Why Joan? Part 22

Effie May drew back. She looked, as Ellen expressed it to herself, "flabbergasted."

"Why! Who do you think I am?"

He continued to stare at her with those narrowed, steady eyes.

"I don't know, and I don't care. It's easy enough to see _what_ you are!

You'd better go, hadn't you?" suggested Archibald grimly. "This is a private affair. Invitation only."

By this time the startled lady had recovered her poise. "You're making a mistake, young man," she replied quietly, "This happens to be _my_ private affair. I am Mrs. Darcy."

It was his turn to be flabbergasted.

"_Her mother?_"

"Miss Darcy's step-mother," said Effie May, with some dignity.

She continued to meet his gaze, which did not lower, though he had gone quite pale.

"The joke's on me," he muttered at last. "It's I who'd better go, I guess. Pardon _me_!"

She inclined her head without speaking.

He still continued to look at her, as if puzzled. "My mistake," he said again. "If your husband wants me at any time, my name is Blair, Mrs.

Darcy--Archibald Blair."

"He won't want you," said Effie May. "Good night."

Ellen Neal, aghast, watched him turn on his heel and leave.

"Land!" she said to herself. "Land sakes! He's gone and done for himself now, the young idjit!"

When she turned again, she saw Mrs. Darcy refres.h.i.+ng herself with a gla.s.s of "d.i.c.k Fizz" at the punch bowl. She seemed to need it.

CHAPTER XX

But Effie May's amiability was proof even against this trying episode.

She said to Joan, the day after the ball, when they were talking things over in unusual intimacy, "By the way, who's the young fellow that danced so much with you last night--a sort of broad, odd chap he was, with ears? I don't think I've seen him before."

"Oh, Mr. Blair," Joan smiled at the description. "He danced with me so much because he didn't know any one else."

"A stranger here? Where does he come from?"

"I don't know--the slums, I fancy. Ask Ellen Neal. He's a pal of hers.

But he's a Louisville product, I believe."

Effie May glanced at her casually, "Didn't you like him, dearie?"

"Oh, well enough. Did you?"

"Yes," said the other, "I did. He's honest, and he stands up so straight--doesn't sort of droop over a girl as if his spine was feeble, like some of 'em do. I like a chap to stand up on his own two pins."

"But his ears, Effie May!"

"Oh, well, what's ears? Just means that his mother forgot to tuck 'em into his cap when he was a baby. Now if his eyes bulged out, that would be another thing. You look out for any man with a bulging eye, Joan."

"Very well," she agreed, "I will. What's dangerous about a bulging eye?"

"Stoopidity, girlie. Just plain bone-headedness. And if there's anything in the world more dangerous than that, I don't know it!--Let's ask your eary young man again to something, shall we?"

"I begin to think he's _your_ eary young man!" smiled Joan.

Sometimes she almost forgot herself and liked her step-mother. There was something so human about the woman....

So it happened that Mr. Blair was delighted and amazed and a little perturbed to receive a few days later a note from Joan Darcy, inviting him to sit on a certain evening in the Darcy box at the impending Horse Show. One of the Darcy guests had failed at the last moment, and Joan had accepted the suggestion that she ask her protege.

He rushed downstairs to spread the glad tidings to Ellen, who was in turn surprised and a little perturbed. She had not imagined "that woman"

so forgiving. But then Ellen was a person who did nothing by halves.

Justice to the enemy was not in her creed. Where she hated, she hated.

"Just look at it!" exulted Mr. Blair, exhibiting his note. "She asks for 'the pleasure of my company'! She 'hopes a previous engagement won't prevent'! (It won't.) All in her own hand, mind you!"

"What did you expect--typewriting?" commented Ellen, a little tartly.

She was always tart when pleased.

Next arose the question of what to wear. Those people who fancy that this question confines itself to the lighter-minded s.e.x have much to learn. They have not watched a youth of twenty-five--or thirty-five--or sixty-five--trying to ascertain in advance whether long or short tails shall grace a particular occasion. And if there is a more pitiable spectacle than the misery of a man appearing, say, in sack-suit and brown boots, where others of his s.e.x gleam as to bosom and foot-gear, the author has yet to see it. Whereas any woman worth her salt, who happens to be dressed in hat and jacket among much decolletage, can manage to make the other women present feel immodest.

Ellen Neal was of no help to Mr. Blair at this crisis. He consulted once more the oracle, Jakie Florsheimer. Archie had been to the Horse Show before, of course, but merely to see horses. This was a very different matter. Even Mr. Florsheimer admitted himself doubtful.

"You see, it's like this," he said, scratching his curly head. "If you was to go in a sporting way, y' see, I'd say a natty little sack, checked maybe, with one of our $3.99 plaid vests, and a Derby hat. But sitting in one of them boxes with society girls, all dolled up like they are, y' see--honest, I don't know would it be better to wear your swallow-tail or yet a frock with light stripe pants. Search me, Arch!

You got me guessing."

Mr. Blair raised the question among his fellow employees without obtaining satisfaction, and at last in his desperation actually tackled the head of the firm, whose name sometimes appeared in the newspapers as among those present.

Thanks to this gentleman's surprised advice, Archibald made a most proper appearance on the night appointed, and this time gloves were not forgotten. Also, during the course of the afternoon, Joan received a mysterious bouquet of roses bearing the legend, "From a Friend."

She chuckled over this quite affectionately. "He's funny," she thought, "but he's really a dear!"

Archibald was very much surprised when she thanked him for the roses, and deeply relieved that she did not seem to think him "fresh."

"How did you guess it was me?" he wondered.

"Well--I haven't so many 'friends' whom it might have been."

"_You?_"--His incredulity was flattering.