Everybodys Lonesome | Page 9

was "all panicky
inside," but she kept trying to remember the Secret.
Their hostess was a middle-aged lady, very plain but motherly-looking.
She wore her hair combed in a way that would have been considered
"terribly old-fashioned" in Mary Alice's home town, and she had on
several large cameos very like some Mary Alice's mother had and
scorned to wear.
Mary Alice was reasonably sure this lady was not "a millionairess or
anything like that," and she didn't think she was another prima donna.
The lady's name meant nothing to her.
"Well," their hostess said as Godmother greeted her, "now the party
can begin--here's Mary Alice! Two Mary Alices!" she added as she
caught sight of the second one. "Who says this isn't going to be a real
party?"
Evidently they liked Godmother in this house; and evidently they were
prepared to like Mary Alice. Then, before she had time to think any
more about it, three or four persons came up to greet Godmother, who
didn't try to introduce Mary Alice at all--just let her "tag along" without
any responsibility.
Mary Alice found that she liked to hear these people talk. They had a
kind of eagerness about many things that made them all seem to have
much more to say than could possibly be said then and there. Mary
Alice felt just as she thought the lady must have felt who, after the man
standing beside Mary Alice had made one or two remarks, in a brief
turn the conversation took towards the Children's Theatre, cried: "Oh! I
want to talk to you about that." And they moved away somewhere and

sat down together. Then, somehow, from that the general talk glanced
off on to some actors and actresses who had come out of the foreign
quarter where the Children's Theatre was, and were astonishing
up-town folk with the fire and fervour of their art. Some one who
seemed to know a good deal about the speaking voice, commented on
the curious change of tone, from resonant throat sounds to nasal head
sounds, which generally marked the Slav's transition from his native
tongue to English; and gave several examples in such excellent
imitation that every one was amused, even Mary Alice, who knew
nothing about the persons imitated.
Then, some one who had been recently to California and seen Madame
Modjeska and been privileged to hear some chapters of the memoirs
she was writing, told an incident or two from them about the
experiences of that great Polish artiste in learning English. A man
asked this lady if she knew what Modjeska was going to do with her
Memoirs when they were ready for publication; and they two moved
away to talk more about that. And so it went. Mary Alice didn't often
know what the talk was about; but she was so interested in it that she
found herself wishing they would talk more about each thing and
wouldn't break up and drift off the way they did. They had such a wide,
wide world--these people--and they seemed to see everything that went
on around them, to feel everything that can go on within. And they
made no effort about anything. They talked about the Red Cross
campaign against tuberculosis, or big game hunting in Africa, or the
unerring accuracy of steel-workers on the skeletons of skyscrapers,
throwing red-hot rivets across yawning spaces and striking the bucket,
held to receive them, every time. And their talk was as simple, as eager,
as unaffected, as hers had been as she talked with Godmother about her
blue silk dress. All those things were a part of their world, as the blue
dress was a part of hers.
She was so interested that she forgot to be afraid. And by and by when
Godmother had drifted off with some one and Mary Alice found herself
alone with one man, she was feeling so "folksy" that she looked up at
him and laughed.

"Seems as if every one had found a 'burning theme'--all but us!" she
said.
The young man--he was young, and very good-looking, in an unusual
sort of way--flushed. "I don't know any of them," he said; "I'm a
stranger."
"So am I," said Mary Alice, "and I don't know any one either. But I'd
like to know some of these people better; wouldn't you?"
"I don't know," returned the young man. "I haven't seen much of people,
and I don't feel at home with them."
"Oh!" cried Mary Alice, quite excitedly, "you need a fairy godmother
to tell you a Secret."
The young man looked unpleasantly mystified. "What secret?" he
asked.
She started to explain. He seemed amused, at first, in a supercilious
kind of way. But Mary Alice was so interested in her "burning theme"
that she did not