“The green one,” Barbara said quickly.
“Yas’m. I laks dat one too.”
Barbara unfastened the domino and tossed it into the center of the room. It was an incongruous note in the fastidious boudoir. Mardi Gras seemed far away. Yet, inexplicably, the madness of Mardi Gras was the keynote of the bizarre situation.
It had touched her deeply, Barbara reflected. Changed her. Twisted her ideas and her ideals. Changed her character, her personality, her very being. Turned the course of her life from a serene future to a turbulent uncertainty.
She wondered how many others had been so dominated and changed by the festival. Robert, of course, and Hattie. Her mind dwelt upon them broodingly as she stood erect and slipped off the tight costume. Julia had gone out and closed the door softly behind her. The green boudoir was a miraculous sanctuary.
She stood before the triple mirrors and peered curiously at her nude body. White, slim, virginal. Chastely beautiful. She studied the phrases mockingly. Her body was the same. Remembered curves, straight, clean limbs.
She clasped her arms behind her head and turned lazily to study her profile over a smooth shoulder. Her breasts were thrown out and upward. Proudly. Expectantly. A little quiver passed over her young body and something flamed in her eyes as she studied the firm ovals which lifted from her body as though straining to be away. Ovals of alabaster, flame-tipped and vibrant.
She closed her eyes and shuddered as she felt, once more, Frank’s moist lips as they had seared her white body the preceding night.
Then she sternly pressed such fancies away and hurried to the bathroom. It was exquisite, with sunken tub and softly gleaming marble. She sighed and relaxed in the tantalizing warmth of the fragrant water.
Later she stood before the rack of beautiful garments to choose something to wear in the garden. The nightgowns and negligees were entrancing, but she put them aside with a little smile. She considered, flashingly, what other girls had stood thus and made a selection to please Frank’s sybaritic fancies.
But she put the thought away as displeasing and of little moment. What mattered the past?
She selected a suit of lounging pajamas of sheer silk. A two-piece ensemble of lovely green and burnt umber. She gasped doubtfully as she studied the effect in the mirrors. The garments flowed about her voluptuously and revealingly. The exquisite silk clung to her flesh, and each time she moved the perfection of her figure was wholly revealed. The loose blouse was so designed that the clinging stuff was molded about her breasts as though in passionate embrace.
But she lifted her head proudly as she turned from the mirrors and passed from the room. Why not? Why should she blush to make evident her charms? Had she not come with Frank for this? She had not come with shame, nor with downcast head. She had come willingly... freely. He understood that. Then why shrink from displaying herself to him?
So her lips smiled and her chin was tilted when she met him in the drawing room. He stepped forward with an answering smile of delight and took her hand in his.
“You are a vision of loveliness,” he said shakily. “Almost I fear to take you into the garden lest the flowers hang their heads in shame.”
“You’re a sinful flatterer,” Barbara laughed.
Frank had changed to fresh flannels and a white sport shirt, open at the throat and sleeveless. He looked youthful and vigorous.
“We’ll have to defy the flowers,” he said quietly, linking his arm in hers. “Come.” He led her toward French windows which opened on the garden.
“Oh! How lovely,” Barbara gasped ecstatically.
A high wall of stone and mortar surrounded the garden. Purple bougainvallaea had been trained to cover the wall, and was a mass of exotic blossoming. Narrow shell paths were a delicate tracery among riotously informal flower beds. An oval pool in the center sheltered lily pads and blooming water hyacinths.
A marble nymph in the center of the pool assumed an attitude of nonchalant ease while a thin spray misted down from the ruby nipple of each golden breast. Linden trees were picturesquely spaced to provide wide areas of shade.
“Luncheon is served in the rose arbor,” Frank told her as she gazed about with parted lips. “I’ve arranged for a mocking bird symphony... and methinks I hear Jake setting out the chilled consommé. He’ll be over here after us if we don’t hurry.”
“It’s like fairyland,” Barbara exclaimed.
Frank looked down upon her head with a weary smile. “It’s been waiting for years for you to come along and appreciate it.”
“I’m sure it’s been well appreciated before I came along,” Barbara said lightly.
A round table was set for two in the rose arbor. A damask cloth and gleaming silver. A grizzled Negro hovered about the table anxiously. Barbara smiled a greeting as she recognized him as the same who had greeted them at the door the preceding evening.
“Sit down before Jake knocks you down,” Frank said humorously. “He’s awfully cranky about serving lunch in the garden.”
Wild roses were blooming all over the trellis. Their fragrance hung heavily in the air, almost as a tangible essence. There was a gently cooling breeze which seemed to be wafted magically through the arbor. Barbara spoke of it as she found the consommé delightfully tasty.
“That’s one of my pet arrangements,” Frank told her proudly. “I’d have been dreadfully disappointed had you not noticed it. There’s a big electric fan in the cellar with concealed pipes which circulates cool air through the arbor all the time.”
“You seem to have thought of everything,” Barbara murmured.
“I’ve tried to,” he told her quietly. “Perhaps I’m a voluptuary. At least I have very definite ideas concerning the proper introduction to love.”
“Love?” Barbara spoke the word with raised eyebrows.
“You caught me,” Frank admitted. His lips twisted into bitterness for a moment. “I used the word at its accepted valuation,” he said slowly. “I have found that women are likely to condone anything they would otherwise consider shameful if they can be allowed to call love the motivation.”
“But... do you recall our first talk together... on the shore of the lake?” Barbara’s voice was brave and full.
“I’ll never forget... the one time when I was foolish enough to speak what I believed the truth.”
“Foolish?”
“Wasn’t it? I think it’s always foolish to talk logic to a woman. They don’t want logic. It frightens them.”
“Do I look frightened?” Barbara looked at him composedly.
“You will be if I tell you I don’t love you... don’t intend to love you... don’t want to love you... in short, if I admit I don’t know a damned thing about love.” The words fell brutally from Frank’s lips.
“Try me.” Barbara leaned across the table and looked intently at him.
Frank studied her face for a moment without replying. Jake deftly removed the consommé cups and placed iced melons before them.
“I almost dare to,” he said slowly.
“Isn’t Mardi Gras... a time for spiritual enlightenment?”
“Mardi Gras is a time for anything,” he replied somberly.
“But isn’t there more to Mardi Gras than just this insanity I’ve seen? There must be some deeper significance. I’ve a feeling that we all are sitting atop a world which may explode at any moment. What... what gives me that feeling?”
“That’s what Mardi Gras is, of course,” Frank said slowly. “A grand gesture of farewell to the fleshly pleasures in preparation for spiritual fruition.”
“Tell me about Mardi Gras,” Barbara begged eagerly. “I’m so woefully ignorant. Exactly what does it mean? I’ve been hearing about it all my life in connection with frolicking and fun. Isn’t there something more?”