"I can well believe that," Hayden a.s.sured her. He looked about him, down through the vista of the rooms with their differing and garish schemes of decoration, at the groups of people moving to and fro, at the whole kaleidoscopic, colorful picture. "Lots of people here to-day," he said.

"Oh, dear me, yes," replied the old lady. "This is undoubtedly one of the great hotels of the world. Everything pa.s.ses through here sooner or later, except perhaps, the law of righteousness. Here comes Horace, he's not bearing it, I am sure. How do you do, Horace?" Penfield, admirably dressed, slim, self-possessed and alert, bent over her hand, and nodded to Hayden.

"I've just been granted an inspection of the new gown Edith Symmes has ordered for Bea Habersham's ball," he said. "We've been at her dressmaker's and she drove me here on her way home."

"I thought you looked pale," said Mrs. Ames, viewing him through the inevitable lorgnon. "Go on, tell me all about it."

"I'm afraid the details are too harrowing," said Horace mildly. "The body of the gown--isn't that what you call it--? the ground-work, you know--"

"Yes--yes, that's all right," nodded Mrs. Ames. "Go on--the body of the gown--"

"Is of a sort of sickly, mustard-colored satin with chocolate-colored tr.i.m.m.i.n.gs, and wreaths of pink stuff and coral ornaments that look like lobster-claws. Really, it gives you quite a turn just to see it; and then, she has some kind of a gra.s.s-green weeping-willow tree that she is going to wear in her hair. Really, the whole thing is pretty shuddery.

Haunts you, you can't throw it off." Penfield looked a trifle blue about the mouth and so depressed that Hayden could not help laughing.

"Edith is going beyond herself," commented Mrs. Ames. "Some one ought to marry her and reform her. Why not you, Horace?"

"'She killed a boy, she killed a man, why should she not kill me?'"

quoted Horace gloomily.

"Well, we'll have some luncheon and then you'll feel better," consoled his hostess. "Here come the girls now."

Master of facial expression as he was, Horace could no more have helped his jaw dropping than he could his eyes blinking as Marcia and the Mariposa, followed by Wilfred Ames, came toward them. Hayden was particularly struck by the fact that as the two girls walked down the room laughing and talking, there was no suggestion in the manner of either of their being strangers or even formal acquaintances. There was the easy manner of old friendship between them, and he recalled again the "Ydo" that Marcia had inadvertently spoken that day in the Park, and pondered afresh.

Marcia looked to Hayden's eyes more charming than ever. The slightly strained expression about the mouth and eyes, which always caused him a pang, was to-day quite effaced, and his heart throbbed with pleasure as he caught the dear little smile that she gave him, and he saw that her eyes were full of a soft and radiant happiness. She wore a white cloth own, with an immense black hat, the b.u.t.terflies and her beloved California violets, a dewy and deliciously fragrant cl.u.s.ter which Hayden had sent to her that morning. Ydo in rose color was a brilliant and effective contrast to her.

"'As moonlight unto sunlight And as water unto wine,'"

murmured Penfield who was in the mood for quotation.

Mrs. Ames arose and settling afresh her hideous row of black bracelets, led the way to the dining-room. She had ordered one of the most conspicuous tables at an hour when the huge room was sure to be crowded, and she viewed with unabated, even increasing satisfaction the whispered comments from the tables where any of her acquaintances were sitting. She had created the sensation she desired. Fortune favored her.

"There are enough here to spread this far and wide," she whispered complacently to Hayden, "and Horace is a host in himself on such occasions. One may always trust him to see that the good work goes merrily on. The dear boy!" there was positive affection in her tone.

"This will be in every one's mouth before night. It is better to have Horace for a publicity bureau than to get out an 'extra.'"

"Look at the forest!" said Ydo quizzically calling Robert's attention to the tall palms grouped about the room and the exotic, incongruous effect of the long fronds, which should properly have cast their shadows on desert sands, but now must wave above the white surface of small tables or be outlined harshly against the red and gold panels of the walls.

"This is very different from the wilds," she continued. "Hardly savors of the simplicity of drinking from the wayside spring and munching a bit of bread and some fruit as one trudges along. Ah-h-h! That must be soon for me."

"But Wilfred?" suggested Hayden in a low voice. "What are you going to do about him?"

She glanced toward the imperturbable, lazy, blond giant, who sat talking to Marcia, but always with his eyes fixed on Ydo, content merely to be in her presence. Then she lifted her round chin audaciously, "If I decide to let him come with me, he will be well content. He hates cities and loves the open. He will be an excellent _camerado_, I a.s.sure you. But, if Wilfred does not care to go voyaging, voyaging, why, then he shall stay; but for myself, I must onward, away for ever from the old tents."

She had lifted her voice slightly on the last words and Mrs. Ames looking toward her had caught them. "Ah, mademoiselle," she broke in, "whenever you begin to talk, I've always got to stop and listen. Not because you utter words of wisdom by any means," she gave a hard little chuckle, "but because when you talk, I hear again the voice of youth. It rings in your tones and smiles in your eyes; it's something as effervescent and sparkling as the bubbles that rise in this wine. You are exactly like the nightingale in the old French fable. Just as irresponsible. You remember he sang all summer while the ants toiled unceasingly getting in their winter stores, and then when winter came, and he pined with hunger, the thrifty ants said: 'Do you not know that winter follows summer, and that all roads lead to the desert?'"

