Then Ethel withdrew her hand and patted Barbara’s arm with trembling fingers.
“Funny,” she muttered. “I’ve always wondered what there was to it. And I want to try everything before I die.”
Barbara tried to speak, but the words seemed to stick in her throat. She smiled pitiably as Ethel sat up to look down into her eyes.
“You poor kid,” Ethel murmured commiseratingly. “You certainly need a new slant on life. But I’m not going to start any funny business,” she went on determinedly. “It wouldn’t be right with you in the shape you’re in. Might distort your entire life.”
Barbara forced a smile to her lips. “I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about,” she forced herself to say. “But... is this Mardi Gras?”
“You’re on,” Ethel cried. “Let’s get out and see people and do things. We need to get a running start to-day so we can keep going to-morrow. Come on!” She threw the covers off the bed and leaped out. “I’ve got a costume for you,” she called over her shoulder as she ran from the room. “I’ll bring it in.”
She returned almost immediately, bearing a heavy dress of soft gray. “See?” She held it up for Barbara’s inspection. It had a very full, flounced skirt, and a tight bodice.
“It’s a Quaker costume,” she explained. “What a demure little Quaker maid you’ll make. I’ve got a bonnet and everything. Try it on.”
Barbara stood up and looked about for her underthings.
“No, no,” Ethel protested. “You mustn’t wear anything under it. That’d spoil everything. You want to feel devilish and look like a saint. That’s the whole idea.”
“It’s lovely,” Barbara said. She dropped the nightie to the floor and lifted up her arms to let Ethel slip the dress over her head.
“With a body like that it’s a shame ever to wear clothes,” Ethel told her. She smoothed the gown down and exclaimed over the perfect fit. “I wore it last year,” she said, “and I had mother take it up a little for you.”
“But... what are you going to wear?” Barbara cried. She studied her image in the mirror, and nodded in approval.
“Oh, I’ve a new one this year,” Ethel told her composedly. “I wouldn’t wear that one because the fellows all seemed to be afraid to start anything when I had it on.”
“And you... wanted them to start something?” Barbara asked.
“Of course, goose. What’s the fun of Mardi Gras if you don’t start at least two new affairs?” Ethel demanded. “Wait till you get your domino on,” she promised. “You’ll be a knockout. And don’t you dare put on any panties under it. The idea is to give the skirt a twirl every now and then... just to sort of advertise that you are not too remote,” she added laughingly.
“Just what is this?” Barbara protested, faintly shocked. “After all, I’m not trying to sell anything.”
“Maybe not,” Ethel told her. “But you’re getting into competition with plenty that are. Come on,” she added quickly, seizing Barbara’s hand. “Wear it down to breakfast and let mother see it. She’ll be tickled pink at the way it fits.”
Barbara followed her downstairs without protesting. Mrs. Brinkley was short and stout. She and Mr. Brinkley had both decided that they liked Barbara very much after meeting her the night before.
She advanced beamingly from the living room to meet them. “My, my,” she exclaimed, clasping her hands. “Why, it looks darling on you, child. Just as though you’d been poured into it!”
“Won’t she make a hit?” Ethel laughed. “If I can just get her to cultivate a provocative come-hither look in her eyes. And show mother how you’re going to twirl your skirt,” she chuckled.
Barbara blushed faintly as she protested, “Ethel! I’m not going to twirl my skirt. And I’m going to put my underclothes on before I go out in public.”
“Over my dead body,” Ethel said grimly. “Now that I’ve got you down here, I’m going to see that you don’t stagnate.”
“Oh, you girls!” Mrs. Brinkley shook her head in dismay. “Whatever is going to become of you, I declare I don’t know.”
“Don’t worry, mother.” Ethel blew her an airy kiss. “We can take care of ourselves. You’d better waste your pity on the male of the species during the next two days.”
“Well, get on with you.” Mrs. Brinkley’s asperity was belied by the twinkle in her eyes. “Cook’s fuming because you haven’t been in to breakfast yet. She’s been keeping the coffee hot for hours.”
“Doesn’t cook know it’s Mardi Gras?” Ethel asked lightly as she led the way to the dining room. “She’s probably got a hangover, and that’s the reason she’s griping,” she added darkly.
“Ethel!” Mrs. Brinkley followed the girls into the dining room and settled herself in a comfortable chair as a mulatto maid deftly served them.
“I bet she has,” Ethel insisted; “You know she swills gin every Mardi Gras.”
“Nothing I say seems to have any effect on her,” Mrs. Brinkley told Barbara sadly. “She says the most outrageous things without the slightest foundation of truth.”
Barbara smiled pleasantly at the interchange between Ethel and her mother. She could not help contrasting it with the routine table conversation at her home. She was sure her mother would simply piously fold her hands and die if she ever spoke to her as Ethel did to Mrs. Brinkley.
There were delicious hot cakes and fragrant sausages, but Barbara scarcely tasted them. Again and again her eyes strayed down to the front of the adorable costume Ethel had thoughtfully provided. A pleasurable thrill shot through her each time she noted the manner in which the tight-cut bodice showed off the perfection of her youthful figure. It seemed almost indecent... but she was fiercely glad the effect was so bold.
She wanted to be bold. Her heart was faint, but she knew a bold front would do much to give her strength for the experiences she was determined to find and grasp.
Abruptly she was conscious that Ethel and Mrs. Brinkley were speaking of their plans for the day. She focused her attention on Ethel and listened excitedly.
“We’ll probably just roam around most of the day,” Ethel told her mother airily. “Don’t look for us until you see us. The Krewe of Proteus gives its ball and pageant to-night,” she said, turning to Barbara. “I’ve got invitations if we can’t find anything better to do.”
“Well, you be careful,” Mrs. Brinkley sighed. “It just seems that no one has the slightest idea of the proprieties during Mardi Gras. It’s just all a mad whirl and scramble. Everybody wearing masks and strangers coming up to kiss you on the streets!” Her tone expressed hearty disapproval.
“A man kissed mother on the street three years ago,” Ethel told Barbara laughingly. “And she just lives on the streets during Mardi Gras... hoping it’ll happen again.”
“Oh, go on with you!” Mrs. Brinkley beamed. “I suppose you’ll be dragging in at midnight again,” she added resignedly as she arose.
“Don’t wait up for us,” Ethel called laughingly. “We may come in with the milkman.” Then she got up from the table also.
“You’re all through, aren’t you?” she asked. “Well, let’s get our masks and go out to see what we can see. There’s almost as much going on to-day as there will be to-morrow.”
Barbara ran with her to her room. Her heart was beating excitedly. She was in costume, and would soon don a mask. With that act she promised herself she would effectually cast off all her fears. Her old self would disappear utterly when she put on the domino which would hide her true face from the world.
Somehow, the mask became a symbol of everything she wanted Mardi Gras to give her. Mentally, she grasped her freedom as she donned it. For this day and the next she would live behind her mask.