THE DEBUTANTE.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 1748, 6 September 1905, Page 8

THE DEBUTANTE.

AS TOLD BY CUPID. (By Bessie Nina Watty, for the “New Zealand Mail.”) It was such a big gathering, this smart ball given by the President, that St was difficult to make up my mind amongst so many fair maids and gallant TrimT just where to strike my arrows. All the loveliest of America’s women and maids were present, and perhaps the finest men. I darted' in and out amongst the dancers as they glided in a perfect maze up and down the great hall. At last I spied a slim girl afar off at the other end of the room. She was talking to the handsome Secretary of State. T noticed in a flash that her hair was soft and fair, and when the light streamed down upon it, golden threads gleamed out, making a delicate halo about her small head. She was tall and straight, and her eyes were the colour of Italian skies in summer. I spread my wings- and fluttered towards her. When I reached her side she was looking down at the tips of her dainty slippers. The man was smiling down upon her, his eyes fastened upon the golden threads of her hair. ‘T cannot think, Miss Stavely, how it is that I have not met you before.”

“Oh, I have not long returned from France. 1 was there for three years at the Convent Sainte Celia. This is my first ball.” Her fingers played with the gauze fan she carried, and her eyes still studied intently the little white slippers. , The Secretary of State, aged thirtyfive, felt a peculiar interest in her. I knew it by the way he kept his eyes fixed upon her bowed head. Of course any arrow would pierce pretty deeply where he was concerned, but the girt? As I studied her dainty person, resplendent in a debutante’s finery, I concluded she was fair game, and as Love was but a name to her as yet, this should be her first passion. Then I turned and studied! the man. He was tall and broadly built; his shoulders were square and his face tanned, oleariBhaven and intelligent. Certainly this pair would make an ideal couple. This dainty maid must of a certainty wed a wealthy man; a man of position and standing, and it was whispered pretty freely that Anthony Grenfel possessed a large banking account, and bis position was unquestionable. I placed my bow, took fair aim and whizz—my arrows had struck down into both hearts. Then I laughed to myself as I saw the girl’s eyes lifted momentarily to the man’s, and the swift downward glint of the golden lashes. Then I stood off a little distance and watched my sport. He stooped and whispered something fin her ear, and after a slight hesitancy on her part, they turned towards the conservatory. I flew quickly after them. I did not mean to lose sight of my victims, for my work was not yet completed. I always like, too, to watch the game out to the end. The girl sat down upon an easy seat, the man leant against a wooden pillar. “Are you going to- the dance to-mor-row night at the Legation ?” “Oh, yes, I believe so,” the President’s daughter answered. The man seemed a little impatient at her persistent way of keeping her head down. But I sm ! iled knowingly, for I knew all about these things. When the evening was just about ended and the people were beginning to depart, I saw the Secretary and the President’s daughter talking at the entrance. She was about to step into her carriage, where her father was already Boated, when she lifted her eyes like twin stars to the man’s face. Carnations bloomed in her soft cheeks. He -pressed her little hand and the carriage rolled swiftly away. I followed her to her home on Fifth Avenue. When she reached her own room, where a bright fire burned, she nestled down into' a big arm-chair. She looked so pretty, so sweet in her while finery: the lilies of the valley at her breast were all crushed, and a little strip of chiffon that had become torn lay limply across her white shoulder. She looked almost too young and pathetic to be troubled by my wiles, but it was no use regretting my arrows now, the mischief was done and I must abide the consaquences. I flew 'in little circles all around her. Once I rested, my bow across her pretty arm. The little bit of fancy card-board in her hand she studied carefully.

