Quin
Copyright© 2025 by Alice Caldwell Hegan Rice
Chapter 14
On the night of the Bartlett party, Quin stood before the small mirror of his old room over the Martels’ kitchen and surveyed himself in sections. The first view, obtained by standing on a chair, was the least satisfactory; for, in spite of the most correct of wing-toed dancing-shoes, there was a space between them and the cuffs of his trousers that no amount of adjustment could diminish. The second section was far more reassuring. Having amassed what to him seemed a fortune, for the purchase of a dress-suit, Quin had allowed himself to be persuaded by the voluble and omniscient salesman to put all of his money into a resplendent dinner-coat instead. The claim for the coat that it was “the classiest garment in the city” was reinforced by the fact that it had adorned the dummy in the shop window for seven consecutive days and occasioned much comment by its numerous “novelties.” Quin had no doubts whatever about the coat. Its glory not only dimmed his eyes to the shortcomings of the trousers, which he had rented for the occasion, but even made him forget the aching tooth that had been harassing him all day.
As he went down to present himself for the family inspection, it is useless to deny that he was very much impressed with the elegance and correctness of his costume. It had been achieved with infinite pains and considerable expense. Nothing was lacking, not even a silver cigarette-case, bearing an unknown monogram, which he had purchased at a pawn-shop the day before.
His advent into the sitting-room produced a gratifying sensation.
“Ha! Who comes here!” cried Mr. Martel. “The glass of fashion and the mould of form.” Then he came forward for close inspection. “Hadn’t you any better studs than those, my boy?”
“They are the ones that came in the shirt,” said Quin, instantly on the defensive.
“Well, they hardly do justice to the occasion. Step upstairs, Cassius, and get my pearl ones out of the top chiffonier drawer.”
“I wish Captain Phipps could see you,” said Rose admiringly. “You should have seen his face when I told him you were going to-night! He wasn’t invited, you know.”
“Where did you see him?” Quin asked, brushing a speck of lint from the toe of his shining shoe.
“Here. He’s been coming twice a week to work with Papa Claude ever since you left. Give ‘em to me, Cass”—this to her brother. “I’ll put them in.”
“Aren’t they too little for the buttonholes?” asked Quin anxiously.
“Not enough to matter,” Rose insisted. Then, as she finished, she added in a whisper: “Tell Nell somebody sent his love.”
“Nothing doing,” laughed Quin with a superior shrug; “somebody else is taking his.”
The curb was lined with automobiles by the time he arrived at the Bartletts’. The house looked strangely unfamiliar with its blaze of lights and throng of arriving guests. He instinctively felt in his pocket for his latch-key, and then remembered, and waited for the strange butler to open the door. The inside of the house looked even less natural than the outside. The floors were cleared for dancing and the mantels were banked high with flowers and ferns. Under the steps the musicians were already tuning their instruments.
“Upstairs, sir; first room to your left,” said the important person at the door, and Quin followed the stream of black-coated figures who were filing up the stairs and turning into the room he had occupied a short week ago. It was just as he had left it, except for the picture that no longer adorned the mantel.
“Beg pardon, sir,” said the lofty attendant who took his overcoat, “your stud’s come loose.”
“I bet the damn thing’s going to do that all night,” Quin said confidentially. “Say, you haven’t got a pin, have you?”
“Oh, no, sir, it couldn’t be pinned,” protested the man in a shocked tone.
Quin adjusted it as best he could, took a final look at himself in the mirror, and proceeded downstairs. Arrived in the lower hall, he glanced about him in some perplexity. Not a member of the family was visible, and he looked in vain for a familiar face. In his uncertainty as to his next move, he went back to the pantry and got himself a glass of water.
As he was returning to the hall, some one plucked at his sleeve and whispered:
“Hello there, Graham!”
Turning around, he encountered the gaping mouth of a shining saxophone, behind which beamed the no less shining countenance of Barney McGinness.
Barney had been in the 105th Infantry Band, and he and Quin had returned from France on the same transport. They exchanged hearty greetings under their breath.
“Serving here to-night, are you?” asked Barney.
“Serving?” repeated Quin; then he laughed good-naturedly. “You got another guess coming your way, Barney.”
“So it’s the parlor instid of the pantry, is it? I’d ‘a’ seen it for meself if I had used me eyes instead of me mouth. You look grand enough to be doing a turn on the vawdyville.”
Quin tried not to expand his chest in pride, for fear the movement would disturb those temperamental studs. He would fain have lingered indefinitely in the warmth of Barney’s admiring smile, but the signal for the first dance was already given, and he moved nervously out into the throng again.
Now that the moment had come for him to meet Eleanor—the moment he had longed for by day and dreamed of by night, —he found himself overcome with terrible diffidence. Suppose she did not want to see him again? Suppose she should be angry at him for coming to her party? Suppose she should be too taken up with all these strange friends of hers to have time to dance with him?
After obstructing social traffic in the hall for several moments, he encountered Miss Enid. She was all a lavender flutter, with sleeves floating and scarf dangling, and she wore an air of subdued excitement that made her almost pretty.
“Why, Quinby!” she said, and her eyes swept him. “Have you spoken to mother yet?”
“No; where is she?”
“In the library. And sister will present you to the young ladies in the parlor.”
She hesitated a moment, then she placed a timid hand on Quin’s arm.
“But before you go in would you mind doing something for me? Will you watch the front door and let me know as soon as Mr. Chester arrives?”
“Mr. Chester?”
“Yes. You see, it’s been a great many years since he came to the house, and I want to—to make sure that he is properly welcomed.”
“I’ll wait for him,” said Quin, glad of any excuse for not entering that crowded parlor.
Lovely young creatures in rainbow tints drifted down the stairs and disappeared beyond the portières; supercilious young men, all in tail coats and most of them wearing white gloves, passed and repassed him.
Quin was experiencing the wholly new sensation of timidity. In vain he sought reassuring reflections from the long pier-glass, as he did guard duty in the front hall pending Mr. Chester’s arrival. He’d be all right, he assured himself, as soon as he got to know some of the people. Once he had spoken to Eleanor and been sure of her welcome, he didn’t care what happened. Meanwhile he worked with his shirt-stud and tried not to think about his tooth.
It was late when Mr. Chester arrived, and by the time he had been placed in Miss Enid’s care the receiving line in the parlor had dissolved and the dance was in full swing.
Quin made his way back to the library and presented his belated respects to Madam, who sat enthroned in state where she could command the field and direct the manœuvers. She was resplendent in black velvet and old lace. A glittering comb topped her high white pompadour, and a dog-collar of diamonds encircled her wrinkled neck.
“Well, I am glad one man has the manners to come and speak to his hostess!” she said grimly, extending her hand to Quin. “The young lords of the present day seem to consider a lady’s house a public dance-hall. Sit down and talk to me.”
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