LADIES' COLUMN.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 9214, 18 April 1908, Page 3

LADIES' COLUMN.

THE BACHELOR IN SOCIETY. Being Episodes in the Life of a Guardsman. (By MRS BAILLIE-SAUNDERS.) [All Rights Resebvid.] PART~V. HENLEY REGATTA. London on the river! Hooray for fay sunshine and glancing water as a background for the smart world, rather than stuffy rooms, clubs, theatres, restaurants. There is a kind of masculine honour involved in doing one's Henley. However rushed a man may be, if he is young at all he thinks he must do that two or three days of an up-to-date Venice. And hasn't London got th« idle man about town, and preferably khe bachelor man about town, to thank for annually dragging it and its furbelows and its follies into fresner airs and sunnier skies, and so probably caving it from universal appendicitis? So here we have the London Bachelor as an institution in all his glory, ruling the day. And forth to gladden him come crowds of fair women in special and wonderful frocks. Quite different, of course, from all other frocks. Not an atom like Cowes frocks, or Lord's frocks, or garden-party frocks; different, again from Hurlingham, or tennis tournament, or race frocks. These, of course, make a raison d'etre for nice men one knows to do races In boats. Naturally. Consequently London takes up its atmosphere in both hands, as it were, and carries it down to the river's breast, and has a huge gala day. Many Bachelors beside our own spebial one flock to the seene — attired in Spotless white; snowy, faultless > perfectly cut white that clings and falls / about the slim shape in straight neat lines that one would say were technically impossible outside a pester sketch. He himself is the pink of the impossible-looking river dandies: He tea vision of sartorial perfection, all the more piquant because the costume pretends to be seriously business-like. Is it not rowlnor costume P Yet no band-box woald be quite fit lo hold a thing so neat, so chaste, so spotless, one would think. Happily Mrs rrickshaw-Trott's smart boat, "Silver Swallow," the very latest and newest thing in bijou launches, is entirely at his, service. By it and it alone has the lady captured him to-day. Alas for the Racebys! Her ladyship is tied up helping to give, away prizes, and at best she will only use the rather antiquated house-boat that they have chartered 'for .three years back. Attentive, string-led, apparently devoid as he has seemed for Some time,. to-day he fails in loyalty. Does the ancient title of " tame-pussy for the first: time openly applied to his itately self still rankle in his breast? Fhis, too, from a girl he has deigned rather persistently to admireP Or, jnan-like, is he more deeply concerned rtrfch physical comfort than sentiment, *nd prefers ihe up-to-date launch to the rather played-out vicissitudes of the louse-boat? Probably the latter, for le has had his day of the mixture of uxury and " roughing it " ,that goes on n those floating flats: he has tumbled fryer his fellow-guests, Bhared rooms With them, shared clothes, toothbrushes, swear-words with them, and risked his precious temper bo often, fchat this year, when Mrs TrickshawIrott tempts him rather cleverly with khe offer of her crack launch, he falls. But Mrs Trott is beside herself with joy. This is her first out-and-out victory ever since her series of engagements with Lady Raceby were enterd Into. Many and many a 6et-back has j ■he had : many a field has she lost galjantly— -that is to say only grinding her teeth and snorting I—but1 — but now at last s£e has won the day, and will flaunt her colours proudly, day after day before the Raceby house-boat and before the Pavilion that contains the prize-giving goddesses. Happy hour! The sun shines and glances shimmerbigly on the water, the blue sky making blue even, the Thames, that at all j>ther times is silver in one light and Dlive-green in another. The place is packed. This year, though, the usual hrn on house-boats ifl not so great. Defcidedly the smartest thing is the tip-top private launch, and the Trotts have secured, a glorious front place. So does one lay traps to keep bachelors during the whole timej these attractions plas those of the Phyllis Court Club, wherein there is surely nothing wanting to the heart of man: nothing unstudied or unprovided for. Here, should weather prove treacherous and rainy, as it ia as likely as not to flo, he can turn in to his billiards, his bridge, lively mu6io, his gayest social Die with the best of his "set" ready to hand. His most Epicurean wishes .Will be forestalled. Nothing short of lunacy, or an entanglement, or a eeat In the House of Commons would draw a man from suoh a Paradise ; or rather from such a gay little collection of Paradises, all cheek by jowl on the dancing water. The first day finds the Bourse fairly packed with craft, and jrtocked as thick as an old country garden with flowers with lovely faces, laughing faces, healthy faces; and as gay as a dance of butterflies in the sunshine as to dresses. One says butterflies advisedly, because the prevailing tone is white; everywhere fluffy white, creamy white, ethereal white, with here »nd there the delicate pinks and blues and mauves of parasols or gossamer river-hats. The geranium-reds and oranges and dim blues of Japanese parasols reflected again and again in the glistening green water, or turned Into glowing transparencies by the ■nn's full golden rays. Add to these the colours of rowing dubs and colleges j of flower-decorated house-boats, bf gaily-painted launches, and the effect Is. gorgeous. Everywhere is chatter Bud laughter, greeting, banter, sarbasm, criticism, gush, and jollity. He |s greeted on all sides and asked after Jus young brother who is rowing second in the Magdalen boat, and who is a rather famous youngster this year. He enters into the events with enthusiasm, using the launch coolly as nic headquarters for watching the races, but- visiting about and paying Balls in th© merry flotilla of watchers, or in the Phyllis Court Club. A dainty edition of Iris punts him about on many an errand of this sort. River iress — short white, akirts, big transparent hat— suit a little thing like Iris. SChey add sails to her narrow barque, and turn her into a rather neat and dainty craft. All wispy little "turn-up" women should live on th© river. There they look fairies.

