Concerning Belinda Part 15

"Let's ask Miss Ryder if we may send for Madame Noveri. I'd like to see whether meeting George Pettingill at the New Year's dance did anything to the lines in my hand. Good gracious! I should think it would have made a perfect furrow."

The other girls seconded Amelia's motion, a deputation waited upon Miss Ryder, and, within an hour, the palmist was holding Amelia's hand in the little waiting-room to which the other seekers after knowledge were admitted, one by one.

Madame instantly detected the havoc wrought by young Pettingill; or, at least, as Amelia said afterward, "she didn't see his name, but she knew right away that there had been _some one_ during the holidays." But it was for Cynthia Weston that Madame Noveri flung wide the gates of the future and revealed coming events of absorbing interest.

Cynthia enjoyed the enviable distinction of being the prettiest girl in the school, and disputed with Laura May Lee the honor of being the best dressed of the Ryder pupils. In addition she was a good student, she was amiable, and her manners were the admiration of the faculty. Taking all this into consideration, the fact that she was even more sentimental than the ever-gus.h.i.+ng Amelia could not effectually dim her radiance.

Moreover, her sentimentality was of a finer fibre than that of her chum.

She did not fall in love with the lightning-change-artist celerity displayed by Amelia. Man dominated her horizon as well as that of her friend, but for her man was an abstraction, a transcendentally perfect being, who might come around any corner to meet her, and for whom she waited breathlessly. She read novels and dreamed of a hero. Amelia read the same novels and saw a hero in every man she met.

As it happened, for one reason or another, Cynthia had never consulted Madame Noveri, but the occult note appealed to her romantic side, and she needed only slight evidence to convince her that Madame was, as Amelia contended, "a wonder." The evidence was speedily forthcoming.

Closeted with the fortune-teller, Cynthia heard an a.n.a.lysis of her own character and tastes, which owed its accuracy to skillful pumping of Amelia, but which impressed the listener profoundly.

By the time Madame Noveri had thrown in a few facts concerning the Weston family history--also gathered from the unsuspecting Amelia--Cynthia was ready to accept as inspired truth any revelations that might be made to her.

Then Madame, shrewd in knowledge of schoolgirl logic, felt that it was safe to turn to prophecy.

"A crisis is coming in your life," she said solemnly. "It is written in your hand. Let me see what the cards tell."

She shuffled the cards and bent over them, while Cynthia, thrilled by the thought of an approaching crisis, watched eagerly.

"Yes; it is here, too. I knew the hand could not lie. A dark man is coming into your life."

[Ill.u.s.tration: "'A dark man is coming into your life'"]

Cynthia gasped ecstatically. She admired dark men.

"It is all clear in the cards. There is the fate card, and there is the dark man."

"I do hope he hasn't a moustache," murmured the listener. "Can you see his name?"

"No."

"And you can't tell where I'll met him, or how, or when?"

"The cards don't say, but it will be soon, and there's the money card, so he'll be rich. You'll both fall in love the moment you meet. He's your affinity."

Cynthia went out of the room in a sentimental trance. At last her dream was coming true. Not a tinge of skepticism lurked in her mind. Hadn't Madame told her all about her innermost feelings, and about her sister Molly having been ill with diphtheria, and about her father having made a big fortune out of pine lands, and about her having refused little Billy Bennington, whose father was a millionaire and had a huge house on Fifth Avenue? No; there was no room for doubt.

She laughed off the questions of the girls. What she had learned was too sacred to be told to anyone except Amelia and Laura May, and possibly Blanche White.

After the lights were out that night she told them, and their sympathy and excitement were all she could have desired.

"Goodness, but I just envy you, Cynthia Weston," said Amelia in a stage whisper, which was a concession to the faculty's unreasonable prejudice against visiting after "lights-out" bell. "It's the most exciting thing I ever heard. He may pop out at you anywhere. She said it would be soon, didn't she?"

"Very soon." There was a soulful pride in Cynthia's manner, a tremulous thrill in her voice.

"Well, we'll all watch out for him. I'm almost as interested as if I were it," said Laura May generously; and Cynthia crept cautiously to her own room, to dream of a beautiful being with raven hair and piercing black eyes--and no moustache.

The days following that eventful evening were agitating ones for Cynthia. Every dark-haired man who pa.s.sed the school procession during the morning excursion set her heart palpitating. Katharine Holland's dark-eyed brother turning up unexpectedly at the school was flattered by the tremendous impression he made upon his sister's friend, Miss Weston; a swarthy book-agent who succeeded in obtaining an interview with Miss Ryder was surprised when a pretty girl whom he pa.s.sed on the stairs grasped hastily at the bal.u.s.ter and seemed quite overcome by emotion.

At any moment the affinity might appear; but the days went by and still he delayed his coming.

A new play, fresh from Western successes, had begun a New York run upon the preceding Monday night; and with its advent a new matinee idol had dawned upon the theatrical horizon. Critics chanted praises of his _beaux yeux_, a strenuous press-agent scattered broadcast tales of his conquests, of the countless letters he had received from infatuated maidens, of the heiresses and society belles who had fallen victims to his charms. Occasionally someone mentioned that he could act, but that was a minor consideration.

