didn’t expect to, I merely thought you were someone else.”
“I know almost no one here,” Carmen said; “of course it makes no difference while we’re masked, but at supper time I shall know nobody.”
“That’s all right, I’ll introduce you about, and you’ll have made dozens of friends among your partners by that time. …”
“Who are you, Sir Monk, tell me that, at any rate.”
“My name would mean nothing to you—it’s entirely uncelebrated.”
“Tell me all the same”—the pretty voice was peremptory.
“Smith,” he replied, “John Smith.”
“And you call that name uncelebrated? One of the best known in the country. Fie, fie, Mr. Smith—just for that I shall call you John.”
“And I may call you?”
“Mary—Mary Smith.”
“Miss Smith, then. I never begin to call the ladies by their first names until midnight—at least.”
“Tell me something—who is that woman in the gorgeous Oriental costume?”
“Where?”
“Over toward the hall door. See?”
“Oh, yes, I see. I haven’t the faintest idea who she is. But as I say, they’re all disguised from me. Besides, with this silly cowl, I can only see straight ahead! I might as well be a horse in blinders!”
“Can’t you take it off?”
“And spoil my real Cistercian rig! Never! Besides, I haven’t my tonsure on straight.”
“Do you know the host?” Carmen asked, suddenly.
“Do you mean, do I know him? or, do I know which one he is?”
“Both.”
“Yes, I am acquainted with him,” Locke said, truthfully, and mendaciously added, “but I don’t know which one he is. That Spanish Don, maybe. Don’t you know Locke at all?”
“No, but I’ve heard a lot of him.”
“Good, bad or rotten?”
“Not the last—they all say he’s a trump. But queer.”
“Queer, how?”
“Sort of a vagabond—goes off on jaunts by himself——”
“Painting?”
“I suppose so. Is his work any good?”
“Middling. Not very little and not very big. But I think he’s happy in it.”
“I’m only happy when I’m dancing.”
“My heavens, I can’t dance all night!”
“There are others! That’s what I was hinting!”
“How prettily rude you are! That’s the beauty of a masquerade—one can say anything.”
“Can one? Then listen! I know you! I know who you are!”
“Do you?” said Locke. “Well, I’m not so overwhelmed at that! I know who you are!”
“Ah, but I’m telling the truth—and you’re fibbing!”
And with a merry trill of laughter, Carmen disengaged herself from his clasping arm and ran away.
“Foolish chit!” Locke thought, and wandered about, looking for Pearl Jane.
The Dutch Girl was dancing with a Sailor Boy, and Locke stood to one side and watched them.
“Funny thing about Pearl Jane,” he thought; “she’s womanly—and all that—and yet she’s little more than a child. Lucky she has Kate beside her—Kate’s a trump. But Kate’s party here to-night is rubbish! I am bored already. However, the kiddy wanted her Bal Masque, and now she’s got it. I hope she’s enjoying herself. I wonder what she’ll grow up to. It will take a jolt of some sort to waken her. She’s a dear thing—but—well, she’s Pearl Jane!”
And then, he discovered he could claim her for a dance, and at once did so.
“How’s the party?” he inquired, as they swung off.
“Oh, it’s blissful! It’s double-distilled Paradise!”
“There, there, save your adjectives! Don’t be foolishly extravagant!”
“But don’t you think so? Don’t you just love it? All the lights and the people, and the jewels——”
“Mock jewels.”
“What of it? Don’t be cynical to-night, Tommy—dear.”
His heart missed a beat, as he caught something in her tone that he had never heard there before.
He must have shown his perception of it, for he saw a rosy blush beneath the edge of her little mask, and he hastened to say, “No, it doesn’t matter that they’re mock jewels—for they’re mock people.”
“Yes,” she said, softly, “all but you and me.”
Locke was nonplussed. He didn’t know whether Pearl Jane was trying to make love to him, or whether the gayety of the occasion had gone to her head a little. He decided on the latter opinion, and steered the talk into a safer channel.
And yet, he couldn’t help thinking, she was very sweet, the soft little chin that nestled against his shoulder, the curve of the cheek that still showed pink, and most of all the bright happy eyes that now and then met his through the eyeholes of their masks.
Clearly, he decided, I’d better get away from her. She’ll enchant me in another minute—and that won’t do. Little Pearl Jane! Waking up! Oh, Lord!
So, with a graceful bow, he handed her to a waiting and eager Clown, and sauntered off himself to do a duty dance with Kate.
Not but that he liked Kate Vallon, but after all, Locke was not overly fond of dancing, and he had a dim idea of retreating to the smoking room as soon as might be.
“Buck up,” said Kate, after a few rounds, “you’re a good dancer, Tommy, but you have no soul in it.”
“I’d rather paint,” Locke returned. “Wouldn’t you, Kate?”
“Yes, I would. I’d rather do lots of things. But we’re a few years older than Pearl Jane, or Henry, either. How old are you, Tommy?”
“Twenty-eight; why?”
