Other Things Being Equal [35]
me! In other words, I am a conundrum. Who will guess me?"
"You are the Sphinx," replied her cousin.
"I won't be that ugly-faced thing," she retorted; "guess again."
"Impossible. Once acquire a sphinx's elusiveness and you are a mystery perpetual. You alone can unriddle the riddle."
"I can't. I give myself up."
"Not so fast, young woman," broke in her father, shutting his magazine and settling his glasses more firmly upon his nose; "that is an office I alone can perform. Who has been hunting on my preserves?"
"Alas! They are not tempting, so be quite calm on that score." She sat up with a forlorn sigh, adding, "Think of it, Father, twenty-two, and not a heart to hang on my chatelaine."
"Hands are supposed to mean hearts nowadays," said Louis, reassuringly; "I am sure you have mittened one or two."
"Oh, yes," she answered, laughing evasively, "both of little Toddie Flynn's. Mamma, don't you think I am too big a baby for you to hold long?" She sprang up, and drawing a stool before her father's chair, exclaimed, --
"Now, Father, a grown-up Mother-Goose story for my birthday; make it short and sweet and with a moral like you."
Mr. Levice patted her head and rumpled the loosely gathered hair.
"Once upon a time," he began, "a little boy went into his father's warehouse and ate up all the sugar in the land. He did not die, but he was so sweet that everybody wanted to bite him. That is short and sweet; and what is the moral?"
"Selfishness brings misery," answered Ruth, promptly; "clever of both of us, but what is the analogy? Louis, you look lonesome over there. I feel as if I were masquerading; come nearer the footlights."
"And get scorched for my pains? Thanks; this is very comfortable. Distance adds to illusion."
"You don't mean to admit you have any illusions, do you? Why, those glasses of yours could see through a rhinoceros, I verily believe. Did you ever see anything you did not consider a delusion and a snare?"
"Yes; there is a standing institution of whose honest value there is no doubt."
"And that is?"
"My bed."
"After all, it is a lying institution, my friend; and are you not deposing your masculine muse, --your cigar? Oh, that reminds me of the annual peace-pipe."
She jumped up, snatched a candle, and left the room. As she turned toward the staircase she was arrested by the ringing of the doorbell. She stood quite still, holding the lighted candle while the maid opened the door.
"Is Miss Levice in?" asked the voice that made the little candle-light seem like myriads of swimming stars. As the maid answered in the affirmative, she came mechanically forward and met the bright-glancing eyes of Dr. Kemp.
"Good-evening," she said, holding out her disengaged hand, which he grasped and shook heartily.
"Is it Santa Filomena?" he asked, smiling into her eyes.
"No, only Ruth Levice, who is pleased to see you. Will you step into the library? We are having a little home evening together."
"Thank you. Directly." He slipped out of his topcoat, and turning quietly to her, said, "But before we go in, and I enact the odd number, I wish to say a few words to you alone, please."
She bent a look of inquiry upon him, and meeting the gaze of his compelling eyes, led him across the hall into the drawing-room. He noticed how the soft light she held made her the only white spot in the dark room, till, touching a tall silver lamp, she threw a rosy halo over everything. That it was an exquisite, graceful apartment he felt at a glance.
She placed her candle upon a tiny rococo table, and seated herself in a quaint, low chair overtopped by two tiny ivory horns that spread like hands of blessing above her head. The doctor declined to sit down, but stood with one hand upon the fragile table and looked down at her.
"I am inclined to think, after all," he said slowly, "that you are in truth the divine lady with the light. It is a pretty name and a pretty fame, --that of Santa Filomena."
What had come over her eyelids that they refused to be raised?
"You are the Sphinx," replied her cousin.
"I won't be that ugly-faced thing," she retorted; "guess again."
"Impossible. Once acquire a sphinx's elusiveness and you are a mystery perpetual. You alone can unriddle the riddle."
"I can't. I give myself up."
"Not so fast, young woman," broke in her father, shutting his magazine and settling his glasses more firmly upon his nose; "that is an office I alone can perform. Who has been hunting on my preserves?"
"Alas! They are not tempting, so be quite calm on that score." She sat up with a forlorn sigh, adding, "Think of it, Father, twenty-two, and not a heart to hang on my chatelaine."
"Hands are supposed to mean hearts nowadays," said Louis, reassuringly; "I am sure you have mittened one or two."
"Oh, yes," she answered, laughing evasively, "both of little Toddie Flynn's. Mamma, don't you think I am too big a baby for you to hold long?" She sprang up, and drawing a stool before her father's chair, exclaimed, --
"Now, Father, a grown-up Mother-Goose story for my birthday; make it short and sweet and with a moral like you."
Mr. Levice patted her head and rumpled the loosely gathered hair.
"Once upon a time," he began, "a little boy went into his father's warehouse and ate up all the sugar in the land. He did not die, but he was so sweet that everybody wanted to bite him. That is short and sweet; and what is the moral?"
"Selfishness brings misery," answered Ruth, promptly; "clever of both of us, but what is the analogy? Louis, you look lonesome over there. I feel as if I were masquerading; come nearer the footlights."
"And get scorched for my pains? Thanks; this is very comfortable. Distance adds to illusion."
"You don't mean to admit you have any illusions, do you? Why, those glasses of yours could see through a rhinoceros, I verily believe. Did you ever see anything you did not consider a delusion and a snare?"
"Yes; there is a standing institution of whose honest value there is no doubt."
"And that is?"
"My bed."
"After all, it is a lying institution, my friend; and are you not deposing your masculine muse, --your cigar? Oh, that reminds me of the annual peace-pipe."
She jumped up, snatched a candle, and left the room. As she turned toward the staircase she was arrested by the ringing of the doorbell. She stood quite still, holding the lighted candle while the maid opened the door.
"Is Miss Levice in?" asked the voice that made the little candle-light seem like myriads of swimming stars. As the maid answered in the affirmative, she came mechanically forward and met the bright-glancing eyes of Dr. Kemp.
"Good-evening," she said, holding out her disengaged hand, which he grasped and shook heartily.
"Is it Santa Filomena?" he asked, smiling into her eyes.
"No, only Ruth Levice, who is pleased to see you. Will you step into the library? We are having a little home evening together."
"Thank you. Directly." He slipped out of his topcoat, and turning quietly to her, said, "But before we go in, and I enact the odd number, I wish to say a few words to you alone, please."
She bent a look of inquiry upon him, and meeting the gaze of his compelling eyes, led him across the hall into the drawing-room. He noticed how the soft light she held made her the only white spot in the dark room, till, touching a tall silver lamp, she threw a rosy halo over everything. That it was an exquisite, graceful apartment he felt at a glance.
She placed her candle upon a tiny rococo table, and seated herself in a quaint, low chair overtopped by two tiny ivory horns that spread like hands of blessing above her head. The doctor declined to sit down, but stood with one hand upon the fragile table and looked down at her.
"I am inclined to think, after all," he said slowly, "that you are in truth the divine lady with the light. It is a pretty name and a pretty fame, --that of Santa Filomena."
What had come over her eyelids that they refused to be raised?