He had come there with one or two fixed ideas on the subject in hand, and he hoped there might not be a struggle with the old pair, whose obstinacy he well knew. But he had a vision of Sybil with cloudy, dark hair, all netted over with pearls, after the Venetian fashion, with pearl-encircled neck and arms, and pearl-engirdled waist; and he was determined that she should not wear glittering ornaments of any kind--which he rather fancied they would favor--or much gold and general splendor, after the style in which they had clothed the Juliet of his previous season. For he forgot how well these old people knew their business, or perhaps he did not know the pa.s.sionate love of beauty that produced in them an almost poetic power of expression, through color, fabrics, draperies. They were like artists, who got their "darks"

from heavy velvets, "middle tints" from cloths and satins, and their "highest lights" from laces and jewels.

Sybil, hatted and veiled and jacketted, had remained in the background, a position that gave her a glimpse of another room, shelved about from floor to ceiling, with every shelf quite crowded with green boxes. She had been so interested in her surroundings that she had not heeded the conversation going on until the strong disapproval on both old faces drew her attention to the words "society" and "debutante"; and when, to a question, Mr. Thrall answered, "Juliet," they gazed at him with incredulous wonder for a moment. Then, exchanging glances of contemptuous derision that made poor Sybil's cheeks burn, with innumerable shrugs and much sniffing they scuffled back and forth, bringing out and throwing open boxes, until the room was presently a confusion of such splendid materials as velvets, satins, crepes, of silver tissues and cloth of gold; while camphor gum and cedar wood sent odors from the boxes holding rare furs, cut into strips of tr.i.m.m.i.n.g width, correct for king or prince, for judge or queen. For in this cramped and shabby place one could be provided with everything, from the rough woolens and leathers of Macbeth, the black and purple satins, the jet and sable of Hamlet, the crimson velvets and ermine of queens, the embroideries and laced fripperies of white-wigged courtiers, down to the floating gauze of a t.i.tania and the silvered wings of a cupid.

In the splendor of the display Sybil forgot her recent mortification, and thrilled with delight at the thought that some portion of it was to be placed at her service--for her adornment!

As the old man came lumbering in with two great volumes, bearing the t.i.tle "Modes et Costumes Historique--etranger," and, slamming them down on the table, began ostentatiously turning over the colored plates, Thrall, laughing good-naturedly, closed the book, saying: "Now, now, Lefebvre! You and Nonna Angelique here need no plates to dress Shakspere's people by, and you won't be so cross when you _see_ your new Juliet! Come now, Madame, no one knows better than you do how important is the setting of a jewel! Oh, I know what that shrug means and that 'la, la, la!' But as a just woman you must at least see my young Capulet before you condemn her. Miss Lawton," he continued, "please remove your jacket. Thanks! And now take off your veil and hat, please!"

The autumn wind had somewhat roughened Sybil's hair, and she raised her hands to smooth it, but he stopped her: "Not for the world!" he said, laughingly. Then he took her by the hand and led her to the centre of the room, saying:

"Monsieur et Madame, you will kindly costume this young girl for me, but only _if_ you can see in her a Juliet. If not, why--" he stopped.

Flushed, excited, embarra.s.sed under deliberate inspection, Sybil stood with downcast eyes and red, half-sullen lip, already quivering to a smile.

The old pair stood at gaze. Then mutely the woman's hand went out and was caught in his.

The girl saw, and with her sudden flashing smile, she raised imploring, dark eyes and looked at them.

"Par Dieu!" cried old Lefebvre, "'tis Juliet's self!"

"And oh, mon Dieu! mon Dieu!" the old woman exclaimed, "if you can act as you can look the part! Oh, Mr. Thrall, I crave your pardon! Will I costume her?--_will I?_ We shall make of her that last blossom of the House of Capulet--the very Juliet herself!" She turned and half whispered to the old man, "Slight and dark!"

He took snuff furiously, and added: "Rich colored, quick tempered, hot!"

And then, together: "Let's see! let's see!" and they turned excitedly toward their boxes.

