Winnie Childs | Page 6

could have spurned, despite their scattered effect.
"The white dress, moddam?" (It thrills a flapper to be called "moddam.")
"It is one of the latest designs and considered perfect for a débutante.
No doubt you know it is Mme. Nadine's custom to name her
inspirations. Come here, if you please, Miss Child! This is 'First Love.'"
"Looks like it," remarked Lord Raygan, as Miss Child obeyed. He
might have meant the wearer or the dress. Peter Rolls flashed a gimlet
glance his way to see which. He felt uncomfortably responsible for the
manners of the visitors and the feelings of the visited. But the face of
Rags was grave, and no offence could be taken. Peter Rolls withdrew
the glance, though not before Winifred Child had it intercepted and
interpreted.

"I believe he's a nice fellow," was the thought that slid through her
mind as, like a chicken on a spit, she turned and turned to let Lady
Eileen behold "First Love" from every point of view.
"Rippin', but a foot too tall for you," said Rags, more because it amused
him to prolong the scene than through a real desire to criticise. "You
don't go in for bein' a sylph."
Another backhanded compliment for the wearer, if she cared to accept
it; but she was beautifully unconscious and, for once, not laughing. Her
eyes looked miles away. Peter Rolls wondered to what land she had
gone.
The girl appeared to be gazing over his head; but, as a matter of fact,
she could see him perfectly. He had black hair and blue eyes, shrewd
perhaps, yet they might be kind and merry; just now they looked
worried. She thought him not handsome, but tanned and thin (she
detested fat men) and somehow nice. Win wondered if she were taller
than he. She hated being taller than men, though she owed her present
engagement to her height and length of limb.
Miss Devereux respectfully argued that appearances were deceitful.
Moddam was quite as sylphlike as the model. Might the dress be sent to
moddam's cabin to try? Then it came out that moddam was Lady Eileen
O'Neill, and the four tallest dryads visibly brightened, not so much for
the owner of the name as for her brother.
Their dull days had been dimly lightened by gossip on the ship, brought
to them by a stewardess from Lord Raygan's native isle, who knew all
about him: that he was an earl, that with his mother and sister he had
booked from Liverpool to Queenstown, but, owing to the ferocity of
the sea, had been unable to land and was being carried to America.
Also that a rich young American and his sister had given up their suite
to the ladies. This American was said to be of no birth, the son of some
big shopkeeper, and far, far outside even the fringe of the Four
Hundred; therefore the tallest dryads did their best eyelash work for
Lord Raygan. They were born British, hailing from Brixton or other
suburban health resorts, and now they knew he was a "lord" the

nickname of "Rags," which had sickened them at first, seemed
interesting and intimate as a domestic anecdote about royalty.
Rags consented to buy the dress for his sister if it fitted and didn't cost a
million pounds. The dryads thought this adorably generous, for the
stewardess, who knew all about Lord Raygan, said that the "family had
become impoverished; they were not what they had once been except in
name, which was of the best and oldest in Ireland." Stewardesses can
tell all the things that Marconi does not mention.
When the sale was settled Miss Devereux turned to Peter Rolls. "And
you, sir?" she asked, slightly coquettish because he was a man, though
not of the Four Hundred. "I suppose there's nothing we can do for
you?"
"I suppose not," Peter was echoing, when something occurred to him.
"Unless," he amended, "my sister would like to buy a dress. She's on
board."
"Would she care to look at Mme. Nadine's designs?" suggested Miss
Devereux. "We have wardrobes full of marvellous inspirations."
"The trouble is, she feels queer if she walks around much," said Peter.
"Perhaps she would trust you to pick out something she might see in
her own room? Is she tall or short?"
"Not so tall as any of you."
"Things which would fit this young lady would be the best, then. Miss
Child, Miss Vedrine will help you out of 'First Love' behind the screen
and put you into the 'Young Moon.' What"--sotto voce--"are you
laughing at this time?"
"Nothing," said the smallest dryad meekly, though she gurgled under
her breath.
"We'd better go now, and I'll come back," hastily suggested Peter.

"Don't bother to change behind the screen for us,