University of Virginia Library

36. CHAPTER XXXVI.
“HIGH JINKS.”

The sudden entrance of the Honorable Mr. Craven was a complete
surprise to the younger of the two ladies. The wily Mrs.
Anderson, who had fully expected her visiter, at that very hour,
put on, however, an admirable air of astonishment, which she did
not feel.

“Bless my soul, Mr. Craven, is it you? Oh, what a surprise!”

“A not unpleasant one, I trust,” answered the cavalier, gallantly
kissing the extended hand of the lady. Zulieme looked
up, and laughed merrily. She never once changed her position
on the floor, or sought to change it. Her surprise was not one
of consternation or annoyance. It really did not concern her a
jot that she should be caught, by a gay courtier, lying at length
along the floor, immersed in silks, satins, and garments of peculiar
cut and fashion, for which gentlemen vainly conjecture the names
and uses. There were cases of jewels open, displaying their
brave contents — thanks to the providence of Mrs. Anderson,
whose pretended curiosity had contrived to put on exhibition every
article of magnificence and value which Zulieme's trunks contained:
and she was rich.

As we have said, that ingenuous young creature never once
fancied any awkwardness in her situation; never had the least

misgivings of its propriety. Nor need we, at present, entertain
any misgivings about her.

Of the mere grace of her attitude we can confidently speak.
She lay like another Titania — the Titania of the opera-house,
perhaps, but still a Titania. She was grace itself, reclining on
luxury and ease; that is, on one elbow, amid a pile of silks, her
head lifted, her eyes looking up merrily at the sudden visiter;
while an enormous string of pearls, a yard or two in length, doubled
over her right hand, fell around her half-naked arm, beautifully
harmonizing with the exquisite skin, which was not too dark
to be left unenlivened by a warm current of healthy blood.

It must be admitted that, whether she was conscious of it or
not, the position of Zulieme was such as to leave exposed something
more of her ankles than is usually allowed to entreat the gaze
of discreet young gentlemen; and, still further to confess, the dear
little Mexican, taking advantage of the growing heat of the season
— had thrown off her stockings! Think of that, ladies! It was
the natural ankle that shone, white and bare as the arm, upon the
eager sight of our gallant, and fixed his eyes irresistibly, as if with
fascination. And it was not an ankle to be ashamed of. It was
still that of a Titania — exquisite, fairy-like, and worthy to win
the smiles of Oberon, even after the third month of wedlock.

Even thus, as natural and unsophisticated, did the Fairy Queen
rest, with naked feet and tolerably short petticoat — of green silk,
perhaps — beside that type of the universal genius, Master Nicholas
Bottom! Even thus did she expose to vulgar eyes those
charms which she could only learn to value properly herself when
Oberon had found a rival!

For a moment, the Honorable Keppel Craven was at fault.
Convention, at least in the simple world of Ashley river, was set
at defiance. Was it indifference that kept Zulieme from all show
of disquiet or concern — caught in such an attitude, and by a
stranger — caught in such a deshabille, and by a bold gallant of
the court of Charles II.? — and so caught, when Mrs. Perkins
Anderson well knew that he was to be there, and must have apprized
her guest of his coming? Thus did Craven query with
himself. And, if indifference, what did this indifference signify?
Either she regarded him too lightly to care what he saw or
thought — and that was provocation to his self-esteem, which

made him feel excessively wicked — or she was a damsel of considerable
experience — a very knowing and accommodating one —
and had grown rather obtuse in non-essentials!

This thought rendered him a few degrees more wicked in his
fancies.

Or the lady was willing to allure him, after an easy Mexican
fashion, to a conquest, in which she was prepared to yield, without
making the labor of victory a very exhausting one?

At that moment, he had no other theories of the situation than
these; and these were all huddled together in his thoughts; each
sufficiently provocative, and all encouraging his impudence —
which, as Mrs. Perkins Anderson had familiarly phrased it, was
that of the devil!

