A FROCK FOR'ELAINE

Dominion, Volume 25, Issue 69, 15 December 1931, Page 17 (Supplement)

A FROCK FOR'ELAINE

By

Pamela Thurston

Blaine eat thoughtfully brooding Over the still bright handful of fire in her little blue and buff sitting-room, fihe was thinking of the letter lying eo complacently; so very much a matter of course, in her pocket at this very moment; the letter from Harvey Granthorpe, asking if he might call to-morrow evening at seven to take her out to dinner. Harvey belonged to the old days—and had now worked up a very prosperous connection indeed as a successful chartered accountant at Littleborough, where he and she had gone to school and grown up together—more or less drifted —and now, here was Harvey up in town for a week’s holiday, and to-morrow was the last night prior to his return. She visioned him now, calmly criticising, analysing, pulling his physical make-up ruthlessly bit from bit, and weighing his mental capacity, his “understanding,” that subtle gift that is only the priceless possession of the few, as one takes a bit of alluring chiffon Or a pair of stickings marked at a certain price, to the light of the shop window before buying. She called up, mentally, his wellgroomed —a shade too carefully groomed, to be accurate —figure; the care-fully-brushed, hair, the atmosphere of Buccess-in-all-he-undertook, which radiated from him; the slight inclination to baldness at the crown of his head; the tendency to tightness in his waistcoat did not seem so very noticeable perhaps. A thousand a year can blot out so much. Especially when one is lonely, and other people are all far too busy with their own affairs to* give more than a passing and awfully fleeting glance at yours. She rose and stretched her slender arms, and walked Into her .bedroom, opening the door of the wardrobe. There was the pink taffetas, a little passe, the periwinkle-blue georgette, and that primrose chiffon she’d had for the dance last autumn. She had worn them alh “I ought to have had a new frock,” she mused, silently, fingering the peri-winkle-blue, “why didn’t I think of that before?—there isn’t time now; even if I found something ready-made, I should never get the alteration done Tn time.’ ” She went thoughtfully back to the buff and blue room and stood looking Into the fire. The fire held the glowing ashes of certain things that had happened, glowing memories with little bits of love, little bits of laughter, and a whole bundle of happiness strewn amongst them. They did a sort of elfin, mocking dance in the flames, and Elaine reached for a mental poker and struck at them a little wildly. “I won’t have you there,” she said in her fierce young mind; “you are nothing to me—nothing whatever. All that matters Is that I haven’t got a frock to wear to-morrow night. I have worn them all before—and one should always remember, if one is a woman, any old way—that the setting has everything

; to do with the play. I suppose I shall i have to trust to luck and make the best . of the blue georgette.” ; Then the door suddenly opened, and - little Mrs. Ames, who lived across the j landing, had a husband and as much r happiness as you could reasonably ex--1 pect to crowd into any two lives, came r in. She was slim, “slinky” as to flgj ure and walk, had bobbed blonde hair L in a mass of curls about her small and ? very practical head, and generally man- ; aged to look like something out of a [ page of “Vogue” on the next-door-to a . very limited income indeed. . “My dear,” said she, and stood poised ’ for a brief moment against a buff-col- . oured wall for effect; “do tell me how you like this frock —it has just come home, and I have got it specially to wear on Thursday night. George and [ I are dining with some people he’s connected with in business, and he wants ’ me to make as perfect an impression as I can.” Elaine looked, with a gasp in which 1 envy, admiration and some amazement were blended. You see, there was so very little of it (I mean the frock), it was softest black satin charmeuse, abbreviated wherever possible with a slight trailing fish-tail-train effect in filmy chiffon, and had one pink ready-to-fall rose artfully poised over that region where most self-respecting people keep their hearts. And, it was daring, wonderful, artfully simple, and awfully provocative, all at once. The sort of frock to bring off one’s big “coup” in, if it could be done at all. She looked at Mrs. Ames in a way that was an unexpressed-in-words-trl-bute in itself. “It’s wonderful,” she said; “and if it Is a mere man you’re fascinating, you may be sure Mr. Ames will bring off that business-deal. Turn round, old girl. Yes, it’s a poem.” “And merely,” said her visitor with rapturous feminine triumph, “attained at the price of five guineas—a new, very smart shop in the neighbourhood of that place we went to last month to look at those other frantically expensive things—you remember. . . .” 11. “I remember,” said Elaine, slowly; “I wish I’d known before. I’m rather wanting a new frock.” Little Mrs. Ames opened her blue eyes. “My dear, about time you began to turn over a new leaf, as I’m always telling you. You might be a frumpy spinster ; it’s unnatural to think of you sitting here alone night after night when it would do you tons more good to come and just play with Dicky and me sometimes. Why, my dear, you were never meant to miss the sunshine of life, and to sit here like a little recluse! Oh, get the new frock, by all means.” “I’m going to,” said Elaine with a queer sigh, half smuggled ; “but —er — not to come and play at being a shadowy third with you and Dicky. I—you see Harvey Granthorpe is—well, I know within myself that ”

