Ainslee's Magazine, February 1913 — page 157: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

THE BEAST the morning of this smartest event of the season dawned, to the desolation of us all, in the grip of an ugly mistral and a thrashing rain, which left the walks and tennis courts deserted, and crowded the big salon, corridors, and_ billiard room with those forced indoors. Natu- rally, the sole topic of conversation was the coming event of the evening. Even Mrs. Mawlyn’s frivolities were forgot- ten. Now it is true that there is always a certain marked and jealous rivalry among women to appear their best at a smart ball given in a smart hotel. It is also a fact that they travel with their very best gown, and often their hand- somest jewels, for just such occasions, I believe the desire to prove in public that they really possess these luxuries at home is at the bottom of it. How- ever this may be, I could not help notic- ing more than one woman after lunch- eon stop at the hotel desk and receive a small, sealed package from the safe, sign a receipt, nod a pleasant “thank you” to the clerk, and stand waiting for the elevator. As early as four o’clock, in a down- pour that had even delayed the express, the full-stringed orchestra from Mar- _seilles arrived, and, much to the relief of the committee, the delayed case from Paris containing the favors for the cotillion. It is astonishing how low-neck, a pretty gown, and jewels change not only the features and figure, but the whole personality of some women. Even those you are accustomed to see daily are transformed into totally different peo- le. J “You will see,” I remarked to the colonel, as we sipped our liqueur after luncheon, “there will be dozens of women here to-night whom you know, whom you will have to glance at twice before recognizing.” “Not that beast of a wife of Maw- lyn’s,” snapped the colonel. “I'll wager you I could spot her in a thousand.” “Did you notice the anxious look she wore at luncheon?” I ventured. “T don’t care a hang what she wears,” retorted the colonel. “I’m jolly well laughed. 147 sick of that woman—if she’s worrying, she’s worrying over her gown. I'll bet you anything you like, Mawlyn’s not rich, and she’s vain enough to have taken his last penny to look better than another woman to-night.” | “What are you two so serious about?” came the cheery voice of Miss Munt behind our chairs. “Have you heard that poor Mr. Maw- lyn is quite wretched again, and in bed?” said she. “Fancy, he seemed so much better, and was down yesterday.” “T should think he’d be dead with a wife like that,” I returned. “Do sit down, you nice person. Where's the duke?” “Well—if you promise you won’t tell I'll tell you. He’s gone to the village to get a spool of pink sewing silk.” She “He would go. Mrs. Mawlyn is quite disturbed over her gown for to-night.” ‘There ! the colonel. “And you’ve been helping her,” I re- turned. “I’m might, am I not? You’re a saint, Miss Munt.” “Ah! But I couldn’t let her worry so,’ said the little old maid simply. “Besides, she must be frightfully trying for poor Mr. Mawlyn, when she’s in a state of nerves.” And she hurried away. The colonel touched my elbow. “Isn't she too lovely for words?” he said gently. I looked up as Maude, Countess of Baylesford, passed us. A tall, dark, queenly woman. “There,” exclaimed the colonel, “is what I call a real English beauty. I shall never forget her when a young girl, being presented to his majesty, and, later, after her marriage, when she wore at the opera her famous pearls. She has always been celebrated for her jewels, I believe.” “By Jove!” I exclaimed. “It’s clear- ing up,” glancing at the big window framing the vistas of mountains from which the dense banks of white mist were rapidly lifting. “Let’s get out for a breath of air.” What did I tell you?” cried (C@ NOOK (C@