The result was that, even while addressing the señorita, in terms
of lavish and courtly compliment, he threw himself gallantly down
beside her on the floor, with a grace becoming the best stage Lothario;
his rapier so judiciously disposed as not to get between
his legs, and his descent made with such admirable balance as not
to derange his doublet.

The Honorable Mr. Craven had evidently practised in a school
which rendered much flexibility of body a highly-necessary accomplishment.

As he lay upon the floor, beside and fronting the fair beauty
of Panama, the picture was a fine one. Titania had her Oberon!
His figure was by no means too large for the Fairy King, who,
as a Saxon elf, had necessarily a good physique, even for a fairy.
And his costume was not inappropriate to the situation: a rich
doublet of purple satin, frilled with lace; gay small-clothes of a
light texture, purffled and flowered; with silk stockings of a delicate
flesh-color; a laced collar; and a steeple-crowned hat, with
feather — he was the macaroni of the era, and realized the object
of English satire, as found in the nursery-ballads of that very
time:—

As if taking his lesson from the stereotyped stage Hamlet, our
cavalier adroitly struck off his hat while falling; so that his long
locks floated free, and filled the chamber with the fine oleaginous
fragrance, then famous, as the “Delice de la Valliére.”

The performance was so cleverly done, that Mrs. Perkins Anderson
clapped her hands. Zulieme, too was delighted. It was
just such a feat as amused her childish fancy, and made her forget
everything else.

“Oh, the funny fellow!” she exclaimed, laughing immoderately,
and nowise discomfited.

“Funny fellow!” thought Keppel Craven; and he fancied there
was something irreverent in the speech, and ridiculous in the idea,
at a moment when he was practising the graces. But he smiled
through all his doubts.

“Really, Mr. Craven, you should have been an actor. It is
very certain that you are a gallant! Ah! I can fancy that you
have practised this action a thousand times, at the feet of duchesses
and ladies of honor.”

So the gracious Mrs. Perkins Anderson. She proceeded:—

“So much for your not rising, Zulieme. But I thank you. It
has enabled us to see what admirable courtiers England can send
forth.”

The laughter of Zulieme again answered her — an irrepressible
burst, which she did not seek to suppress. When she recovered
from the fit, she exclaimed:—

“Oh! do, Mr. Craven, do it over again! It was so very, very
funny!”

“Do it over!” he cried, aghast at the mere idea of the monstrous
effort involved in the exercise; and looked vacantly at the
speaker. Was she laughing at the absurdity of the thing? An
Englishman is peculiarly sensitive to ridicule. But his self-esteem
as quickly reassured him. The Honorable Keppel Craven could
not surely, by any possibility, do anything absurd! And, if he
doubted, the pleased, bright eyes, frank and joyous, of Zulieme,

satisfied him in a moment after. They had no irony in their
glance.

Suddenly, however, she discovered that he had taken his full
length upon some of her gayest silks. Her tone immediately
changed:—

“Get up, you great English elephant, before you ruin my
dresses! — He is on my brocade and satin, Charlotte — my most
beautiful gown! Get up, you great, awkward monster, before I
beat you!”

“Beat me! — Your gown!” he exclaimed, looking about him,
but not stirring, and curious in a survey of the treasures he endangered.

His movements were quite too slow for the impatient señorita,
who first threw her great Panama fan at his head, and then, darting
up, proceeded to heap on him a pile of the clothing so copiously
accumulated around her.

His head was, in a jiffy, enveloped in a monstrous shawl; and,
we are constrained to report, that one of the equivocal garments,
of white linen, was adroitly enough thrust over his neck.

This was too much, even for a younger son. He began now to
feel the ridiculous in his situation; and, with much more quickness
and dexterity than his usual languid address and manner
would warrant us to expect, he contrived to scramble to his feet,
and fling off his encumbrances, all of which he threw right and
left, with no scrupulous hand; his face emerging finally from the
envelopes, deeply empurpled by his desperate efforts, and by his
growing feeling of the ridiculous in the affair.

