THE FANCY BALL.

Evening Post, Volume LXXIX, Issue 71, 26 March 1910, Page 10

THE FANCY BALL.

♦ Resplendent in eighteenth-century costume, Mr White stood in the doorway of a sitting-out room and glared roproauhfully at a radiant girl who was in earnest conversation with an elderly Frenchman, or at any rato a man who hid come to the dance as an cldetly Frenchman. Mr. Clay, also in eighteenth century dress, next stood and dangled his programme. Soon he went away, and Mr. White returned, unhappier than ever, to hear the little lady, delightful in black velvet and powdered hair, ask the Frenchman why he, the Frenchman, looked so sad. So he, Mr. White, retired to hover morosely in the passage once more. "If I could tell you!" the Frenchman said. "If I could tell you of a life of always joy in the long time ago; of my child bo lovely, my child, that grew up to look like the picture of her mother in her bridal dress. If I could tell you of my great good happiness! Ah! if I could show you half so pretty a picture as I have left it, I should *be a poet. There would never have been anything but happiness if— if I had not grown stout. We went to Switzerland, I and my wife and my daughter Roaalys — is your name RoMlyc? the name of Rosalya would suit you so wefl!— we went to Switzerland to climb the mountains. I returned iilone." "Alone?" "Yes— alone. You have asked me why I am tad. We set out so gaily. Rosalys — did yon tell me your name? — looked so beautiful. Then there was an accident, tt was my fault, this accident; but only I escaped alive. The treacherous snow, mademoiselle, my heavy weight, the weak rope, the white grave. The girl was in tear*. "I have never beaid of such sorrow," *he said gently. The stout Frenchman continued : "To many it is now long ago; to me it ia as yeslerd.iv , the vadncfw is with me always. When I saw you dancing tonight, there was something in tho way you hold your head, something in the way you smile, that made me say, 'like a* my daughter Roealys. I must i-peak with her.' And now that I hear you, you talk with her voice; you speak as an angel, Mademoiselle!" "Oh, Monsieur, but what can I say to you to comfort your sad heart?" Mr. White again appeared, and this time she saw him, managed to smile, and say, "Is this our dance?" Mr. White chokingly replied, "We have just had it." She jumped up at once, begged forgiveness, and promised the next. The Frenchman got up and bowed, and she said to him, "I must go now : I hope that you will very soon love me well enough to call me Rossalys." As soon as 'the Frenchman had gon<>, Mr. White blurted out : "That baldheaded old fool ha« been telling you the story of his life !" "I believe," smiled the little lady, "that you meant to tell me yours." "I wasn't going to do anything of tho sort !" "Perhaps you haven't a story to tell." "You could make the story worth tellint;! Think of the happiness !" Her eyes shone for a moment, but sne shook her gracious head. "Such happiness would not laM," she said. "We would be splendid till trouble mhic We are onl> suited to laugh together. Wo might start so gaily to rlimb the mountain. Rut soon comes the treacherous snow, and the pull on the weak rope." "What do we want to rlimb for? Let us sit and laugh together!" Mr White implored, but the girl said nothing, and he lelapntd into a gloomy sileme, during whirh Mr. Clay looked round the door, did not hesitate at all, but exclaimed, "I say. look here, you know, I thought it was still the Frenchman; it's my dance !" "Go away," Mr. White said, "can t you see that wr're laughing together?" The girl tiied to explain that she was sorry that she could not dance with two people- at once, and owned that it might be anyone's dance. Mr Clay said that he would not go unless she told him thai he wa» to, and struck an appropriate attitude, one hand resting lightly

