Athalie

Before February had ended C. Bailey, Jr., and Athalie Greensleeve had

been to more than one play, had dined and supped together more than

once at the Regina.

The magnificence of the most fashionable restaurant in town had

thrilled and enchanted Athalie. At close range for the first time she

had an opportunity to inspect the rich, the fashionable, and the

great. As for celebrities, they seemed to be merely a by-product of

the gay, animated, beautifully gowned throngs: people she had heard

of, people more important still of whom she had never heard, people

important only to themselves of whom nobody had ever heard thronged

the great rococo rooms. The best hotel orchestra in America played

there; the loveliest flowers, the most magnificent jewels, the most

celebrated cuisine in the entire Republic--all were there for Athalie

Greensleeve to wonder at and to enjoy. There were other things for her

to wonder at, too,--the seemingly exhaustless list of C. Bailey,

Jr.'s, acquaintances; for he was always nodding to somebody or

returning salutes wherever they were, in the theatre, or the street,

in his little limousine car, at restaurants. Men sometimes came up and

spoke and were presented to Athalie: women, never.

But although she was very happy after her first evening out with C.

Bailey, Jr., she realised that a serious inroad upon her savings was

absolutely necessary if she were to continue her maiden's progress

with this enchanting young man. Clothing of a very different species

than any she had ever permitted herself was now becoming a necessity.

She made the inroad. It was worth while if only to see his surprise

and his naive pride in her.

And truly the girl was very lovely in the few luxuries she ventured to

acquire--so lovely, indeed, that many heads turned and many eyes

followed her calm and graceful progress in theatre aisle, amid

thronged tables, on the Avenue, anywhere and everywhere she moved

along the path of life now already in flowery bloom for her.

And beside her, eager, happy, flattered, walked C. Bailey, Jr., very

conscious that he was being envied; very proud of the beautiful young

girl with whom he was so constantly identifying himself, and who, very

obviously, was doing him honour.

Of his gratified and flattered self-esteem the girl was unconscious;

that he was really happy with her, proud of her appearance, kind to

her beyond reason and even beyond propriety perhaps,--invariably

courteous and considerate, she was vividly aware. And it made her

intensely happy to know that she gave him pleasure and to accept it

from him.

It was pleasure to Clive; but not entirely unmitigated. His father

asked him once or twice who the girl was of whom "people" were

talking; and when his son said: "She's absolutely all right, father,"

Bailey, Sr., knew that she was--so far.