The laughter of the ladies was immoderate. Even Mrs. Perkins
Anderson, though perfectly conscious of what was due to the
dignity of a cavalier of the court of Charles, could not resist the
cachinating impulse; while Zulieme clapped her hands, held her
sides, danced, and made the echoes ring with her clear, free, childlike
outburst of delight.

But, as she stood confronting our cavalier, looking the very
imp of mischief, with her bright eyes flashing, though watery, and
her lips parted with her frantic merriment, she looked so provoking,
that the Honorable Keppel darted at her.

We must not venture on a metaphysical or psychological subject
so profound as to ask what were his purposes in the onslaught.

Something of pique, no doubt; something of humor;
for the silly fellow was not a mauvais sujêt. He was lively and
ridiculous, no doubt, but not a savage. But, whatever his purposes,
they failed. He shot, like a rocket, to the place where she
stood, but she was gone; vaulting, like a gazelle, at a single bound,
over a cane settee, and ensconcing herself behind it. Craven
eyed the leap, but did not dare to attempt it. She leered at and
defied him.

Then commenced a regular chase round settee, chairs, and tables,
until at length the honorable gentleman was compelled to
confess himself conquered; he yielded the victory, collapsing, like
an exhausted butterfly, upon the sofa.

But where was Mrs. Perkins Anderson? That amiable lady,
so soon as she beheld the game of “High Jinks” in full operation,
vanished. She felt herself de trop, and fled with a purpose and a
hope. She was, at all events, willing to afford the cavalier a sufcient
opportunity for play — or mischief.

But Keppel Craven did not catch and kiss the Mexican, as she
fancied he would; and the excellent hostess came back in season
to behold the issue: the cavalier exhausted with his unusual exertions,
and no doubt feeling very ridiculous; and Zulieme, neither
fatigued nor frightened, and as full of laugh as ever, standing
coolly apart, contemplating the exhausted swain, and quietly fanning
herself with the great leaves of the fan of Panama.

“I 'm done for, demme!” gasped the cavalier. “O thou nimblest
of all the elves, lend me thy palm-leaves ere I suffocate!”

“What is it you call me?” asked Zulieme.

“Elf, witch!—”

“Witch! That means something abominable, I know!” responded
our Mexican, while the fire flashed from her eyes.

“Abominable? no! It means something divine, delicious, and
most killing! A witch is a beautiful woman that wins hearts, and
laughs at her winnings; a tricksy creature that plays with poor
mortal affections — that conquers only to fling away; an angel
that comes to fill our brains with dreams of delightful promise,
only to mock them with denial! Ah! indeed, thou art a witch,
more potent than she of Endor. Thou knowest not what a spirit
thou hast called up from my soul.”

“Now, I know that you are insulting me, in spite of all your

fine speeches. For do n't I know that the witch of Endor was an
ugly old hag; and do n't I know that the witches were all to be
killed; and do n't I know that you Englishmen burnt 'em up?
And, after that, do you pretend that you are not calling me by
bad names? I have half a mind to knock you with the broomstick!”

“A regular witch-weapon, dear señorita. But, in sooth, let
me teach thee, most beautiful of all Mexican beauties, that, in the
divine language of poesy, witchcraft means the magical power of
beauty, the spell of an angelic excellence, throned in the eyes and
on the lips of a lovely woman, making her potent over devoted
hearts. And such is the power which, almost at a glance, the
divine charms of thy beauty hath exercised upon mine. I believe
thou art guilty of witchcraft; else it could never be that the eyes
which have never faltered before all the beauties of the royal
court of Charles, should be so humbled before thine. I am lost
in amaze at my own feebleness of soul! Once I was a conqueror.
I won the worship which I am now compelled to offer. O loveliest
Zulieme, beautiful Turk, let me make of thee a Christian,
indeed, by persuading thee to bestow mercy upon the poor captive
whom the fate of love hath delivered into thy hands!”