on the sword hilt. Mr. White- added unnecessary heat to the situation by pointing out that Mr. Clay was wearing his sword on the wrong side. "You are going too fai," said the discomfited young man. "I'm not going at all," rejoined the other. The girl laughed. "Please don't squabble, ' she said. "Really you would not have felt half so bloodthirsty if you had come in ordinary black evening clothes. Try to remember that though you dress up to look like Davy Garrick — you are both Davy Garrick, aren't you? — the time is passed when men fought for their ladies. T ought to have come as a Dresden shepherdess, and then perhaps you would have come as Colin*, without any swords at all, and you would have been as quiet as lambs." But they were too tremendous altogether in their wonderful costumes, and they would not laugh. "It isn't the powder that makes me want to fight," Mr. Clay declared. "I have something very particular to say to you, and you promised to listen." "I'd feel the same if I were in a mackintosh," said the other, "and I wish the timo had not passed when men fought for their ladies!" "You wouldn't fight fair!" sneered Mr. Clay. "You wouldn't draw your sword as I draw mine!" He flourished the weapon above his head. It was very melodramatic) but he was very young, and he felt heroic, Mr. White shouted, "Wouldn't I just?" and tried very hard to draw his, but could not get it out. "Gentlemen," he observed directly, in as dignified a voice as he could muster, "didn't draw their swords in tho presence of ladies : it wasn't done. Besides, I don't think this is a sword." Presently, however, it came out with a jerk, aud the two youths stood facing one another. The girl in the black velvet saw that the swords were real, and was alarmed, but she suddenly smiled as if she thought of something amusing, and, standing between them, said, "Gentlemen, you cannot fight without seconds; it wasn't done!' They agreed, but suggested that, if seconds were allowed in, the whole crowd would follow. "If you promise not to begin till they come," said the girl, "if you promise faithfully, I'll send two, seconds, and you can lock tho door." They promised, and watched her, evidently delighted at the thought of a duel in her honour, run from the room. They tried their swords. "Mine hasn't got any spring in it," said Mr. White, and then nervously remarked to his antagonist, "I say, you don't slice, you thrust." Mr. Clay only paused in his practice of tremendous sweeps to say, "I ehali elice; I shall do what I think best." Soon, not wishing to tire his arm unduly, be stopped, and proceeded to take off his purple long-skirted coat, and displayed a silk shirt with balloon sleeves. Mr. Whito announced his intention of keeping his coat on. "They always took them off," Mr. Clay said; "besides, mine has to go back in the morning." Mr. White generously promised to see that it was sent. Jlo further explained that he had not bothered to get an old-fashioned shirt. At this moment the stout Frenchman come into the room. "At the request of Mademoiselle," ho said, bowing gravely. He was followed by a waiter, who carried a bunch of violets. "The other second!" they both exclaimed. . "Her violets, and they aro for me." * They wrangled till one suggested that they were meant for the- conqueror. The waiter, however, said that ho had been instructed to give them to a gentleman with a ribbon in his buttonhole. Both examined their coats with alacrity. Neither had any ribbon. They looked at the stout Frenchman, and both shorted together, as they glared nt the ribbon of the Legion of Honour, "The Frenchman!" "I is my duty to inform you, Mes•jeura," he said solemnly, >"that I have in my lifetime fought several duels when anyono has spoken disrespectfully to me or has come between me and those I honour. I understand the swords : they have been what you call my hobby." Mr. Clay regarded the Frenchman for a few moments, then, muttering "Hobby P took up the purple coat ana slowly got into it. "You arc not going to fight?" asked Mr. White. "No, it's not good enough," was the answer. "If I killed you, I suppose that this gentleman here would want a go at inc. I can't wade through blood to get to a girl who would very likely call me a murderer. I think 1 shall go and have a drink instead." He went to the door with the manner of one who carries off things easily, but he knew that he was afraid of the hobby. Mr. White tried to remember what was done at duels. "Your service, 6ir,"' ho said, bowing to the Frenchman, "and if you kill me, do you mind saying that I did my best?" "You cannot with to fight with me," said the Frenchman. "A few minutes ago," the young man answered, "I suid to her, 'What do we want to climb for?' But now I tee (hat she is on the heights, and I am going to climb till I reach her. If 1 am heaten, why " He stopped because he did not wish to appear sensational, but he thought, "I shall have done what I don't mind doing ; I shall have died for my lady." He struggled to be brave, to be what men were who woro costumes like his. He bent down and picked up a programme that was on the floor, and handed it, as casually as a shaking hand could. "The waiter dropped this when he brought you the —her violets." , ''Mais, oujf," said the Frenchman, "and it has written on it, 'With love from Rosalys.' " "I am waiting. Monsieur," said Mr. White, unsteadily. "Sir, 1 implore you," the Frenchman rejoined. "Rosalys was the name of my daughter, who is dead. 1 speuk to this demoiselle to-night. fehe understand that she reminds me of Rosalys. She is sorry for me. Then she send mo tho flowers and the pretty message. To a young man this message and this present would have been in bad taste, but lam old and fat and French. And I ask you to appreciate with me l'entente cordiale. See, on her programme, she is not engaged for this dance, and there Is the music. Voila ! I go home. I tell her on my way out that I think you would die for her. Good night." The Frenchman went to the door. "Good night, Monsieur," said Mr. White, directly. "I say," lie called out after him, "if you would like the next dance, I can easily wait !" — John Savile Juss, in St. James's Budget.