. From under the red, rippling hair, a “kiss curl" that looked almost natural, hung lazily, langourously, on the high, snow-white forehead. Tho wonderful evening dress, made of shimmering, filmy stuff, that seemed like the fairy gossamer one read of in Andrew Lang and his coloured fairy books, appeared to shiver under the coloured lights. A necklet of white, wonderful pearls surrounded her graceful, powdered throat. Red lips, a delightfully small mouth, with Cupid’s bows that one felt could not have been achieved by .the “wee red pencil," teeth that might have beon precious stones, a little retroussee nose, ahd eyebrows that one furtively hoped were real, further added to the vision. Her stockings—golden, foamy, were of the most marvellously fine silk, and the golden shoes seemed, dainty as a. Cinderella’s slipper, to have been fashioned out of the finest metal of Tupeo Amaru and the Incas. An ermine wrap, worth—if St was indqed real—many pounds, was laying carelessly beside her,

As she sat in a cosy alcove in the big hall, with the couples swaying in the strains of a dreamy jazz tune, all eyes were upon her. Elderly colonels, and a general or two (for it was a State function) looked shyly at her, and thinking she saw them, minced and pirouetted as will elderly folk when they feel the eyes of admiring youth are upon them. Young dancing men, supposed, by their partners at least, to be interested only in the jazz, cast longing, sheep’s eyes at her when they fondly thought their partners were not looking. Their partners invariably saw, and swore eternal enmity to the gorgeous one. Matrons, carefully deposited in other of the alcoves, furnished like -drawingrooms, that were scattered round the ballroom, gazed long at her with halfclosed cyos and feline looks —for it is on such occasions that women bear out tho old Egyptian legend of the cat-goddess. “Flappers," sitting with half-grown youths, as they have to, thank the Lord, at. really grown-up affairs, gazed at tho goddess with saucer eyes, hated breath, and eager hopbs that they too would bo an Helen when they really and truly put their hair up. ‘' The saxophone player in the orchestra forgot his part, and made weird sounds out of the gaping mouth of his jazz atrocity. Sadness is the nearest thing in tiie world akin to joy; and so forth. Aphorisms are old-fashioned. At any rate, seated next to the butterfly, inclining, towards her occasionally to catch a honeyed word from the sweet lips, was a woman. Her age was able to be guessed only by the Delphic oracle, as tho mere fact of her having grey hair, thin, lank 'hair, was neither here nor there.

Strangely enough, the presence of the sad-faced woman, presumably much older than the richly-robed cne, forced one to foster a half-bom impression of lip salve —peroxide—but foolish thought! The elder woman was dressed in black, plainly, not elegantly. Her feet wero not as dainty as her neighbour s her grey hair was not waved —no pearls were on her throat —no admiring scrutineers gazed at her. Now and then, as the butterfly nodded or smiled at a distant face across the ball-room, the elder woman looked rather worried, and occasionally laid a hand on the other’s arm, to be met by the same smile, showing iiearly, flashing teeth.

At the end of the room, the middleaged man who was a lover of the ninoteeuth century, and did not believ e in thyroid glands or jazz as a means for acquiring eternal youth, spoke quietly to his son, a distinguished young chap, as yet unspoiled. “Jim,” he said, “I want to show you something. Look, over there—no, not the dowager in green and pink, but ah you see her! Well, son, theres an example of a girl who likes to be by her mother. She’s been sitting there for at least ten minutes with her mother, that woman in black.-. . See, she’s just getting up to dance with young Blank. I should say she was yoiir age, or perhaps a year or so older. . . 7’ The young man looked at his fattier, with a'tired expression. He yawned behind elaborately manicured fingers. Ihe father, not noticing, continued, in Ins popular role of philosopher. *'l lilqe to see it,” he said. A girl who is not ashamed to go to a dance with her mother is the right kind 01 girl. You see too many of tho butterflies who wouldn’t dream of taking their mothers to afternoon tea, to the theatre. . . 'Ma’s all right for pin-money, they tell their friends,'and. that’s an end of it. Son, they should realise “iey have only one mother. That beautiful girl who’s dancing with young Blank is the right type. She’s not ashamed of the woman who brought her itito the world. ,Tho voung man' was gazing at the ceiling, Irving to count the festoons of coloured ribbon from gallery to gallery. His father continued with the address. . . . I think he thought he was addressing his beloved juries. . . •

The Butterfly nnd the elaborate Blank youth, of the type known as lap-dog, were laughing loudly in the corridor nt seme new absurd joke. To them th* quietly dressed woman came, rhe butterfly frowned. , “What?” she snid- Is it one oclock already—so soon.” "Yes, mother,” quietly answered !he woman in black, a veil over her grey hair.

At the Concert Chamber of the Town Hall to-morrow night V 1 ™ 11 .. P ” Deacon will lecture on Man s Life in Three Worlds,” whex a description of man’s. life in the spiritual psychic, and phvsicSil realms will Jre given, and the relationship of the one to the other will k be shown. Mr. Deacon i tates that the intends to approach the subject over scientific ground, and will endeavour to show the rational basis upon which' Esoteric Christianity rests. At the morning’ service of the Church Universal there will be a dedication of an infant to the Cause of Truth, performed by Mr. Deacon. France is still occupying herself with tho problem of producing aeroplanes capable of defeating the world’s speed records. It is stated that in the case of certain new monoplanes, possessed of engines up to 660 h.p.. thick wings, retractable under-carriages, and lacking external bracing, constructors are hoping to attain 220 miles per hour, with nn exciting landing speed of 125 miles per hour.