And Mrs. Ames beamed. “My dear child! Of course! It’s as plain as daylight to everyone. I’m so glad you are so sensible.” “So, I am going out to a last-night little dinner with Harvey—and I —l want it to be a thoroughly successful evening. That’s why I wish I’d got a decent frock. That one of yours would be the—the culminating point, I think.” “Then why not fly round to ‘Jonquils’ in the morning? They’d fix you up. And now I must fly, dear! The best of luck!” 111. Elaine walked on down the psunlit street the following morning, and told herself how very pleasant indeed it would be to walk along with Harvey ■ and feel one belonged to him; that one could feel at last one was no longer alone, that somebody considered one’s tastes and petted one's own particular characteristics, and so on. Then, looking ahead, she thought again: “Could,.or would, Harvey be capable of petting anything? He was eminently practical and prided himself upon it. ‘l’m John Bull and-make-no-bones-about-it!’ sort of type; she could picture him growing frightfully complacent as the years passed on, taking one very much for granted; expecting perfection in the commissariat department, ' and nightly falling asleep over the evening paper after a perfect dinner.” And suddenly Elaine shivered. But, all the same, she pulled herself together. Then, having reached the little white shop with the big gold sign at last, she opened the door, and went in. It was a slack hour, and the place seemed empty, save for a languid young woman in a frock that advertised itself, who came forward with obvious reluctance, and boredom with life in every line of her. “What ■would madam desire?” Madam desired to see a little black model at five guineas.

The languid damsel raised shocked eyes to high heaven. Five guineas? She was regretfully sure they had nothing so cheap as that these days—ten was small enough a sum for* a frock such as madam could care to wear.

Now, she would show a little gown of primro.K crepe de chine —an absolute bargain at seven guineas—because it was the wee-est bit soiled in one little patch at the side, and which would never show. But, as we know, Elaiue desired one in black relieved by a pink rose. And the damsel with the self-adver-tising figure didn't, or wouldn’t understand. “Could I?” said Elaine, with distinct exasperation, “see the head of this establishment? It is very important.” Whereupon she was huffily conducted to an inner sanctum with restful walls and a huge desk, one big comfy chair and a ’phone, and sat down to await the coming of the lady who hid herself behind the name of “Jonquil.” And just here the door opened, and a young man came in— a young man with an empty right sleeve, rather sombre eyes, and a smile that won him no end of good business. “You wished to see me?” he began, politely, and with the smile full on. Then he broke off, with something that sounded like—“My God!” But I assure you it wasn’t meant profanely. Elaine stood before him 1 like a ghostperson out of a bitter-sweet dream. “Nicky,” said she in her frightened voice that was all the same joyous; “Nicky, what are you doing here? What ” “Doing?” said lie;,“well, you sec, it’s my shop. I’m ‘Jonquil’; I couldn’t go on painting pictures with no right arm, after my return to civilisation, and I had a little capital, so I took to creating frocks. It seemed to me that women always wore the wrong clothes and I —l thought I might as well try and sort out the right ones for ’em. And, I wonder if you’ve regretted buzzing things up as much is I have, Elaine? Have you missed me?” “Missed you?” said Elaine. “Oh. Nicky ” You can draw your own conclusion —which is the end of the story—can’t you ?