Madcap | Page 6

interests me--and shall continue to do
so."
He shrugged his shoulders and laughed toward Olga. "What's the use,
Madame? In a moment I shall be telling Miss--er--"
"Challoner," said Hermia.
"I shall be telling Miss Challoner what I think of New York
society--and of the people who compose it. That would be unfortunate."
"Well, rather," said Olga wearily. "Don't, I beg. Life's too short. Must
you break our pretty faded butterfly on the wheel?"
He shrugged his shoulders and turned aside.
"Not if it jars upon your sensibilities. I have no quarrel with your
society. One only quarrels with an enemy or with a friend. To me

society is neither." He smiled at Hermia amusedly. "Society may have
its opinion of my utility and may express it freely--unchallenged."
"I don't challenge your utility," replied Hermia tartly. "I merely
question your point of view. You do not see couleur de rose, Mr.
Markham?"
"No. Life is not that color."
"Oh, la la!" from Olga. "Life is any color one wishes, and sometimes
the color one does not wish. Very pale at times, gray, yellow and at
times red--oh, so red! The soul is the chameleon which absorbs and
reflects it. Today," she signed, "my chameleon has taken a vacation."
She rose abruptly and threw out her arms with a dramatic gesture.
"Oh, you two infants--with your wise talk of life--you have already
depressed me to the point of dissolution. I've no patience with
you--with either of you. You've spoiled my morning, and I'll not stay
here another minute." She reached for her trinkets on the table and
rattled them viciously. "It's too bad. With the best intentions in the
world I bring two of my friends together and they fall instantly into
verbal fisticuffs. Hermia, you deserve no better fate than to be locked in
here with this bear of a man until you both learn civility."
But Hermia had already preceded the Countess to the door, whither
Markham followed them.
"I should be charmed," said Markham.
"To learn civility?" asked Hermia acidly.
"I might even learn that--"
"It is inconceivable," put in the Countess. "You know, Markham, I
don't mind your being bearish with me. In fact, I've taken it as the
greatest of compliments. I thought that humor of yours was my special
prerogative of friendship. But now alas! When I see how uncivil you
can be to others I have a sense of lost caste. And you--instead of being

amusingly whimsical and entÂ?té--are in danger of becoming merely
bourgeois. I warn you now that if you plan to be uncivil to
everybody--I shall give you up."
Markham and Hermia laughed. They couldn't help it. She was too
absurd.
"Oh, I hope you won't do that," pleaded Markham.
"I'm capable of unheard of cruelties to those who incur my displeasure.
I may even bring Miss Challoner in to call again."
Markham, protesting, followed them to the door.
"Au revoir, Monsieur," said the Countess.
Markham bowed in the general direction of the shadow in the hallway
into which Miss Challoner had vanished and then turned back and took
up his palette and brushes.
CHAPTER III
THE INEFFECTUAL AUNT
The two women had hardly reached the limousine before the vials of
Hermia's wrath were opened.
"What a dreadful person! Olga, how could you have stood him all the
while he painted you?"
"We made out very nicely, thank you."
"Hilda was right. He is a gorilla. Do you know he never even offered
me a chair?"
"I suppose he thought you'd have sense enough to sit down if you
wanted to."
"O Olga, don't quibble. He's impossible."

The Countess shrugged.
"It's a matter of taste."
"Taste! One doesn't want to be affronted. Is he like this to every one?"
"No. That's just the point. He isn't. I think, Hermia, dear," and she
laughed, "that he didn't like you."
"Me! Why not?"
"He doesn't like Bath-buns. He once told me so. Besides, I don't think
he's altogether in sympathy with the things you typify."
"How does he know what I typify--when I don't know myself? I don't
typify anything."
"Oh, yes, you do, to a man like Markham. From the eyrie where his
soul is wont to sit, John Markham has a fine perspective on life--yours
and mine. But I imagine that you make the more conspicuous silhouette.
To him you represent 'the New York Idea'--only more so. Besides that
you're a vellum edition of the Feminist Movement with suffrage
expurgated. In other words, darling, to a lonely and somewhat morbid
philosopher like Markham you're a horrible example of what may
become of a female person of liberal views who has had the world
suddenly laid in her lap; the spoiled child launched into the full
possession of a fabulous fortune with no ambition more