Three times Anthony Grenfel’s name was scribbled! in bold letters opposite the waltzes. The little girl actually blushed, then she hid it away in the bosom of her gown, and very soon the debutante passed to dreamland. They often met after that night. First at the Legation Ball, then at the reception given by the President in honour of the visit of a certain Royal personage, and once on Coney Island at a private picnic given by the wife of the English Ambassador. Then the Secretary of State deemed it necessary to call on the President’s daughter on one of her “days.” He found her pouring tea surrounded by half-a-dozen young eligibles. They hovered around her like bees anxious to sip the honey of some enchanted flower. She was all in blue, the tint of the forget-me-nots, and a little butterfly brooch of pearls and turquoises fastened the velvet knot at her throat. Her head seemed ablaze with a ''golden light for she was silhouetted against the stained glass windows. Anthony stood at the door a few minutes in quiet contemplation of her. Then he strode to her side. He was big and massive, and other men seemed to make way for him naturally. Grenfel smiled to himself as he saw the bright carnations fly to her fair face. He talked to her some time. He drank three cups of tea (a beverage he usually eschewed). He helped himself to- hot muffins, toasted crumpets and little iced confections which made him feel queer, but that was neither here nor there. Oh, I was having a fine time with these two. She was so simple; he was so strong. She so young, he in his prime. I fluttered all around them. .1 few more arrows (spare ones I had by me) into both their foolish hearts. He was feeling pretty bad. The big fair man with the military air who tried several times to engage the President’s daughter in some personal conversation, met the cold, calculating stare of the Secretary of State. And all the time the girt smiled on both, but it was funny to see how her eyes changed directly they met Anthony’s. I fancied she was nervous, for she kept placing with the thin golden circlets upon her slim wrists, and all the time the big man never left her side. He made her conspicuous. The other guests began to simile, lift their eyebrows, whisper among themselves, and finally depart with veiled hints of wedding festivities in the near! future. But the President’s daughter was too young and fresh to understand them. It was only the man who understood, and lie—well, he didn’t mind. He- fancied the President looked amiably towards him as he entered the room towards five o’clock, and when, later on, Anthony was invited to, take a turn at billiards, although loath to leave the daughter, he followed the President and beat him twice. When he was leaving he caught sight of Oynthia crossing the long vestibule. He strode quickly towards her. Her arms were full of .white chrysanthemums pnd feathery fern. She was going to fill the bowls in Tier father’s smoking-room, she told him with a vivid blush. And it really was not surprising that she should blush for the Secretary had stooped to steal the knot of blue velvet at her throat. The carnations flew all over her sweet face, even to the tips of her pretty ears. -Grenfel laughed as he placed it tenderly in his breast pocket. All her pale gold hair seemed to sweep down and hide her forget-me-not eyes. Then Grenfel pressed her hand, raising it to his lips, just as the President came slowly out into the hall to see him off. “He’s a fine fellow, eh pet?” he inquired, as he pinched her ear. “He’s very bold!” she answered, as she looked into her father’s eyes. The President laughed and folded her in his arms, flowers and all. She looked like a crushed flower herself when he let her go. The chrysanthemums w-ere all pressed up against her bosom; her hair escaped in cloudy waves about her face. She was glowing like a. jewel, and her breath came in short pants. “I think I should like to go down to St. Louis, and stay with Aunt Marcia,” was all she said. “What, leave me all alone? Why this sudden fancy, sweet?” “Oh, I just feel like it,” was the simple answer. “Well, go if you like. I’ll send a wire along to-night and you can leave in the afternoon. I’ve to leave town myself the following day, and it’s just as well, perhaps, that you should be with your aunt and cousins.” The President watched her climbing the grand stair-case. “She’s just her mother over again,” he muttered sadly to himself. “The same sweet eyes, the sweet, simple'' disposition.” The President had been a widower for the last ten years and Cynthia was his only child. She was the idol of his heart, and the man of keen intellect, foresight and diplomacy, looked upon her as the most precious of all his precious jewels. CHAPTER 11. Grenfel sat in his private room writing busily. The pile of important matter that awaited his attention told its own tale. He rubbed his hand across his eyes. His position was a responsible one, and he did his utmost for the country that had placed him where he was. He wrote busily for a couple

