Chapter XIII: The Night of the Ball

"Yes, Hugh," Barbara said, as the last strains of the Merry Widow waltz died away, "I should like to rest here a minute." Barbara sank down on the low, rose-colored divan shaded by magnificent palms in Mrs. Erwin's conservatory. "I would love an ice, too," she added.

It was the night of Mrs. Erwin's famous white and gold ball, long remembered in the history of splendid entertainments in Newport.

Barbara truly wanted a minute to think. She had come to the ball under Miss Sallie's excellent chaperonage, early in the evening, and had been dancing hard ever since. The little girl from Kingsbridge, who had never before seen anything finer than a village entertainment, felt almost overcome by the splendor and magnificence of everything about her.

Mrs. Erwin's ballroom was built out from the side of her handsome villa like a Greek portico. The conservatory joined it at one end, forming an inner triangular court. This court was filled with rare trees which threw their branches out over a miniature artificial lake. The guests could pass from the ballroom into this open garden, or they could enter it through the conservatory.

The walls of the wonderful ballroom were covered with a white silk brocade, and on this night Mrs. Erwin had allowed only yellow flowers to be used as decorations. Great bowls of yellow roses perfumed the air, and golden orchids looked like troops of butterflies just poising before they took flight.

"Now I know," said Mollie, with a catch in her breath, as she first came into the magnificent ballroom, "what King Midas's garden must have looked like, when he went round and caressed all the flowers in it with the golden touch."

"Clever Mollie!" laughed Ruth. "I expect it is the golden touch that has been round this ballroom, or the touch of golden dollars, anyway."

Mollie blushed. "I didn't mean that," she said.

Barbara leaned her head against the rose-colored cushion, just the color of the jeweled spray in her hair; she was wearing the coral jewelry her mother had given her. Fortunately the two girls had saved their best party dresses for this ball, having been content to wear their summer muslins at the informal dances at the Casino.

Barbara, in her dainty pink flowered organdie, with her cheeks flushed to match it in color, resembled a lovely wild rose.

Curiously enough, amid all this elegance, Bab felt a little homesick. She kept thinking of her mother and the little cottage.

"It's a wonderful experience for Mollie and me," she said to herself. "I hope I can tell mother exactly what it looks like. I am sure fairyland can't be half so gorgeous; fairies wear only dewdrops for jewels; but here, I believe, there must be nearly all the jewels in the world."

Barbara did not know how big the world really is, nor how many people and jewels, both real and paste, there are in it. After all, artificial people are no better than paste jewels!

Earlier in the evening Mollie and Barbara had stood with their hands tight together, watching the men and women enter the great reception room to speak to their host and hostess.

"Diamonds," whispered Mollie to Bab, "seem as plentiful as the strawberries we gathered for the hotel people this summer. We didn't dream, then, that we were coming to Newport! Isn't my Mrs. Cartwright the most beautiful of them all?" wound up the loyal child.

Mrs. Cartwright wore a white satin gown, with a diamond star in the tulle of her bodice. In her hair was a spray of diamonds, mounted to look like a single stalk of lilies of the valley, each jewel hanging from the slender stem like a tiny floweret.

The conservatory was almost empty while Bab rested and waited.

During the intermission in the dance nearly all the guests had wandered into the dining-room or into the moonlit garden.

Barbara realized that she was almost completely hidden by the great palm trees that formed an arch over her head and drooped their long arms down over her. She had crept into this seat in order that she might see without being seen.

Yet in spite of the quiet, Barbara was not resting. Her heart was beating fast with the excitement of this wonderful evening, and her tiny feet in the pink silk slippers still kept time to the last waltz she had danced with Hugh.

The conservatory door, leading into the garden, was open. Barbara saw Mrs. Post, Governor Post, Harry Townsend and a woman in a gold-colored brocade enter the conservatory and stop to talk for a few minutes. They had not noticed Barbara nor did she feel it was quite proper to interrupt them, as she did not know the strange woman who was with them.

Governor Post bowed in military fashion to the ladies.

"Now," he said, "I'll go, and leave the young man to do the entertaining. We old fellows must make ourselves useful when our ornamental days are over. Mr. Townsend will look after you here, and I shall find a waiter and have him bring you something to eat."

Barbara saw Harry Townsend talking in his most impressive manner to the two women.

"It is curious," Bab thought, to herself, "what a society man Harry Townsend is. Gladys says he is only twenty-two. I wonder where he comes from. Nobody seems to know. Oh, yes; Gladys said he was educated in Paris. She met him on shipboard."

The little girl from her green bower was an interested watcher. It was fascinating to be able to see all that was going on, without being seen. Bab sat as quiet as a mouse, taking no part in the conversation.

Mrs. Post was a handsome woman of about fifty, who looked rather stern to the girls; but Hugh assured them that she was "dead easy," once you got on the right side of her. Her husband was a prominent lawyer in Washington, and their winters were usually spent in the capital.

Mrs. Post's gown was nearly covered by a long, light-colored chiffon wrap, with a high collar lined with a curious ornamental embroidery.

"Harry," she said, turning to the young man with her, "it is warm in here with these tropical plants; will you be kind enough to remove my wrap?"

The conservatory was dimly lighted. Barbara sat in the shadow. Between her and the party she was watching was a central row of flowers and evergreens, dividing the long room into two aisles.

