Sleeping Fires: A Novel | Page 4

no better. She was tall and
supple and self-possessed. She was exquisitely dressed in dark blue
velvet with a high collar of point lace tapering almost to her bust, and
revealing a long white throat clasped at the base by a string of pearls.
On her head, as proudly poised as Mrs. McLane's, was a blue velvet hat,
higher in the crown than the prevailing fashion, rolled up on one side
and trimmed only with a drooping gray feather. And her figure, her
face, her profile! The young men crowded forward more swiftly than
the still almost paralyzed women. She was no more than twenty. Her
skin was as white as the San Francisco fogs, her lips were scarlet, her
cheeks pink, her hair and eyes a bright golden brown. Her features were
delicate and regular, the mouth not too small, curved and sensitive; her

refinement was almost excessive. Oh, she was "high-toned," no doubt
of that! As she moved forward and stood in front of Mrs. McLane, or
acknowledged introductions to those that stood near, the women gave
another gasp, this time of consternation. She wore neither hoop-skirt
nor crinoline. Could it be that the most elegant fashion ever invented
had been discarded by Paris? Or was this lovely creature of surpassing
elegance, a law unto herself?
Her skirt was full but straight and did not disguise the lines of her
graceful figure; above her small waist it fitted as closely as a riding
habit. She was even more becomingly dressed than any woman in the
room. Mrs. Abbott, who was given to primitive sounds, snorted. Maria
Ballinger, whose finely developed figure might as well have been the
trunk of a tree, sniffed. Her sister Sally almost danced with excitement,
and even Miss Hathaway straightened her fichu. Mrs. Ballinger, who
had been the belle of Richmond and was still adjudged the handsomest
woman in San Francisco, lifted the eyebrows to which sonnets had
been written with an air of haughty resignation; but made up her mind
to abate her scorn of the North and order her gowns from New York
hereafter.
But the San Franciscans on the whole were an amiable people and they
were sometimes conscious of their isolation; in a few moments they felt
a pleasant titillation of the nerves, as if the great world they might
never see again had sent them one of her most precious gifts.
They all met her in the course of the afternoon. She was sweet and
gracious, but although there was not a hint of embarrassment she made
no attempt to shine, and they liked her the better for that. The young
men soon discovered they could make no impression on this lovely
importation, for her eyes strayed constantly to her husband; until he
disappeared in search of cronies, whiskey, and a cigar: then she looked
depressed for a moment, but gave a still closer attention to the women
about her.
In love with her husband but a woman-of-the-world. Manners as fine as
Mrs. McLane's, but too aloof and sensitive to care for leadership. She
had made the grand tour in Europe, they discovered, and enjoyed a

season in Washington. She should continue to live at the Occidental
Hotel as her husband would be out so much at night and she was rather
timid. And she was bright, unaffected, responsive. Could anything be
more reassuring? There was nothing to be apprehended by the socially
ambitious, the proud housewives, or those prudent dames whose
amours were conducted with such secrecy that they might too easily be
supplanted by a predatory coquette. The girls drew little unconscious
sighs of relief. Sally Ballinger vowed she would become her intimate
friend, Sibyl Geary that she would copy her gowns. Mrs. Abbott
succumbed. In short they all took her to their hearts. She was one of
them from that time forth and the reign of crinoline was over.

III
The Talbots remained to supper and arrived at the Occidental Hotel at
the dissipated hour of half past nine. As they entered their suite the
bride took her sweeping skirts in either hand and executed a pas seul
down the long parlor.
"I was a success!" she cried. "You were proud of me. I could see it.
And even at the table, although I talked nearly all the time to Mr.
McLane, I never mentioned a book."
She danced over and threw her arms about his neck. "Say you were
proud of me. I'd love to hear it."
He gave her a bear-like hug. "Of course. You are the prettiest and the
most animated woman in San Francisco, and that's saying a good deal.
And I've given them all a mighty surprise."
"I believe that is the longest compliment you ever paid me--and
because I made a