Rumors of his fatal beauty reached the school by way of a day pupil who had seen the play on its first night, and Amelia, Laura May, Cynthia, Blanche and Kittie Dayton promptly bought tickets for the Sat.u.r.day matinee and asked Belinda to chaperon them. They were in their seats early, and tranquilly watched the curtain go up upon a conventional drawing-room scene; but as Cecil Randolph, the leading man, turned from the window at the back of the stage and strolled toward the footlights, Belinda heard a queer little choking sound from Cynthia, who sat beside her, and saw her clutch Amelia's arm.

The matinee idol was tall, he had black hair and eyes, he was smooth-shaven--and Cynthia _knew_!

The other girls were inclined to discount her claim when they had a chance to talk the matter over. Friends.h.i.+p is all very well, but to give a matinee idol up to any one girl, without entering a protest, would be more than human. Still there was no denying that the event fitted into Madame Noveri's prediction at every point, and it was natural to suppose that if Cynthia had met her affinity according to schedule she would be absolutely certain of his ident.i.ty, so the confidants finally accepted the situation and gave themselves up to vital interest in their friend's romance, while Cynthia herself went about with her head in the clouds, drove her teachers to despair by her absent-mindedness, read the theatrical columns of all the papers, and wasted her substance in riotous buying of photographs. As for the amount of money squandered upon matinee tickets during those weeks--only the long-suffering fathers who were called upon for supplementary pocket-money could do justice to that tale of extravagance.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "... wasted her substance in riotous buying of photographs"]

Amelia and Laura May and Blanche stood by n.o.bly. If anything exciting were going to happen they wanted to be there when it happened; so they went with Cynthia to all her affinity's matinees and occasionally to an evening performance. All of the teachers were successively pressed into service, and when the list gave out the girls began again with Belinda.

Sometimes, when the other girls' pocket-money ran short, Cynthia paid for all the seats.

In due course Cecil Randolph noticed the group that invariably occupied seats in the third row, and smiled upon the girls--not his inclusive, catholic, matinee-idol smile, which might be taken to heart by any girl in the audience, but a personal, italicized smile all their own. The chaperon missed the phenomenon, but all four girls thrilled with delight, though three loyal hearts pa.s.sed the smile on to Cynthia, its rightful owner. Even the idol himself accentuated his smile when it reached the fair girl with the blus.h.i.+ng cheeks and eager eyes. She was so uncommonly pretty, and though it paid him to be adored by the plain it was a pleasant thing to be adored by the pretty.

On the eleventh of February Cynthia gave a luncheon and box party to her faithful three with Miss Spogg as chaperon. Mr. Weston's monthly check had been more liberal than usual, and a box is even nearer the stage than the third row of the orchestra chairs.

The idol's special smile followed the group to the box. Perhaps it was even warmer, more melting than usual; for the four girls were uncommonly good to look at, in their dainty frocks and hats, and with the great bunches of long-stemmed single violets, which had been luncheon favors, nestling among their laces and chiffons and furs.

During his great scene in the last act the actor faced the Ryder box and Cynthia bore the brunt of his wild raving. Even near-sighted Miss Spogg had an uncomfortable feeling that all was not quite as it should be, and registered a mental vow that she would protest to Miss Ryder against the conspicuousness of box seats; but the girls were too completely absorbed to feel conspicuous, and Cynthia, cheeks flaming, eyes glowing, red lips apart, drank in the love scene as though she hadn't already known it by heart and were not sharing it with hundreds of strangers. She was absurdly young, unspeakably foolish, but she was beyond a shadow of a doubt enjoying life--and it is hard to be severe with any one so pretty and impractical as Cynthia.

As the curtain fell upon the hero's hopeless pa.s.sion the little maid's hands went to her breast, and an instant later a huge bunch of long-stemmed violets dropped at the idol's feet. He did not ruin his curtain pose by picking them up, but for one fleeting second he smiled his thanks. Miss Spogg was, of course, irate; but there were ways of appeasing Miss Spogg, and Cynthia knew them.

On Valentine's Day morning the school postman's load was heavy, and the solemnity of chapel was marred by a pervading excitement.

Cynthia had valentines--several of them--yet she did not look happy. All of her envelopes bore home postmarks, and she had expected--well, she hardly knew what she had expected, but something, surely.

After chapel came French recitation, and the Disappointed One was wrestling in melancholy fas.h.i.+on with the imperfect subjunctive, when a maid appeared at the door.

"A box for Miss Weston," she announced to the teacher.

"Put it in her room," commanded Mademoiselle.

"Please, ma'am, it's flowers. Should I open them?"

Mademoiselle smiled. She remembered valentine offerings of her own.

"You may be excused to attend to the flowers, Miss Weston. Come back as soon as possible."

Cynthia took the big, square box and fled to her room. Her prophetic soul told her what the contents would be.

She removed the wrapping and the lid. A gust of fragrance sweetened the room. The blonde head went down over the flowers and the pretty face was hidden in them. Then Cynthia lifted from the box a great ma.s.s of long-stemmed single violets, and with fast-beating heart read the legend on the little valentine tucked among the blossoms.

"Love's offering," said the valentine.

Cynthia quite forgot to go back to the French cla.s.s; and when, at the end of the period, Amelia, Laura May and Blanche burst in upon her, she was still sitting with the flowers in her lap and the card in her hand.