Ydo leaned forward all aggression and animation. "But that is a wicked fable," she cried, "for it tells only one side of the question. It never tells what the nightingale said to the ants. But I know. He said: 'Pouf!

Chut! I have sung my beautiful songs all summer and now you foolish ants think I am going to starve. Stupid, short-sighted little insects! I shall simply spread my wings, and fly away, not to the desert either, but to the bounteous South, and there, under the great, yellow moon, among the ilex trees, where the air is heavy with the fragrance of flowers, I shall sing as you have never dreamed I could sing. Adieu!'"

Mrs. Ames chuckled afresh. "They can't beat you--at any rate."

"By the way," said Hayden suddenly, "isn't that your secretary at the door?"

Ydo looked up surprised. "Certainly, it is Eunice," she said, "I wonder--"

Eunice, mournful and repressed, walked primly down the room in the wake of a waiter and with a murmured word or two with the Mariposa, handed her a telegram. The latter, still with an expression of perplexity, requested Mrs. Ames' permission to open it, acquainted herself with its contents, and then turned to the secretary at her elbow.

"That is all right, Eunice. There is no answer." Then she leaned across Hayden and spoke to Marcia, "Nothing of any importance," with a faint shrug of the shoulders, "I dare say you will get one also. He merely says that he will not be home quite so soon as he expected."

"He!" "He!" Hayden knew a pang of jealousy, like a stab of a stiletto.

What "he" was of such interest to Marcia that he should send her telegrams announcing his return home, or his failure to come? And why should this person, whoever he might be, also telegraph Ydo? His thoughts reverted involuntarily to the gray-haired man "that ordinary, middle-aged person," who had accompanied her the night she had dined at the Gildersleeve, the night that he, Hayden, had returned to her her silver b.u.t.terfly. Who was this shadowy creature, a sinister and skulking figure always in the background? Doubts and fears a.s.sailed him. He suffered a hades of suspicion, a momentary and temporary hades--and then, he looked at Marcia. She was talking across the table to Horace Penfield, and Hayden noted the purely drawn oval of her face, the sensitive, delicate mouth, the sweet, wistful eyes, and all the incipient doubts which had made such an onrush upon his consciousness vanished, were routed and put to flight, and Marcia looked up to meet his gaze and suddenly, shyly, sweetly blushed. Again the world was his and his heart was flooded with sunshine.

Mrs. Ames, well-pleased with the notice her party had attracted, was complacently arranging her bracelets preparatory to rising, when her eye was evidently caught by the iridescent sheen of Marcia's b.u.t.terflies. She held up her gla.s.ses, the better to view them.

"There is no manner of doubt about it, Miss Oldham," she said in a rather dry and grudging fashion, "that your b.u.t.terflies are exquisite. I'm a judge of jewels. I know. What's the reason, Miss Gipsy, that you haven't a set? Not economy, I warrant."

Ydo glanced at her from under her eyes, a slow, audacious smile forming about her lips, "I mean to have a set," she said composedly, "but I want mine copied from one Mr. Hayden has in his collection."

Marcia turned surprised eyes on Hayden. "I did not know that you were a collector of b.u.t.terflies," she said.

"Oh, he is so modest!" Ydo's laughter rang out like a chime of bells, full of elfin malice. "But I am going to tell you a secret. He is the distinguished discoverer of a rare and wonderful specimen of almost fabulous value. A specimen which collectors have supposed to be quite extinct."

Marcia's eyes were as round as saucers, and Mrs. Ames was surveying her unexpectedly distinguished guest with a respectful surprise of which Robert would never have dreamed her capable.

"Why have you never mentioned it to me?" cried Marcia, and there was reproach in her tone.

Hayden, annoyed at first, determined to out-match Ydo in her audacity, "But I have," he cried, his eyes alight with fun, "only I called it by a different name."

"A different name!" she puzzled.

"One of the names in the vernacular," explained Robert with grave mendacity, "is _the_ _cake_! I have often spoken to you, Miss Oldham, of 'the cake.' Of course, it has also its imposing Latin name."

It was Ydo's turn to look puzzled now; the conversation seemed to be slipping away from her into channels that she could not follow. "Truly,"

she cried, "I want a string of those lovely b.u.t.terflies, so I will make you an offer, Mr. Hayden. I'll buy that b.u.t.terfly. Name your price."

"Believe me, mademoiselle, as I have told you before, there is no price you could name which would tempt me to sell outright." His jaw looked very square and his gray eyes gazed very steadily into her dancing green ones.

The Mariposa made a little face, a combination of lifted brows and twisted mouth. "Just so," she said spreading out her hands, "about what I expected; but even if you can't be tempted to sell outright, I dare say you do not mind showing the photographs?"

Hayden smiled grimly. "That is ingenuous, senorita. Of course, I have no objection to showing the photographs--at the proper time."

Mrs. Ames picked up her gloves and rose. "I don't know what you're talking about. It's all Greek to me," with her strident cackle, "but this I do know, Hurlburt--Hammerton--and that is she'll get ahead of you, this Gipsy girl. Never doubt that."

Marcia had grown slightly paler during the conversation, and now she turned surprised, almost frightened, yes, frightened eyes from Hayden to Ydo.

CHAPTER XIV

The day of his dinner having arrived, Hayden found himself turned from his own doors by the ruthless Kitty and adrift upon the world.