The Nowadays Girls in the Adirondacks 20 – Brownell · Verses Across
Literature · Crime, Thrillers & Mystery
The Nowadays Girls in the Adirondacks 20The Mystic Moon
18
Literature · Crime, Thrillers & Mystery
The Nowadays Girls in the Adirondacks 20
The Mystic Moon
BrownellEnglish
Softly the musicians played behind a bank of palms. Softly shone the mystic moon outside, brighter even than the lights of the ballroom, for they had been turned low, since it was not yet the hour to trip the light fantastic. The melody came only in haunting strains, a ripple from the piano as the player tried the keys in some snatch of a onestep, the half-sobbing voice of the violin in a haunting, dreamy waltz, the mellow trill of the flute, and the more military sound of the French horn. The musicians were making ready.
Now and then, through the corridors of the hotel flitted strange figures. Figures whose faces were concealed by masks. They glided here and there, into rooms and out again.
And of mysterious import were many whispered messages that floated up and down the corridors.
"Have you any more powder?"
Surely a strange "engagement" that needed powder on a night like that.
"I want some pins!"
"I shall have to take a tuck in it."
"My slippers will never stay on when I get to dancing!"
"Use a rubber band around your instep. It won't show much!"
"Do you think he'll know me?"
"Never--not in that!"
"Oh, but he saw me getting it!"
"He thought it was for me. He'll take me for you and----"
"Oh, I don't know that I want that!"
And so on.
It was the night of the masquerade, a night full of promises of surprise, a night of mystery, of mystic moonlight. The big hotel was thronged, for invitations had been general, and from many other camps and places in Raquette Lake had come the merry-makers and dancers.
"Well, are you almost ready?" asked Sylvia, as she slipped into the room of Alice, not wearing her mask, for the Nowadays Girls and Mrs. Brownley had a private hall to themselves.
"Almost, yes. How do you like my dress?"
"It's perfect. I never thought you could get such a stunning effect from that calico and creton."
Alice was a Dresden shepherdess, and a sweet and dainty figure she made.
"Your own costume is a dream, Sylvia!"
"I'm glad it isn't a nightmare," was the laughing retort. Sylvia was attired as Night in a black dress, spangled with stars, and quarter moons. It became her wonderfully well. Her black mask dangled from her hand. Soon it would be time to don it.
Rose was a Columbine, in a voluminous clown suit of white with black spots, and a peaked hat, while Baby Reed was Little Miss Muffett.
The girls hoped they had kept their secrets well, and that none of the hotel guests had discovered the designs of their costumes. Mrs. Brownley was to go just as herself, in common with some of the other matrons of the hotel, who would act as chaperons and patronesses of the dance, which was for a local charity.
Louder sounded the entrancing music. The strains of it penetrated to the room of our friends, and set their feet to tapping the floor impatiently.
"Aren't you ready yet, Rose?" asked Sylvia; for they were waiting for some last touches to be put to her dress by one of the chambermaids.
"Yes--coming!"
They went out, masked, to the main hall, to find themselves in a gay throng of other maskers, who were attired with more or less historic semblance to represent characters, past, present and future. This was the ladies' dressing floor. The gentlemen were on the one below.
There were murmurs of "Ohs!" and "Ahs!" as Sylvia and her chums came from their rooms.
"Those are the four girls!" came in whispers from various corners, with the accent on "the."
"Where's Natalie?" asked Hazel, in a low voice, of Sylvia. "She wanted to go down with us."
"She and her husband are going as Jack and Jill," explained Sylvia. "But don't mention it. She doesn't want it known that she is married."
"Has she taken off her wedding ring?" Alice asked.
"Indeed not! Brides don't do that. But she is going to wear gloves. There she is now."
A charming "Jill" came out of a room and joined the four girls.
There sounded a crash of music from the ballroom floor.
"Oh, come on!" begged Hazel. "We're missing it."
As they passed the floor where the gentlemen were costuming, a group passed down the broad staircase. There were clowns, tramps, gallants of the thirteenth century, courtiers, Puritans, aviators, sailors, soldiers and what-not.
Down the stairs hustled and bustled the masqueraders, eager to throng into the place whence the music came. It was a hesitation waltz, and Sylvia presently found herself whirling through it with a Spaniard who danced wonderfully well.
"Do you do the Marcel?" he asked, looking intently at her as if to pierce her identity through her mask.
"Yes," she said, trying to speak unnaturally, for she suspected her partner was a certain young man staying at the Antlers.
He whirled her about in the pivot, glided first on her right side, and then, after a hesitation, to the left, again whirling into the waltz. She knew this dance perhaps better than any of the newest new ones, and she was not a little gratified when her partner remarked:
"That was beautifully done. Don't you like it?"
"Indeed, yes. It is such a change from the plain hesitation."
They found themselves in a crush, and had to "lame duck" it for a few steps until they found themselves free again.
"Do you know what that reminds me of?" he asked, as they passed the palm-screened corner where the musicians were playing.
"What?" she asked.
"The hesitation. It reminds me of a canoe gracefully overturning in the rapids----"
"What! You?" she cried, astonished.
"Even so, O Night!" He spoke dramatically. "I thought I should find you again, but I looked for a Niobe."
"Why, because I was all water?"
"Somewhat, yes. May I have the next dance?"
"I--I am not so sure----"
"You had better be. Come out on the veranda. The moon is glorious." The music had stopped, and as there had already been two encores there would be no more.
Sylvia, her heart beating rather fast, stepped out of the low windows to the porch whereon were many strolling couples. Sylvia was on her guard. After all it might be one of the hotel guests who had heard the story of the upset.
A figure that Sylvia recognised as that of Alice came up to her, but stopped on seeing her with the Spaniard.
"Oh!" she exclaimed.
"Yes?" asked Sylvia.
"Nothing now, I'll speak to you later."
"Oh, I'll leave you," said the Spaniard, quickly. "Remember, I have the new dance, O Night," he said, and with a bow he was gone.
"Who is it?" asked Alice, in a whisper.
"The young man who saved our canoe."
"Really?"
"So he says."
"You can't believe a word they say. Did you have a nice dance?"
"Lovely! And you?"
"Perfect. I'm engaged for the next one. Are you?"
"Well, if he insists on claiming it I can hardly say no. And he really does dance beautifully. Have you seen Rose or Hazel?"
"Yes, they were enjoying themselves, evidently. I want some pins. Have you any?"
Alice was supplied, and went to the dressing-room. Sylvia was looking for Hazel or Rose, when the music started up again. She saw a grotesquely attired Dutchman approaching, and wondered if he would ask her to dance.
He did.
"This is ours, I believe, O Night," he murmured.
"Yours? I--er--I----"
"I am the knight of the overturned canoe, who wore no hat," he said, in a low voice.