of hours, then gradually the pen moved slower, until it ceased altogether. He wiped it, placed it upon the stand, and taking up a pencil, traced faint lines upon the white surface of the paper before bim, and gradually the lines formed themselves into a girl’s head, and there was—-the President’s daughter Anthony, when he contemplated it, laughed softly. Aloud he said: “And so at an age when you ought to know better, Anthony, you’ve fallen in love with a bit of a child hardly out of her short frocks.” But he wasn’t sorry. The bit of a child was so sweet, to very pretty; just- the daintiest- biti of feminine confection he had known in his busy life. The Secretary got up, rang his bell and ordered a carriage. Ten minutes later he was ringing the bell of the President’s house. To bis inquiry for the daughter, the man in immaculate livery answered him that she was not at home. Grenfel felt disappointed. “How long do you think Miss Stavely will be?” he inquired. “Miss Stavely left for St. Louis this morning, and will be absent for some weeks.” The naan’s manner was sympathetic, and Grenfel felt it. He left hurriedly. That night he was talking to the President. They talked for a long time, and when Grenfel left he was given to understand that he might “try hi® luck.” Twelve hours later he was ou his way to St. Louis. H'e wondered how she would greet him. In his fancy he could see her bright blushes, the downward droop of her eyes, the fluttering of -her slim hands. When he was shown into a room to await her at her Aunt Marcia’s big mansion in Twenty-third street, he felt a sudden nervousness. Now the Secretary of State had faced many a serious position, but never had he felt the peculiar flutterings of his heai~t-strings as he did now. I again put my wings to flight and fluttered all about- him. The foolish man didn’t know how keen a little sinner I am. I laughed' merrily as he played first, with his fingers, then with his watch chain, and finally took out his handkerchief and wiped his hot brow. Then I took ‘my place beside the richly curtained doorway, just where the President’s daughter would enter. I had not long to wait. There was a rustle of a woman’s garments and my sweet victim -came in. When she. saw who her visitor was she looked fright-

ened Her face was all ablaze tv- it3x rose-tinted blushes, her eyes like dewkissed flowers. Grenfel stood up and came towards her. I flew just over their heads, and was busy all the while sending more arrows home. The man was busy talking all the time, and she was saying nothing, only studying the outline of the Secretary’s boot, because it happened to be so near her own, and, well, because she couldn’t look upwards for fear of meeting somebody’s eyes. How I laughed to myself as I watched and; listened. Then I got a shock, for something that I hadn’t expected happened. Her face was very white, the hlusnes had all disappeared. She was telling him something now. The main’s face became soar - let and all across it was written intense anger and disgust. “Who told you?” he asked harshly. “Captain Deverish”! (That was the fair military man who was jealous of the Secretary). “The devil!” exclaimed Grenfel. The girl looked frightened. She was notaccustomed to exclamations of this kind, but the man didn’t notice, he was too infuriated. “He shall pay for this. Cynthia, how could you believe it of me?” But the girl seemed doubtful. She stepped back further from him. “How oan you disprove it?” she asked with tightly drawn lips. “You say Deverish told you I made love to a girl out West, jilted her, and she broke her heart and cEied.” Then all at once he burst into laughter “Why,” exclaimed he, “I didn’t think I was so much of a lady killer as that. Dearest, Deverish is a rogue; he’s not worth nis salt. Anyone of the fellows will tell you that. He has concocted this tale to fill your heart with misery because he knows you care for me. Look here, my sweet, forget all about it. It isn’t true, not a word of it. I’ve never made love to a woman in my life before. Do I look like a man who would act as he says? No? Well, why did you believe it of me?” The Secretary of State looked very stern; some of the tenderness had disappeared. The girl twirled the golden circlets upon her, wrist around and around, all the light had died from her starry eyes, the tremulous mouth was firm and set. She looked to Grenfel like a little ice lady. The Secretary moved towards the window and looked out into the sunlit street. I was very interested in this

