Hearts and Masks | Page 2

the least degree. It would be all the same
to me if she never came back. None of the wishy-washy tittle-tattle
interested me, in fact. There was only one little six-line paragraph that
really caught me. On Friday night (that is to say, the night of my
adventures in Blankshire), the Hunt Club was to give a charity
masquerade dance. This grasped my adventurous spirit by the throat
and refused to let go.
The atmosphere surrounding the paragraph was spirituous with
enchantment. There was a genuine novelty about this dance. Two packs
of playing-cards had been sent out as tickets; one pack to the ladies and
one to the gentlemen. Charming idea, wasn't it? These cards were to be
shown at the door, together with ten dollars, but were to be retained by

the recipients till two o'clock (supper-time), at which moment
everybody was to unmask and take his partner, who held the
corresponding card, in to supper. Its newness strongly appealed to me. I
found myself reading the paragraph over and over.
By Jove, what an inspiration!
I knew the Blankshire Hunt Club, with its colonial architecture, its
great ball-room, its quaint fireplaces, its stables and sheds, and the fame
of its chef. It was one of those great country clubs that keep open house
the year round. It stood back from the sea about four miles and was
within five miles of the village. There was a fine course inland, a
cross-country going of not less than twenty miles, a shooting-box, and
excellent golf-links. In the winter it was cozy; in the summer it was
ideal.
I was intimately acquainted with the club's M. F. H., Teddy Hamilton.
We had done the Paris-Berlin run in my racing-car the summer before.
If I hadn't known him so well, I might still have been in durance vile,
next door to jail, or securely inside. I had frequently dined with him at
the club during the summer, and he had offered to put me up; but as I
knew no one intimately but himself, I explained the futility of such
action. Besides, my horse wasn't a hunter; and I was riding him less and
less. It is no pleasure to go "parking" along the bridle-paths of Central
Park. For myself, I want a hill country and something like forty miles,
straight away; that's riding.
The fact that I knew no one but Teddy added zest to the inspiration
which had seized me. For I determined to attend that dance, happen
what might. It would be vastly more entertaining than a possibly dull
theatrical performance. (It was!)
I called for a messenger and despatched him to the nearest drug store
for a pack of playing-cards; and while I waited for his return I casually
glanced at the other diners. At my table--one of those long
marble-topped affairs by the wall--there was an old man reading a
paper, and the handsomest girl I had set eyes upon in a month of moons.
Sometimes the word handsome seems an inferior adjective. She was

beautiful, and her half-lidded eyes told me that she was anywhere but at
Mouquin's. What a head of hair! Fine as a spider's web, and the
dazzling yellow of a wheat-field in a sun-shower! The irregularity of
her features made them all the more interesting. I was an artist in an
amateur way, and I mentally painted in that head against a Rubens
background. The return of the messenger brought me back to earth; for
I confess that my imagination had already leaped far into the future,
and this girl across the way was nebulously connected with it.
I took the pack of cards, ripped off the covering, tossed aside the joker
(though, really, I ought to have retained it!) and began shuffling the
shiny pasteboards. I dare say that those around me sat up and took
notice. It was by no means a common sight to see a man gravely
shuffling a pack of cards in a public restaurant. Nobody interfered,
doubtless because nobody knew exactly what to do in the face of such
an act, for which no adequate laws had been provided. A waiter stood
solemnly at the end of the table, scratching his chin thoughtfully,
wondering whether he should report this peculiarity of constitution and
susceptibility occasioning certain peculiarities of effect from impress of
extraneous influences (vide Webster), synonymous with idiocrasy and
known as idiosyncrasy. It was quite possible that I was the first man to
establish such a precedent in Monsieur Mouquin's restaurant. Thus, I
aroused only passive curiosity.
From the corner of my eye I observed the old gentleman opposite. He
was peering over the top of his paper, and I could see by the glitter in
his eye that he was a confirmed player of solitaire.