She saw Harry rise and lean over Mrs. Post, who only half rose from her chair. Deftly and with wonderful ease and swiftness, Townsend undid the clasp at her throat; but, for a moment, the embroidery from the collar seemed to have caught in her hair.

Barbara's eyes grew wide and staring with surprise. As the coat slipped back from Mrs. Post's shoulders, she saw a string like a tiny green serpent glide with magic smoothness and swiftness from her throat, and drop into the shrubbery back of her, or--into Harry Townsend's hand?

What should she do? Announce that she had seen her string of emeralds disappear? Mrs. Post was talking and laughing gayly with her friend in the gold-colored dress. Harry was smiling quietly by them. Barbara rubbed her eyes. Surely she was mistaken. She had been dazzled by the wonderful sights she had seen that night. While she hesitated her opportunity passed.

Governor Post returned, saying to his wife: "Come, my dear, I have found Miss Stuart and a friend. They have a table out in the garden, and want us to join them."

Mrs. Post again drew her wrap over her shoulders and turned to leave the conservatory. As she rose she saw Barbara.

"You there, my child?" she said in a friendly way. "Why didn't you speak to me?"

Barbara could only answer her stupidly. "I was waiting for Hugh."

When Hugh returned he found Barbara looking as pale as though she had just seen a ghost.

"What's the matter?" he asked at once. "Are you ill?"

But Bab shook her head. "I'll go find Miss Stuart," the young man suggested.

"You'll do no such thing, Hugh!" Barbara had recovered her breath. "There's nothing much the matter with me--at least, I am not sure whether I ought to tell you."

"Bab and Hugh! Well, I like this!" Grace's voice sounded from the doorway, as she and Donald Cartwright came in, followed by Ruth and Ralph. "Here you two have run away by yourselves, when we promised to stick together this evening, in order to keep up each other's courage. You ought to see Gladys! She's as angry as can he, and is wandering round with Mollie and the freshman. Harry has been gone somewhere for a long time, and she has no partner for the next dance."

"Are you sick, Bab?" inquired Ruth. She, too, noticed that Bab was unusually pale. Before she received an answer, Governor and Mrs. Post came into the conservatory, followed by Harry Townsend, Miss Stuart and the woman in yellow.

"You are just the fellow I want to see, Hugh," said his father, so quietly that no one except those near him could hear. "Your mother has lost her emerald necklace, and she thought she had it on when she was last in here. We don't want to create any excitement, or to let Mrs. Erwin or the servants know until we have made a thorough search. She very probably dropped it among these flowers. Lock the door out there, will you? Miss Carter, you and Donald, please keep guard at the other door while these young people help me look."

"I thought----" said Barbara.

"Why, you were in here, child, when we were. You were on the other side of these evergreens," said Mrs. Post. "What did you say?"

"I thought it might be in these evergreens," Barbara finished, lamely, getting down on her knees to assist in the search. Dared she speak of what she thought she had seen? Dared she speak with no evidence but her own word? Could she have been in error? First, she would look with the others.

Every palm, every flower, every inch of space was carefully gone over. No sign of the missing emeralds!

"Did anyone enter the conservatory after I left, Miss Thurston?" inquired Mrs. Post coldly. She was worried by the loss of her jewels, which were of great value, as well as annoyed by the excitement she was causing.

"Nobody came in," Bab said, "only Hugh."

"I am exceedingly sorry," the governor said at last, "but Mrs. Erwin will have to be notified. The jewels were either lost or stolen, and must be found. If the servants find the necklace a liberal reward will induce them to return it."

The older people left the conservatory.

Just as the younger ones turned to leave, Barbara, whose strange expression had not escaped the sharp eyes of Ruth, laid her hand on Hugh's arm.

"Ask Harry Townsend to stay here a minute with us, won't you please, Hugh?" said Barbara hoarsely.

"Say, Townsend," Hugh called, "come back a moment. I want to speak to you. Or, rather, Miss Thurston does."

"Mr. Townsend," said Barbara, her face pale as death, "did you not see Mrs. Post's necklace when you took off her wrap in here?"

"No," said Harry quietly. "Did you?"

"Ask him, Hugh," said Barbara, desperately, "to show you what he has in his pockets!"

"Oh, say, Barbara!" Hugh answered. "I can't do that. It's a little too much."

But Ralph stepped forward. "We don't know what Miss Thurston means, but she most certainly doesn't mean to insult Mr. Townsend unnecessarily. Why, then, should he mind turning out his pockets? Here Hugh," Ralph turned, "search me first. Then Mr. Townsend won't object to the selfsame process."

Hugh's face was crimson, but he looked through Ralph's pockets in a gingerly fashion.

When he finished Harry Townsend turned quietly to Barbara. "I don't know why you wish to insult me," he said to her, "but I am perfectly willing to have Mr. Post search me. You were the only person in the conservatory after the jewels were lost!"

Hugh started his search.

Barbara leaned sick and faint against her chair, expecting every moment to see Hugh draw the jewels forth. She kept her eyes averted while Harry turned his pockets wrong side out and finally opened his vest.

"Barbara," said Hugh, coldly, and Bab turned around. "We owe Mr. Townsend an apology. He is certainly no thief!"

The jewels were nowhere to be found.