And then we found it! It was a case of love at first sight. The unimaginative would have called it gray. The thoughtless would have pronounced it pink. It was neither, and both; a soft, rosily-gray mixture of the two, like the sky that one sometimes sees at winter twilight, the pink of the sunset veiled by the gray of the snow clouds. It was of a supple, shining cloth, simple in cut, graceful in lines.
“There! We’ve found it. Let’s pray that it will not require too much altering.”
But when it had been slipped over her head we groaned at the inadequacy of her old-fashioned stays. There followed a flying visit to the department where hips were whisked out of sight in a jiffy, and where lines miraculously took the place of curves. Then came the gown once more, over the new stays this time. The effect was magical. The Irish-crocheted saleswoman and I clasped hands and fell back in attitudes of admiration. Frau Nirlanger turned this way and that before the long mirror and chattered like a pleased child. Her adjectives grew into words of six syllables. She cooed over the soft-shining stuff in little broken exclamations in French and German.
Then came a straight and simple street suit of blue cloth, a lingerie gown of white, hats, shoes and even a couple of limp satin petticoats. The day was gone before we could finish.
I bullied them into promising the pinky-gray gown for the next afternoon.
“Sooch funs!” giggled Frau Nirlanger, “and how it makes one tired. So kind you were, to take this trouble for me. Me, I could never have warred with that Fraulein who served us—so haughty she was, nicht? But it is good again pretty clothes to have. Pretty gowns I lofe—you also, not?”
“Indeed I do lofe ‘em. But my money comes to me in a yellow pay envelope, and it is spent before it reaches me, as a rule. It doesn’t leave much of a margin for general recklessness.”
A tiny sigh came from Frau Nirlanger. “There will be little to give to Konrad this time. So much money they cost, those clothes! But Konrad, he will not care when he sees the so beautiful dresses, is it not so?”
“Care!” I cried with a great deal of bravado, although a tiny inner voice spake in doubt. “Certainly not. How could he?”
Next day the boxes came, and we smuggled them into my room. The unwrapping of the tissue paper folds was a ceremony. We reveled in the very crackle of it. I had scuttled home from the office as early as decency would permit, in order to have plenty of time for the dressing. It must be quite finished before Herr Nirlanger should arrive. Frau Nirlanger had purchased three tickets for the German theater, also as a surprise, and I was to accompany the happily surprised husband and the proud little wife of the new Amerikanische clothes.
I coaxed her to let me do things to her hair. Usually she wore a stiff and ugly coiffure that could only be described as a chignon. I do not recollect ever having seen a chignon, but I know that it must look like that. I was thankful for my Irish deftness of fingers as I stepped back to view the result of my labors. The new arrangement of the hair gave her features a new softness and dignity.
We came to the lacing of the stays, with their exaggerated length. “Aber!” exclaimed Frau Nirlanger, not daring to laugh because of the strange snugness. “Ach!” and again, Aber to laugh it is! ”
We had decided the prettiest of the new gowns must do honor to the occasion. “This shade is called ashes of roses,” I explained, as I slipped it over her head.
“Ashes of roses!” she echoed. “How pretty, yes? But a little sad too, is it not so? Like rosy hopes that have been withered. Ach, what a foolish talk! So, now you will fasten it please. A real trick it is to button such a dress—so sly they are, those fastenings.”
When all the sly fastenings were secure I stood at gaze.
“Nose is shiny,” I announced, searching in a drawer for chamois and powder.
Frau Nirlanger raised an objecting hand. “But Konrad does not approve of such things. He has said so. He has—”
“You tell your Konrad that a chamois skin isn’t half as objectionable as a shiny one. Come here and let me dust this over your nose and chin, while I breathe a prayer of thanks that I have no overzealous husband near to forbid me the use of a bit of powder. There! If I sez it mesilf as shouldn’t, yez ar-r-re a credit t’ me, me darlint.”
“You are satisfied. There is not one small thing awry? Ach, how we shall laugh at Konrad’s face.”
“Satisfied! I’d kiss you if I weren’t afraid that I should muss you up. You’re not the same woman. You look like a girl! And so pretty! Now skedaddle into your own rooms, but don’t you dare to sit down for a moment. I’m going down to get Frau Knapf before your husband arrives.”
“But is there then time?” inquired Frau Nirlanger. “He should be here now.”
“I’ll bring her up in a jiffy, just for one peep. She won’t know you! Her face will be a treat! Don’t touch your hair—it’s quite perfect. And f’r Jawn’s sake! Don’t twist around to look at yourself in the back or something will burst, I know it will. I’ll be back in a minute. Now run!”
The slender, graceful figure disappeared with a gay little laugh, and I flew downstairs for Frau Knapf. She was discovered with a spoon in one hand and a spluttering saucepan in the other. I detached her from them, clasped her big, capable red hands and dragged her up the stairs, explaining as I went.
“Now don’t fuss about that supper! Let ‘em wait. You must see her before Herr Nirlanger comes home. He’s due any minute. She looks like a girl. So young! And actually pretty! And her figure—divine! Funny what a difference a decent pair of corsets, and a gown, and some puffs will make, h’m?”
Frau Knapf was panting as I pulled her after me in swift eagerness. Between puffs she brought out exclamations of surprise and unbelief such as: “Unmoglich! (Puff! Puff!) Aber—wunderbar! (Puff! Puff!)
We stopped before Frau Nirlanger’s door. I struck a dramatic pose. “Prepare!” I cried grandly, and threw open the door with a bang.
Crouched against the wall at a far corner of the room was Frau Nirlanger. Her hands were clasped over her breast and her eyes were dilated as though she had been running. In the center of the room stood Konrad Nirlanger, and on his oogly face was the very oogliest look that I have ever seen on a man. He glanced at us as we stood transfixed in the doorway, and laughed a short, sneering laugh that was like a stinging blow on the cheek.
“So!” he said; and I would not have believed that men really said “So!” in that way outside of a melodrama. “So! You are in the little surprise, yes? You carry your meddling outside of your newspaper work, eh? I leave behind me an old wife in the morning and in the evening, presto! I find a young bride. Wonderful!— but wonderful!” He laughed an unmusical and mirthless laugh.
“But—don’t you like it?” I asked, like a simpleton.
Frau Nirlanger seemed to shrink before our very eyes, so that the pretty gown hung in limp folds about her.
I stared, fascinated, at Konrad Nirlanger’s cruel face with its little eyes that were too close together and its chin that curved in below the mouth and out again so grotesquely.
“Like it?” sneered Konrad Nirlanger. “For a young girl, yes. But how useless, this belated trousseau. What a waste of good money! For see, a young wife I do not want. Young women one can have in plenty, always. But I have an old woman married, and for an old woman the gowns need be few—eh, Frau Orme? And you too, Frau Knapf?”
Frau Knapf, crimson and staring, was dumb. There came a little shivering moan from the figure crouched in the corner, and Frau Nirlanger, her face queerly withered and ashen, crumpled slowly in a little heap on the floor and buried her shamed head in her arms.
Konrad Nirlanger turned to his wife, the black look on his face growing blacker.