The New-year, destined to be so crucial, came in cheerfully enough.
There was, to be sure, a trifle less ostentation in the public
celebrations, but the usual amount of champagne brought in the most
vital year in the history of the nation. The customary number of men,
warmed by that champagne, made reckless love to the women who happened
to be near them and forgot it by morning. And the women themselves
presented pictures of splendor of a peculiar gorgeousness.
The fact that almost coincident with the war there had come into
prominence an entirely new school of color formed one of the curious
contrasts of the period. Into a drab world there flamed strange and
bizarre theatrical effects, in scenery and costume. Some of it was
beautiful, most of it merely fantastic. But it was immediately reflected
in the clothing of fashionable women. Europe, which had originated it,
could use it but little; but great opulent America adopted it and made
it her own.
So, while the rest of the world was gray, America flamed, and Natalie
Spencer, spending her days between dressmakers and decorators, flamed
with the rest.
On New-year's Eve Clayton Spencer always preceded the annual ball of
the City Club, of which he was president, by a dinner to the board
of governors and their wives. It was his dinner. He, and not Natalie,
arranged the seating, ordered the flowers, and planned the menu. He took
considerable pride in it; he liked to think that it was both beautiful
and dignified. His father had been president before him, and he liked to
think that he was carrying on his father's custom with the punctilious
dignity that had so characterized him.
He was dressed early. Natalie had been closeted with Madeleine, her
maid, and a hair-dresser, for hours. As he went down-stairs he could
hear her voice raised in querulous protest about something.
When he went into the library Buckham was there stooping over the fire,
his austere old face serious and intent.
"Well, another year almost gone, Buckham!" he said.
"Yes, Mr. Spencer."
"It would be interesting to know what the New-year holds."
"I hope it will bring you peace and happiness, sir."
"Thank you."
And after Buckham had gone he thought that rather a curious New-year's
wish. Peace and happiness! Well, God knows he wanted both. A vague
comprehension of the understanding the upper servants of a household
acquire as to the inner life of the family stirred in him; how much they
knew and concealed under their impassive service.
When Natalie came down the staircase a few minutes later she was swathed
in her chinchilla evening wrap, and she watched his face, after her
custom when she expected to annoy him, with the furtive look that he had
grown to associate with some unpleasantness.