“There, again! you are calling me a Turk, as if I did n't know
that all the Turks are Jews and idolaters; and, besides, you say
you want to make me a Christian, as if I were not already a pure
Castilian Christian, while you English are nothing but heathens.
I tell you, if you talk so, I will have to knock you! I won't suffer
it.”

“O perversest of all Christian beauties! O most wilful of all
Castilian witches! didst thou know enough of the divine speech
of the poetry of Albion, thou wouldst know that the epithets I
give thee are all loving ones, most considerate of thy charms, thy
spells, thy divine loveliness, which lacks only in the Christian virtue
of mercy for him thou hast taken captive with thy bow and
spear!”

“Now, what nonsense are you talking, as if you had ever seen
me using bow and spear!”

“Alas! what mischief is in thy hands, when thou usest thy
weapons so ignorantly, not knowing that they are in thy very
grasp; for dost thou not know that the bow is the very beautiful

black arch above thine eyes, and that from the eyes the spear
issues which has pierced my heart to the core? and dost thou not
see that I am thy captive, since here I lie at thy feet, entreating
thee to take me to thy mercy?”

Here the speaker rather slided than descended from the settee,
taking an attitude for the occasion, and appearing the graceful
suppliant, making such tender eyes at the lady as to disarm any
hostility which her doubts of his language might have occasioned.

“Get up, you foolish fellow,” she answered, laughingly — not
at all displeased at the action — “get up, and do n't be so foolish.
You only fall down there because you think you do it so prettily.
But I can tell you I have seen other men who did it much better.”

“Cruel, that you should tell me this! So, you have had other
men at your feet!”

“Hundreds; and some quite as pretty little fellows as you.”

“Pretty! little!” cried the cavalier, starting to his feet with
sudden indignation. “Do you call me little, señorita?”

And he rose to his fullest proportions, a graceful, rather slender
person, of some five feet five. Not above the average of that
day in America, certainly — perhaps somewhat below it. In fact,
while no one could recognise the Honorable Mr. Craven as a
large person, still no one, without prejudice, would describe him
as a small one. He did not know, nor did Zulieme herself conjecture,
that she had tacitly adopted her own husband as the
becoming model for stature as well as manhood; and that such a
standard would distress the ambitious efforts of most of the courtiers
of the Charles II. circle.

“Do you call me little, señorita?” he repeated, approaching the
lady, and towering above her, arms a-kimbo, and head superbly
lifted.

“No, indeed; not when you come so close. You are big enough
to eat me up, and look as if you wanted to do it.”

She receded from him as he spoke, as if apprehending a renewal
of his pursuit. But he had not quite recovered from the
previous chase. He was content to use his tongue rather than
his feet.

“Devour you? Yes! I feel that I could. I have the appetite
for it!”

“O monster!”

“Yes: but it is with love that I would devour.”

“That would n't make it any more pleasant to me, I can tell
you.”

“Hear me, beautiful Castilian, while I ask a single question.”

“Well, what 's it?”

“Have you, amid all your rich possessions, by possibility, such
a thing as men call a heart?”

He advanced, and she again retreated, with the question.

“A heart, I say! You beauties are not so apt to believe in
the necessity of such a possession, even while you insist upon it.
Are you an exception to the common rule? Have you, beautiful
señorita, that vulgar essential of humanity — a human heart?”

“Me! a heart? Ha! ha! ha! What a stupid question! No,
indeed, no. Why, what do I want with a heart? What should
I do with it — or you? I do n't think it 's for either of us.”

“But, beautiful señorita, you mock, surely. A heart to a woman
— a young woman, especially — a beautiful woman, particularly
— an angel, a sylph, a fairy—”

He was approaching while he spoke, and she began to retreat,
especially as his hands were stretching toward her under the impulse
of his eloquence.

