BYLANT came to dinner and was immediately told of the projected fancy-dress ball and the riches of the attic; but it had been agreed that the plans for the wedding should be communicated by Gita in the privacy of the library, when Elsie, as ever, had retired to her study.
Bylant, who was looking tired and depressed, brightened visibly. He grasped at the idea of being someone quite different from himself for a few hours, and his severely repressed love of the picturesque could have its way for once.
“I’ll go as one of the old governors,” he said. “Cornbury, for choice. He fell in love with his wife’s ear—before marriage, of course—and I’ve permitted even myself that much. Besides, he was a villain, and I’d enjoy being that for a night.”
Gita laughed merrily. “Dear old Eustace! You couldn’t be a villain if you tried. But you must be pompous and stately, for you and Polly are to lead off in a minuet. We haven’t the least idea what a minuet is like, but you’ll line up and bow, turn, dance a few steps forward and retreat. No drinks will be passed till it’s over.”
“Then it will be stiff enough. I’ll not tell the men that or they won’t come.”
As they left the dining-room Gita took his arm and pressed it affectionately. “I’ve a still greater surprise for you,” she whispered.
“Indeed?” He dared not detach himself but he averted his eyes. He had never seen her look so beautiful. She wore a very soft, very clinging gown, the shade of the American Beauty rose; one of the fine flowers of her trousseau. It matched the deep flush of excitement in her cheeks and her eyes were bigger and brighter and blacker than ever.
“Do you mind if we go outside?” he asked. “It’s a clear night.”
“I don’t mind, but we’ll have to walk to keep warm, and you always choose the most comfortable chair in the library for your cigar.”
“I rather feel like walking.”
Her long cape was in the entrance-hall and as she disappeared into its dark folds he gave a sigh of relief and put on his Burberry and cap.
“Now, what do you think it is?” she demanded as they strolled down the avenue.
“My faculty for guessing has dried up these last weeks.”
“I found my grandmother’s wedding-gown in the attic and it is such a dream of beauty that I decided then and there to be married in it. And then we all decided to have the wedding the night of the party. Midnight. Nobody to have a hint of it till I sail down that stair. Of course, if you like the idea,” she added, suddenly tactful. “But we all thought the picture would appeal to that fine artistic taste of yours.”
He was silent for a moment, then replied with a shrug: “Good idea. Something to remember. It will be rather theatrical, of course.”
“Call it dramatic. I mean to get all the drama out of life I can.”
“You do? I suppose you don’t mean what most women would by that, but perhaps you’ll explain just what you do mean. There’s nothing very dramatic in being prosaically married and living in West Twelfth Street.”
“Oh, you can’t plan drama too far ahead. But I’ve always known I was cut out for it. In a not too pleasant way I’ve had a lot of it already. I fancy I draw it like a magnet——”
“And I’m to be the chorus, I suppose!”
“Of course there’s nothing dramatic about you, Eustace dear, or I shouldn’t be marrying you, but——Oh, my goodness! Great heavens!”
“What’s the matter? Do you see drama approaching down the perspective of this damp avenue? I vote we get out of it——”
“There’s something—I never thought of till this minute.”
“Well? What is it?”
“I’m afraid you won’t like it.”
“I probably shan’t.” Bylant was in a thoroughly bad humor.
“Well, I must come out with it. My grandmother wanted me to ask the man I married to take my name. I wouldn’t promise because I never intended to marry—but, well—I find I don’t like the idea of giving up my own name.”
“Sounds like the Lucy Stone League. Continue to call yourself Gita Carteret, by all means. We’re used to it.”
“But wouldn’t you be willing to take the name of Carteret?”
“I would not!” exploded Bylant. “I may be an ass but I’m not an emasculated ass. And Bylant, I’d have you know, is as old and honorable a name as Carteret. It came over from Holland before a Carteret was ever heard of——”
“Oh, of course! I understand,” said Gita hurriedly. “A few months ago—but I do now. But wouldn’t you be willing to call yourself Bylant-Carteret?”
“I would not!”
“Well, that’s that. At least I’ve done my duty and asked you. And you don’t mind if I remain Gita Carteret?”
“Don’t care a hang.”
“I never saw you cross before. Do you think we’ll squabble? It would be rather exciting.”
“Not in our sort of—alliance. Nor have I any intention of doing anything so undignified. I’m sorry I let go, but it hits a man on the raw to be asked to give up his name.”
“Sorry. Let’s forget it. Suppose we go over to the Boardwalk and look at the lights. We might take in a movie.”
“All right. Come along.”