affair, tilings had' not gone quite as I intended. You could hear in the stillness of the room the clink of the coins he fingered in his pockets. Then he wheeled slowly around and crossed over to the girl. “You won’t send me off to Coventry, Cynthia, because of an idle tale, will you?” „ Cynthia looked up into has face, She looked very cold and very unloving. The Secretary winced. “I don’t know. You see I love you, that is the difficulty. You came into my life just when I was fresh from convent routine. 1 In that little French convent I lived for three whole years within grey walls, with only the sisters and the girls to talk to. I didn’t dream of lov \ at all. ~ We were not allowed to read novels. Then when I came home to help my father and take my place beside him, just where my mother would have been had she lived, I met you. /Well, 'it’s not hard for an unsophisticated girl to lave the Secretary of State when lie is-—’you. Hut it seems to me now that I made a little god of you. You seemed to embody all that was my ideal in man, and yet somehow I fancy you are hut common clay.” Grenfel bit. his ho. It was difficult for a man of his hot temperament tc control himself in a case like this. That a man of Deverish’s typo should, by a few lies, change him from a girl’s high ideal to common clay, was a hit too strong. However, he didn’t feel in the humour to arguethe thing out. Cynthia evidently had a will of her own, sweet and simple as she looked. ‘ He took up his hat. “I (lar-e say when you think the tiling out coolly, and at leisure, .you will come to the conclusion that, perhaps, at for all my word against Deverish’s might be taken first. Meantime, good morning!” Cynthia heard the door close upon him. Then she walked to the window an i watched him down the street. I was feeling pretty mad myself now. Indeed, I felt Hke thumping Cynthia, but there, you never know how to take a woman. It was two months before Cynthia re>turned to New York. Her father folded her tenderly in his arms as he met her on the station. “I’ve missed my jewel,” he said, as he kissed her. soft mouth. “_ A nd the jewel has missed its setting,” she. answered, with, upward glances at the President’s fine face. “You like your home, dear?” “I do, indeed, father. It is a beautiful home you.have fitted out for me, hut 1 love you better than all the riches in the world.” She tucked her little hands within his arm and rubbed her face againsthis tweed coat. They w r ere in the carriage homeward bound, and no one could look upon the demonstration of filial love. Later, when Qynthia was arranging her own room With flowers the President had specially ordered, a girl’s voice cried at the door. “Can I enter, Qynthia?” “Ail, Sylvia, come m. How glad I am to see you!” exclaimed Cynthia, as she threw a gown she had been unfolding, all frills and flounces, upon the floor. v “Oh. Cynthia, I’m glad you’re back!” cried the visitor, who sparkled with vivacity and chattered volubly. She took off her latest confection in Paris millinery amd placed it upon a chair, sticking the jewelled pins carefully into the flower bedecked crown. “Now, who do you think, Cynthia, has been visiting No-. 2-5, Fifth Avenue ?” Sylvia’s eyes burnt with excitement, her lips trembled with enthusiasm. “How can I guess?” • “Ah, •well, it is. the Secretary of State, his Imperial Highness, Anthony Grenfel.” Sylvia.bowed her head in mock courtesy, as she rolled) his name out. Cynthia coloured brightly. The face of the gild who lived at 25. Fifth Avenue, came vividly before her. A Gibsonian face; all dark eyes, bewitching archness, ruffled hair. Cynthia turned to look out of the window. It was open ana the perfume of roses and mignonette stole up to her as she leaned her head out and glanced idly down upon the old fashioned garden. The roses climbed right up to her, sweet smelling and sun-kissed. Qynthia put out her hand and plucked a bloom. She turned slowly, lolled against the window seat and -faced her visitor. “What an icicle you are, child,” exclaimed Sylvia, as she patted the rebellious locks of her auburn hair. £ Yes? But even icicles melt when the sun comes out!” “Well, the sun is out, dearest, so melt fast, I pray you. Oh, I’d like sometimes to shake you, you chilling, self-possessed child of the President of the United States.” Cynthia pulled the petals of the rose to pieces. They fell softly at her little feet- Rose petals, summer skies and Love. Love always, love unending, and ever again Love. Poetic fancies stirred her brain. Rose-pink fingers, fragrant tipped. Surely her own .were so. Had not Anthony pressed them within his own. Had not Anthony kissed her crimson mouth. Had not Anthony smoothed her pale gold hair and Looked down deep, deep into her star-like eyes. Surely life had never been till Anthony camel