“Farther off!” said she. “Talk away, but do n't come a bit
closer. I do n't want another run, in this hot weather. And I 'm
sure you can 't stand it. You 'd faint, and then I might get
scared; and, anyhow, I do n't want to have the worry of fanning
you.”

“Faint! most probable!” muttered the cavalier, sotto voce;
the very thought making him begin to fan himself with his hands.
But he said, aloud:—

“But you would fan me, should I faint? You have heart
enough for that, surely.”

“I do n't know: I 'd be more like to run. Men have no right
to faint before women; they make such ugly faces.”

“Ugly faces!” he exclaimed, and again he made a show of
darting at her; but she was gone, with a single bound, over the
settee, which stood as an impassable wall between them. There
she laughed at him, and clapped her hands, and defied him. He
had looked with wonder at her display of muscle — and, we may
add, ankle — of which she had not thought.

“Really, señorita, you have wonderful powers of endurance —
rustic powers, it is true, but not the less wonderful. 'Pon my soul,
it is well sometimes to pass out of the customary world, if it be
only to observe what muscle is to be found in other regions. Ah,
Señorita Zulieme, were you as loving as you are light; as tender
as you are touching; with as much feeling as activity; as susceptible
as provocative — I could — eh! yes, I could—”

“Well, what?”

“Demme! I do n't know what; but — ah! I have it, beautiful
señorita — I could die for you.”

“And what good would that do me, I want to know?”

“Well, I could live for you, if you 'd suffer me.”

“Ah! that 's something more sensible. But, would you really
die, if I would n't suffer you to live for me?”

“Heaven only knows! It might be that Nature, which is singularly
tenacious of vitality, would enable me to struggle on, in a
seeming existence; but that would not be life. The bloom would
be gone from the rose, the glory from the sky; and one, you know,
might very well be dead after that.”

“Well, you talk very foolishly, I think; as if you had been all
your life in a house where the people had all agreed to say nothing
that needed any answer. I do n't think that your feelings
will ever be the death of you; and I do n't care at all for such
talk. What do you say, now — you have rested long enough —
what do you say for a bolero?”

“A bolero! Heavens! was ever such muscle in a woman?
After that chase? Señorita, I see you have a design upon my
life. You would, indeed, be the death of me. Dance a bolero!
For Heaven's sake, lend me your fan!”

She handed it to him, with a merry laughter. As she did so,
he caught desperately at her arm. But she was too quick for
him; and, in the merriment which she felt at his defeat, she forgot
the offence in his attempt.

“Ah, cruelest of all the Castilians!” he murmured, affectedly.
“There might be some hopes were you a Morescan, of browner
tinge.”

“What 's that you say?” sharply. “A Morescan? Jews,
again!”

“Oh, nothing! The Morescans were the houris of Granada;

beautiful creatures that came down from the stars, and brought
wine and odors for suffering mortals like myself.”

“Oh! you want something to drink, and something to smell?
Charlotte! Charlotte!”—calling pretty loudly — “here 's Mr. Craven
going to faint, and he wants some wine!”

“Great Heavens!” cried the cavalier, aghast, and now almost
ready to faint in earnest.

“Why, do n't you want some wine? do n't you feel like fainting?”

“Was ever such a — creature? So provokingly dull and
literal!”

This was all sotto voce.

Here, the accommodating Mrs. Perkins Anderson, hearing the
outcry, and taking for granted that she had afforded the parties
opportunity enough, timelily made her appearance; the servant
following soon after, with lunch — and punch — on an enormous
silver waiter.

It was with a sincere sense of relief that the Honorable Mr.
Craven welcomed the lady and the liquor. He ejaculated —

“Ah! thank you. I was quite thirsty. I was overcome!
This most piquant señorita has — a — a—”

And he quaffed a goblet of punch, as if to cool a fever, and
finish a period which lacked all natural terminus.

