M. Vandeloup shrugged his shoulders.
‘My faith!’ he murmured, as they entered
the fernery; ’this comedy is becoming monotonous.’
IN THE FERNERY
The fernery was a huge glass building on one side
of the ballroom, filled with Australian and New Zealand
ferns, and having a large fountain in the centre sending
up a sparkling jet of water, which fell into the shallow
stone basin filled with water lilies and their pure
white flowers. At the end was a mimic representation
of a mountain torrent, with real water tumbling down
real rocks, and here and there in the crannies and
crevices grew delicate little ferns, while overhead
towered the great fronds of the tree ferns. The
roof was a dense mass of greenery, and wire baskets
filled with sinuous creepers hung down, with their
contents straggling over. Electric lights in
green globes were skilfully hidden all round, and a
faint aquamarine twilight permeated the whole place,
and made it look like a mermaid’s grotto in
the depths of the sea. Here and there were delightful
nooks, with well-cushioned seats, many of which were
occupied by pretty girls and their attendant cavaliers.
On one side of the fernery a wide door opened on to
a low terrace, from whence steps went down to the
lawn, and beyond was the dark fringe of trees wherein
Pierre was concealed.
Kitty and Vandeloup found a very comfortable nook
just opposite the door, and they could see the white
gleam of the terrace in the luminous starlight.
Every now and then a couple would pass, black silhouettes
against the clear sky, and around they could hear the
murmur of voices and the musical tinkling of the fountain,
while the melancholy music of the valse, with its
haunting refrain, sounded through the pale green twilight.
Barty Jarper was talking near them, in his mild little
way, to a tall young lady in a bilious-looking green
dress, and further off Mr Bellthorp was laughing with
Mrs Riller behind the friendly shelter of her fan.
‘Well,’ said Vandeloup, amiably, as he
sank into a seat beside Kitty, ‘what is this
great matter you wish to speak about?’
‘Madame Midas,’ retorted Kitty, looking
straight at him.
‘Such a delightful subject,’ murmured
Gaston, closing his eyes, as he guessed what was coming;
‘go on, I’m all attention.’
‘You are going to marry her,’ said Miss
Marchurst, bending towards him and closing her fan
with a snap.
Vandeloup smiled faintly.
‘You don’t say so?’ he murmured,
opening his eyes and looking at her lazily; ’who
told you this news—for news it is to me,
I assure you?’
‘Then it’s not true?’ added Kitty,
eagerly, with a kind of gasp.
‘I’m sure I don’t know,’ he
replied, indolently fingering his moustache; ‘I
haven’t asked her yet.’
‘You are not going to do so?’ she said,
rapidly, with a flush on her face.