They are moving away, and cutting between two boats, one containing a aelebrated Cabinet Minister looking tery festive, with & giddy-looking but-ton-hole; and the other a tip-top operatic queen, a vast lady in diaphanous whites and pinks, her huge, face powdered almost out of human recognition, Jier hair, stiff and bleached, giving an effect of eau de nil in the mingled sunihinc and water reflections. Suddenly, pa the deck of the Race by 'ls houseboat, a Q affair he ie pretending not fco see. a slim white figure catchr. his attention. Again that girl. As he icoks tfie catches his eye, evidently catches feid takes in the whole situation, fend bows briefly with a sudden gleam »f wicked amusement under her black eyebrow*. Before he can turn she is Erne. Whatever forP Nothing to ugh at, that he can see. This year the regatta is an all-round jWocess,' except for weather conditions.

The great dvent, of. course, tlw contest between Leander and the Belgians. Magdalen lionised for carrying off no less than three cups, the Stewards', the Visitors' and the Wy folds'. Some brilliant heats contested by the college boats. The Bachelor strokes for his club-boat, against a German crew, boating the visitors by three lengths. They get their share of lionising, too, he especially. . Nobody hands cups and prizes more gracefully than does Lady Raceby. But to-day the victor receives hie laurels with a slight sheepisbness of gait and eye. Of course he is a disgrace. And, of course, woman-like, she i takes advantage of it. Every eye in the huge crowd is on her as she places the cup in his hands with a superb queenhnees of gesture and wickedly railing eyes. The pc«e is pretty and inscrutable, but somehow she manages to make the viotor look like a naughty boy who has come up for punishment. Some women are very clever. Mrs Trickshaw-Trott grinds her teeth. She is not: she is only pushing, another matter altogether. But like the villain m melodrama, she murmurs " Revenge !" Now this thing is easy of attainment if your wealth is unlimited — up to a certain point, that is. There is to be a huge ball in the club's new ballroom on the last night, and every night is fixed ut> with concerts and parties and fireworks, and things of all sorts. But she goes one better. It is all done in ten minutes on the telephone. She captures by one fell swoop, as of old the gods from Olympus captured, a world-famous French actress and danseuse just now in London, a brilliant person, for whose brief hour she mu6t pay into thousands of guineas, and calls up a gorgeous entertainment that shall shake all the others to their foundations. It is a thing fit tor princes to favour All the clubs, all the celebrities are invited, as it is in honour of Captain Rudgard's triumph r but— «he leaves out the Racebys 1

The blow is wickedly deliberate; understood all over the course, and as clear and plain to everybody who matters as a' paragraph in the newspapers saying *a would be. On • the great night, the wistful suburbans in boats looking across the water, at those brilliant pink lights and Chinese lanterns swaying against the festive front of the club and reflected in the river, seem only unutterably delightful and. the height of an earthly Paradise. They do not know that this is a nasty move in a very close game.

The great impromptu revenge is an unqualified success. The French woman acts and dances her best and riskiest. A dozen surrounding festivities are robbed of their ' masculine ornaments after they have put in a polite appearance; ungrateful Cinderellas, who cannot Resist such a "draw." They all go there and laugh and applaud, and keep it up till the small hours. It is a huge success. Mrs Trott has to-night wiped out Lady Raceby's success on the Royal lawns. As she meant to do.

A few days later, when all the illustrated papers come out with snapshot photographs of the events and the scenes of Henley week, chief amongst them is a clever snapshot of the exaot second when Lady Raceby handß CapRudgard a silver cup. Clearly therein is shown her railing smile, his sheepish air.

But it is not that that makes the Bachelor fling away the paper with a furious shout. It is the fact that amongst the faces of the spectators in the stand, just behind her cousin and looking straight at his downcast face, is the Eyebrow Girl — laughing 1