XXXVI
Gwynne returned to Lumalitas on the following day and Isabel moved downto Mrs. Hofer's. This had seemed a rather superfluous proceeding to MissOtis, but Mrs. Hofer would take no denial, and lodged her guest in asuite the luxury of which at first delighted and then stifled her. Sheliked splendor and luxury in the abstract, but some lingering shade ofPuritanism in her resented the enthralment of the higher faculties. Herrooms were upholstered with satin from floor to ceiling, thetoilet-table was bedecked with gold, and the furniture had been made forsome favorite of Napoleon during the First Empire. Isabel was haunted bya vague sense of impropriety, which she ridiculed but could not stifle.
And for the first time in her life she became weary of flowers. When shearrived there was an abundance of the more costly in her boudoir--thosethat were raised in hot-houses that the rich might not be balked intheir laudable desire to spend--and before the week was over, her rooms,as she wrote to Gwynne--chuckling on his veranda--looked like aflorist's shop and smelt like a funeral. Everybody she met, and severalthat she did not, sent her the floral tribute. The bell rang every hour.When the imperturbable footman finally appeared with a box that lookedlike a child's coffin, Isabel told him pettishly to throw it into theback yard. All Americans send flowers to a pretty girl as a matter ofcourse, but the San Franciscan indulges in an avalanche where his moreeconomical Eastern brother is content with good measure, pressed down,but not running over.
But the offerings were by no means confined to the young men that Isabelmet at the functions of the week. "Old friends of the family" wereinterested to welcome to their midst the beautiful daughter (albeitsomewhat eccentric) of Jim Otis and Mary Belmont. Enthusiastic maidens,and others--anxious to proclaim their delight in this sudden invasion oftheir preserves--sent roses with stems four feet long and chrysanthemumsthat looked like painted cauliflowers. After a tea at the Presidio,given in the open square, and in honor of the descendant of its mosthistoric Commandante, Don Jose Argueello, that reclaimed precinct beingsingularly prolific in flowers, the offerings arrived on the followingday in an ambulance.
It was an energetic week. When Mrs. Hofer was not herself entertaining,she and her guest lunched and dined out daily, attended several teasevery afternoon, a _cotillon_, a skating masque, and five balls. Two ofthe luncheons were at Burlingame and Menlo Park, whence they motored asvaliantly as if the roads were European. How so much was crowded intoone short week Isabel never understood, but finally came to theconclusion that the rush at its worst was better than remaining for twoconsecutive waking hours in the Hofer mansion. Mrs. Hofer was alwaysamiable and charming, but she was overwhelming. Her energies demandedthe safety-valve of constant speech, and she was one of those Americanhostesses that hold that to neglect a guest is an unpardonable breach ofhospitality. She even gave up bridge for the week. Moreover, Isabel wasnot long discovering that she contributed her part towards thesustenance of that wondrous buoyancy, those eternal high spirits, thatglorious _joie de vivre_. The woman was an unconscious vampire. Men didnot feel it, and saw only her irresistible youth, but she squeezed womenas she did her morning sponge, and had no real intimates; although few,herself least of all, understood the secret. If she had liked Isabelless, it would have been more endurable, but she had never liked any onemore, to say nothing of the fact that she was determined to give her"the time of her life." She descended upon her helpless guest with arush of silken skirts--that sounded like wings--and a torrent of brightchatter, during every unoccupied hour or moment. Isabel's onlyexperience of hospitality heretofore had been in England, where a guestmight die and be resurrected between the formal hours of reunion and thehostess be none the wiser. It had never occurred to her that visitingmight become hard labor, and as she had met few people whom she hadliked as spontaneously as Ada Hofer, she had come to her without amisgiving. But she was soon hiding behind the curtains of the big roomsdown-stairs, and, upon one memorable occasion, took refuge under thelibrary table, while the sweet rapid voice of the hostess clarionedthroughout the house. She was drawn guiltily forth by a deep chucklefrom the arm-chair in the window. Mr. Toole regarded her with a twinklein his bright old eyes, and no resentment.
"I won't tell on ye," he said. "I feel like it meself, at times. Ada's agood child, as good as a born egoist can be, but--well--we are not allmade on the same plan. And this life don't suit you. You're a dreamer. Iknow one when I see one, for I've that side to meself, and now thatlife is easy it's most the only side I've got left. Sit down in thatcorner behind the bookcase and I'll read to you from one of the oldpoets, Byron, belike. If Ada finds us, I'll send her kiting. She didn'tbring me up."
When Isabel, in the solitude of her bed, found time to think, sheconcluded that if she could eliminate all men from her week except Mr.Hofer and those of his particular set, she might still enjoy herself.The San Francisco society youth has always been a failure. Except inrare instances he has not been outside his native State, has readnothing, and is casual of manner. Although more young men of the favoredclass attend the home universities than formerly, the students thatderive the full benefit of these institutions are rarely those thatintend to make a business of dancing, and calling on Sunday afternoons.It is yet too soon to weld cultivation with leisure, and, for the matterof that, most of the society youth have their living to make, combiningbusiness and fashion with a moderate success. Like Wellington's puppies,they have proved themselves of sound metal when put to the crucial test,but as an intellectual diversion they might as well be mechanical toys.The leader has not yet arisen that can permanently combine the older andyounger sets. They mingle at great functions, but the dancing setmonopolizes the season's stage.
Of this set Mrs. Hofer was an enthusiastic member, and even at dinnerrarely entertained any other. Occasionally, and once during Isabel'svisit, she invited some friends of her husband, who never went toparties, and often entertained when his wife was elsewhere; but thesemen did as much talking as listening, and that was no part of Mrs.Hofer's system. Isabel had flashing vistas of small groups of men andwomen, distinguished socially as well as mentally, that entertained eachother, or met at a new club through which Mrs. Hofer whisked her onenight,--a club where the best of Bohemia met the more intellectualmembers of society; and she knew that in these groups she might findalso the higher class business and professional men, and a few ofleisure that enjoyed life without either dancing or drinking. But Mrs.Hofer, although far too well satisfied with life and herself to be asnob, loved brilliancy, splendor, constant excitement, dancing, chatter;and only her chosen set could provide the banquet. She could dance everynight from ten until two, and awaken in mid-morning as fresh as a rose.She had the wardrobe of the storied princess, and her guests and friendsmust contribute their share to the brilliancy of all gatherings. Shedetested shabbiness; it was the only thing that depressed her spirits.Proud as she was of her husband, his aims, and his position in thecommunity, his friends and their themes frankly bored her. She likedtalk, not conversation. She really loved him, however, and was far tooclever to let him feel neglected. He was inordinately proud of her, andgrateful that she permitted him to give his time to his own interests,instead of dragging him about to groan against the wall. She had herlittle crosses and disappointments, for she had many servants anddressmakers; but, on the whole, Isabel had never seen any one sopersistently happy, nor with more reason. Even her three children wereas sturdy as young calves, and although they yelled like demons for anhour every morning--reawaking to the sense of a vague something lifestill denied them, and infuriated at the thought--Mrs. Hofer merelyturned over on her pillow with an indulgent smile. It never occurred toher that the rest of the household might be less indulgent; and thenursery above Isabel's room was not the least of the causes thatcontributed to a frantic longing for the thirty-first of December.