The Gentleman from Indiana

The two friends walked through a sort of opera-bouffe to find her; music

playing, a swaying crowd, bright lights, bright eyes, pretty women, a

glimpse of dancers footing it over a polished floor in a room beyond--a

hundred colors flashing and changing, as the groups shifted, before the

eye could take in the composition of the picture. A sudden thrill of

exhilaration rioted in John's pulses, and he trembled like a child before

the gay disclosure of a Christmas tree. Meredith swore to himself that he

would not have known him for the man of five minutes agone. Two small,

bright red spots glowed in his cheeks; he held himself erect with head

thrown back and shoulders squared, and the idolizing Tom thought he looked

as a king ought to look at the acme of power and dominion. Miss Hinsdale's

word in the hallway was the geniuses touch: a bent, gray man of years--a

word--and behold the Great John Harkless, the youth of elder days ripened

to his prime of wisdom and strength! People made way for them and

whispered as they passed.

It had been years since John Harkless had been

in the midst of a crowd of butterfly people; everything seemed unreal, or

like a ball in a play; presently the curtain would fall and close the

lights and laughter from his view, leaving only the echo of music. It was

like a kaleidoscope for color: the bouquets of crimson or white or pink or

purple; the profusion of pretty dresses, the brilliant, tender fabrics,

and the handsome, foreshortened faces thrown back over white shoulders in

laughter; glossy raven hair and fair tresses moving in quick salutations;

and the whole gay shimmer of festal tints and rich artificialities set off

against the brave green of out-doors, for the walls were solidly adorned

with forest branches, with, here and there amongst them, a blood-red droop

of beech leaves, stabbed in autumn's first skirmish with summer. The night

was cool, and the air full of flower smells, while harp, violin, and

'cello sent a waltz-throb through it all.

They looked rapidly through several rooms and failed to find her indoors,

and they went outside, not exchanging a word, and though Harkless was a

little lame, Tom barely kept up with his long stride. On the verandas

there were fairy lamps and colored incandescents over little tables, where

people sat chatting. She was not there. Beyond was a terrace, where a

myriad of Oriental lanterns outlined themselves clearly in fantastically

shaped planes of scarlet and orange and green against the blue darkness.

Many couples and groups were scattered over the terrace, and the young men

paused on the steps, looking swiftly from group to group. She was not

there.