"No velvet, I think?" suggested Thrall, who was highly elated that his judgment, so far, had been so heartily seconded by this experienced old couple.

"Velvet? Bah!" responded Nonna Angelique, with a condemnatory wave of the hand that swept velvet entirely out of consideration. "Too old! too heavy! but--but--" She tossed things right and left in hurried, nervous search.--"Where's that blond lace scarf?" she fretted, "where?--where?

And why don't you open the cabinet, and not stand there wasting time, mon mari?"

As they stood waiting, Stewart Thrall said, laughingly: "Patience, patience! We are in the hands of the powers that be. These are the people who 'paint the lily' and--er--er--touch up refined gold! And, Miss Lawton, haven't you been about a theatre long enough to learn how indiscreet it is to laugh at your manager's imperfect quotations? You should reserve your merriment for those occasions when he tells a supposedly funny story. Ah! ah! the lost is found!"

For Nonna Angelique came trotting up with a long scarf of silky old blond lace trailing from her hands, and Sybil, turning toward her, gave a cry of rapture. Drawer, too, after drawer had been drawn out from the chiffonier, and from their velvet-lined depths there came a blaze and glow and gleam and such dancing prismatic colors of violet, indigo, blue, green, yellow, orange, red, from jewels in such good and careful setting that, imitation though they were, they commanded admiration even in broad daylight.

Among these crowns and crosses, stomachers and necklaces, there were minutely exact copies of some famous originals treasured in the museums of Europe. Nor were these ornaments cheap; the price of many of them was told in hundreds of dollars, not tens. And Sybil, while missing their real value, which lay in their historical accuracy, might well be forgiven for her childish delight in their meretricious splendor.

"Oh, how I wish Dorrie could see, too!" she exclaimed, and the snuffy old man nudged his rumpled old wife with his elbow, and, looking at Sybil's flushed and happy young face, they wagged their heads knowingly.

And Stewart Thrall said to himself: "To watch her countenance is like watching the surface of a land-locked lake--one moment gla.s.s-smooth beneath the sun, then reflecting a slow white cloud, then breaking into ripples, fretting into waves and blackening to sudden storm! Ah, surely you are the headlong Capulet in love with love!" and his meditation broke off short.

Lefebvre was advancing, diamond coronet in hand, and he anxiously waited results. Nonna Angelique, with stumpy brown fingers, had still further loosened Sybil's black hair and fluffed it out, crooning to herself the while, and had turned her head this way and that, bent it down, lifted it, then put her hand out for the coronet her husband brought, placed it, drew back a step, then tore it off to a chorus of, "o! no!"

"Too old!" said Lefebvre.

"C'est cela! too old!" nodded Nonna Angelique.

"Too old!" acquiesced Thrall.

Then was handed over a golden net, studded with jewels; and oh, Sybil did hope they would let her wear that!

Old Angelique put it on with deft hands. "Mais comme elle est belle!"

she exclaimed; "but----"

Thrall shook his head and repeated: "Beautiful, but----"

And the old man explained the "buts" fully with the remark: "Too Zingary, n'est ce pas?"

"Yes! yes!" cried Nonna, throwing her arms over her head and snapping her fingers to imitate castanets. "Oui! oui! too Zingary--too gypsy-like!" and off came the golden net.

A head-piece of colored stones barely touched her brow when, with a contemptuous "Bah! too Egyptian" it was returned to the drawer.

The costumers stood looking at each other, silently. Thrall waited; he wanted them to propose pearls themselves, and thus avoid a wrangle, for they did not accept suggestions willingly. Then, suddenly, Nonna Angelique said: "Let me hear the voice, Mr. Thrall. Give her a cue; let me know whether her voice matches the mobilite of her face. That may give me my idee!"

Sybil gave a frightened, deprecating, "Oh, Mr. Thrall!"

But he answered with: "Steady! steady!" then added: "Give her 'Wherefore art thou Romeo?'"

She looked at him with dilating eyes, then clasped her hands, and gazing into s.p.a.ce, obediently began:

"Oh, Romeo! Romeo! wherefore art thou, Romeo?