She flicked the tears that smarted in her eyes away so that Sylvia should not see. Then she went over to the girl’s side. Sylvia was busy inspecting the new gowns and gewgaws of the President’s daughter. “Well, I do think,” she was saying in her quick way, “the only child of our President is spoilt. What gowns, Cynthia, and all for you. You small, co-id little mortal. Now, if they were mine I should be wanting to put them all on together. Did Madam make these?” ‘Yes. But if you would excuse me, Sylvia, just now. My head aches with the journey to-day I had no rest last night; the boat was rolling so, and the sea was so rough !” Her voice was plaintiff, and Sylvia repented. “Of course, dearest, I’ll go. Why didn’t you say before your head was bad? Douse yourself v-itli logne. It’s wonderfully refreshing! Meantime I’ll just out across t-o 25, and hear the latest. Goodbye, child, how white you look. And, Cynthia, you might look in to-morrow. I did mean to have a long chat witlf you, but you aren’t fit, so adieu.” She kissed the girl’s cheek, and a minute later Cynthia was alone. That evening, when she was busily engaged upon some fancywork, the Secretary of State was shown in. Cynthia crimsoned from brow to chin. She had not expected him. Evidently 25, Fifth Avenue, was deserted to-night. Her eyes met his coldly. Grenfel came to her side. “And so,” he said, “you’ve no better welcome after a-11 this time.” “Was it a, long time?” inquired the whi te-frooked ma id-en. “An eternity!” said Grenfel. He leaned against the marble mantelpiece, his nan-ds in his pockets. Cynthia seated only a foot away from him, kept her eyes upon her work. “How have you spent your time?” asked she, uplifting her blue eyes. “Business, mostly !” “And between ?” “Thinking of you !”■ “Thank you. You honour me.” “Not at all. Knowing what you do, I am surprised that you should think it might be otherwisei.” “What about No. 25, Fifth Avenue ?” The Secretary looked perplexed. “No. 25, Fifth Avenue? Isn’t tiha-t . Van Bu r e n’s pi aoe? ’ ’ ‘You ought to know!” Grenfel placed a chair beside her. He leant over her and took her hand. “Cynthia, what- now ? What new fancy have you got in your busy brain?” “Not a fancy, but a fact. Have you not been visiting Van Bureh’s frequently of late ?” “Certainly. On business.” “What kind of business?” “Business connected with the State.” “Is that a.ll? Did you not see Marie Van Buren each time you called?” Grenfel stood up. Now he understood. For a moment his heart surged with angjer. How fanciful she was, this sweet love of his. Then his face softened. A new idea struck him. Love is jealous. He placed bits hand upon the golden bowed head. “No, I never saw Marie Van Buren. I believe I heard) it mentioned, or I saw it in one of the Society papers— I forget which —that she is visiting relatives at Ohio. Who mentioned my visits there ? Deverish ?” “No, I’ve not seen Captain Deverish since I returned, and I hope I never shall again.” Cynthia’s face was very red; one little slim hand, stole upwards and rested upon the big cue upon her hair. .The Secretary of State leant over her. He took her face and tilted! it until the forget-me-eyes met his. “Shall we forget Deverish and his fabrication, love?” “I’ve forgotten long ago. He and his words died away as soon as you left me at Aunt Marcia’s two months ago. If I were you, Anthony (how she dwelt upon his name) I should have it out with him.’ He deserves something severe. Cads like him should not asso-cia-tet with men and women.” “I’m too busy, love. The State takes the greater part of my time, the rest is yours. Besides, I’ve no fancy for hunting vermin down.” Then Anthony folded her in his big, strong arms—all her sweet self; her lace and frills; the roses at her breast. He crushed them all, so that her pale gold hair fell across her eyes and hid in their forget-me-not depths the sweet shyness of her love. Well, I left them then. They had no further need of me. And, besides; there were other arrows for other maids and men, for the Secretary of State- and the President’s daughter were not the only two- in the world.