The Argosy, Vol. 90 No. 1 — page 9: what you’re looking at

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

VICKY And yet, that costume was all right. Why, it was a rig I’d be glad to see Winnie in when she gets older, and if I’ve made it sound rather—er—gay and festive, it’s my bungling way of describing it; and also, be- cause Vicky’s personality would add gaiety and festivity to any raiment. On her little feet were golden slippers, a lot of ribbon criss-crossed over her ankles, and on the toe of each slipper was a gilt butterfly. Yet with all this bewildering effect of frivolity, the first term I’d make use of in describing Vick’s character would be Touch- me-not. I believe there’s a flower called that, xoli me tangere, or some such name. Well, that was Vicky Van. She’d laugh and jest with you, and then if you said anything by way of a personal compliment or flirtatious foolery, she was off and away from your side like a thistle-down in a sum- mer breeze. She was a witch, a madcap, but she had her own way in everything, and her friends did her will without question. Her setting, too, just suited her. Her living-room was one of those very narrow, very deep reoms so often seen in the New York side streets. It was done up in French gray and rose, as was the dictum of the moment. On the rose-brocaded walis were but few pictures, but just the right ones. Gray-enameled furniture and deep window- seats, with rose-colored cushions, provided resting-places, and soft rose-shaded lights gave a mild glow of illumination. Flowers were everywhere. Great bowls of roses, jars of pink carmations and occa- sionally a vase of pink orchids were on mantle, low bookcases or piano. Sometimes the odor of a cigarette or a burning pastille of Oriental fragrance added to the Bohemian effect, which is, oftener than not, discernible by the sense of smell. Vicky herself detested perfumes or odor of any kind save fresh flowers. Indeed, she detested Bohemianism when it meant un- conventional dress or manners or loud- voiced jests or songs. Her house was dainty, correct and artis- tic; and yet I knew its atmosphere would not please Aunt Lucy or be just the right place for Winnie. - Many of the-guests I knew. Cassie Wel- VAN. 3 don was a concert singer and Ariadne Gale an artist of some prominence, both socially and in her art circle. Jim Ferris and Bailey Mason were actors of a good sort, and Bert Garrison, a member of one of my best clubs, was a fast-rising architect. Steele hadn’t come yet. Two tables of bridge were playing in the back part of the room, and in thé rest of the rather limited space several couples were dancing. ““ Mayn’t we open the doors to the din- ing-room, Vicky?” called out one of the card-players. ‘“ The calorics of this room must be about ninety in the shade.” “Open them a little way,” returned Miss Van Allen. “ But not wide, for there’s a surprise supper and I don’t want you to see it yet.” They set the double doors a few inches ajar and went on with their game. The din- ing-room, as I knew, was a wide room that ran all across:‘the house behind both living- room and hall. It was beautifully deco- rated in pale-green and silver, and often Vicky Van would have a “ surprise ” sup: per, at which the favors or entertainers would be well worth waiting for.. Having greeted mary whom I knew, I sought further speech with my hestess. ‘‘ She’s up-stairs in the music-room,”’ said Cassie Weldon, seeing and interpreting my questing glance. “ Thank you, lady, for those kind words,” I called back over my shoulder, and went as directed. The front room on the second floor was dubbed the ‘“ music-room,” Vicky said, be- cause there was a banjo in it. Sometimes the guests brought more banjos and a con- cert of glees and college songs would ensue. But more often, as to-night, it was a little haven of rest and peace from the laughter and jest below-stairs. It was an exquisite white and gold room, and here, too, as I entered, pale-pink shades dimmed the lights to a soft radiance that seemed like a breaking dawn. Vicky sat enthroned on a white divan, her feet crossed on a _ gold-embroidered, white satin foot-cushion. In front of her sat three or four of her guests, all laughing and chatting. comicbool< CO