Deny thy father and refuse thy name-- Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn--my--love!

And [with a rush] I'll no longer be a Capulet!"

Nonna Angelique caught the girl's face between her hands and kissed her soundingly. It had been an unexpected test, and Thrall, pleased at her courage and obedience, was simply delighted with the effect she got from that pause, as if at her own temerity in using the words:

"... be but sworn--_my_ love!"

and then the reckless dash of the declaration:

"... I'll no longer be a Capulet!"

And Sybil, glancing up, noted for the very first time the extreme beauty of the man's eyes, and if the open admiration beaming from their sapphire depths gave her a thrill of gratification, it was the approval of the manager that moved her, not the man, she told herself; and since there is no one in this world so easy to deceive as one's self, she undoubtedly believed her own statement.

"Ah! ah! monsieur, you have a find in this young girl!" said old Lefebvre to Thrall. "She should be a big card--and in your hands, eh?"

he poked the managerial ribs and winked his round black eye knowingly.

"The wires will be pulled, eh? And the public, it will dance! And the dollars they will rattle, eh? A-a-ah! Qu'est-ce, cherie? Les perles?

mais oui--certainement! In a moment I shall bring them! My key? Ah, the devil flies away with everything this day! Where is my key? Ah, here in my vest-pocket all the time!"

And at last Thrall's patience was rewarded as pearls came to the front, and "Oh!" exclaimed Sybil, in amazed delight. For her idea of imitation pearls had been founded upon the cheap bluish-white gla.s.s beads with just a skim of wax for lining. Now she stood astonished by the weight and l.u.s.tre of these lovely things from Paris, where by some clever artifice the scales of fish are used to produce upon the forms of almost solid wax the wonderful "nacre" of the true gem of the sea. So artistic was the work that small imperfections in shape and flaws in tinting had been carefully reproduced, the monotony of a mechanical perfection being thus avoided. Really they were very beautiful, and among those selected strands intended for the throat it was as if color, having life and breath, a rosy pink, had gently breathed across their milky l.u.s.tre, faintly flushing the swelling round of each great pearl. Nor were they too frail for service; weight and solidity made them almost as durable as the true jewel's self. And here was bunch after bunch of seed pearls, so small, for embroidery on lace or satin; long strands for plaiting in the hair, for the suspension from the waist of feather fan or tiny mirrors a la Marie Stuart, when dauphine of France; great girdles for the waist, whose pendant ta.s.sels fell almost to the wearer's feet. And at last--at last, the heavy net which he so much wished to see upon that waywardly waving dark cloud of hair!

Old Angelique, having raised a sternly instructing index finger to close proximity with Sybil's glowing face, proceeded to strike off with it upon the air these verbal commands: "You will do exact now as I tell you, if you wish to look the little Juliet--so high-bred, so headstrong, yet so young! Mais, _so_ young--mon Dieu! mon Dieu! comme--like a bebe!

Now make the mark of my words, Miss--Miss--er? Lawsons! oui! oui! merci!

For I have in the mind that Juliet--me--I know! So you must make no height on the top of the head, no cross braid, no pile up curl, no coronet! No--no! that make very handsome, mais--but not _the Juliet_!

Tumble the hair to the shoulders, half curl! No curl, all regular! Wat is call 'em, 'em ring-a-let? No! no! half-curl, half-wave--oui! all natural! And for the front, the hair all fluff--so! [puffing out her breath]--low to the brows, that the big eyes look from under it, like from a cloud. Then turn all back from the cheeks, after the manner of the angels in the old masters' pictures! Obey me, and you shall see! The city shall see! Why, even now!" She flung the net upon Sybil's head, drawing a pear-shaped pendant pearl forward to rest upon her brow, rapidly twisted the white lace scarf about her shoulders to hide the street gown, threw a rope of pearls about her neck, and with triumphant eyes turned to Thrall, saying: "Is not the Italian angel's the coiffure correct for this, Miss Lawsons?"

Thrall answered, briefly, "Quite correct!"

And Sybil, with an ecstatic sigh, said again: "How I do wish Dorothy were here!"