The scene was over; but not the interview. The excellent
Mrs. Anderson, when she reappeared, did so in full morning costume.
She had taken advantage of her temporary absence to
adjust her own toilet. Zulieme was only apprized of her deshabille
by beholding the fair Charlotte in all “her fine effects.”

“Why, holy Mother! Charlotte, here have I been playing
with this foolish little fellow, and — look at me!”

And she absolutely thrust out her naked feet, in the slippers,
while holding her skirts sufficiently high to let the white ankles
assert themselves.

“O Zulieme!” exclaimed the modest matron. “What a child
of Nature!”

“Child!” muttered Zulieme; “do n't you call me so, Charlotte.”

And, with finger shaking at the lady, and a familiar nod to the
Honorable Keppel, she disappeared.

“Did you ever see so unsophisticated a creature?” exclaimed
the hostess.

“With face of brass and muscles of steel!” answered Mr. Craven.
“She did me up, in a chase of fifteen minutes.”

“What did you chase her for?” asked Mrs. Anderson, with a
significant and somewhat knowing smile.

“Eh! why, only to see her ankles!”

“Oh, you wicked creature! I should not have left her to such
an able courtier.”

“Faith, she was safe enough. She has the legs of an antelope!
But, dear Mrs. Anderson, do you really think her so ignorant as
she seems?”

“She is a perfect child of Nature. There is no art about her.
But she can be taught! and lucky the man who can succeed in
winning her young affections. But he must be bold; and the
usual courtier-like process will not answer here. She has no romance
in her. Sentiment is thrown away upon her: but play,
fun, merriment, dancing; a gay humor; great vivacity; perpetual
restlessness; and a ready adoption of her humors — these are the
arts by which to win her heart. Methinks she has given you a
chance at hers.”

“Eh! heart? Hark ye, my dear Mrs. Anderson: this winning
of hearts may be pleasant enough, while the game is doubtful;
but the question is, do they pay for the trouble, the exertion?” —
Here he fanned himself. “Mere hearts—” he continued.

“Ah! true — are of little count at court. But Zulieme's diamonds
are something, Sir Keppel.”

“If not paste! — yes!”

“Paste! See for yourself. There is not an English duchess
who can wear such jewels as these!”

She displayed the glittering treasures to the gloating eyes of
the cavalier, who thought of the ankles and the gems together.

“And see how she leaves them about. She values them just
as little as I do mine! So much for having them as mere playthings
from her childhood. She has played with diamonds as you
courtiers with hearts, and values them as little.”

Enough, perhaps, was said and shown by the hostess. She was
probably not wholly unaware of the game at “High Jinks” which
had been played in her absence. She saw that the vanity of the
cavalier had been piqued, his cupidity excited; his passions
warmed, and his purpose determined. She was now satisfied to

let events take their own course, assured that Mr. Craven, at
least, would engage in the pursuit as hotly as was possible to his
languid nature.

Here, then, for the present, let us stop. Our purpose was simply
to show under what circumstances the Honorable Mr. Craven
began that acquaintance with Zulieme which was rapidly to ripen
into intimacy. And this was destined to have some peculiar consequences.

But we must not anticipate. Enough that the intimacy was
very fairly begun; strangely enough, but not in a way to startle
the Mexican señora — señorita for the nonce. We may add that
it was continued as begun, until our cavalier was regarded as her
special attendant. Had it been suspected, by any of those outside
the mystery, that the lady was señora, and not señorita, he would
have been dubbed her cavaliere servente. He rode with her,
walked with her, danced with her, and talked with her; but, as
Zulieme was rather pert than fluent, Mr. Craven was better
pleased to flirt with her, and only dance occasionally. She usually
broke him down; when — such is true friendship and a proper
holy alliance — Cornwall Cavendish would come to his aid, and
take the lady off his hands.

We must do her the justice to say that, in respect to these two
gallants, she truly gave neither any proper right to suppose that
he was held in highest favor. But never was innocent lady more
civil! And both gallants, we may add, began soon to entertain
equal hopes, especially as the bal masque was in progress.