On the following Wednesday evening there was a dinner-dance at
the country club. When the guests strolled in Bernice found her
place-card with a slight feeling of irritation. Though at her
right sat G. Reece Stoddard, a most desirable and distinguished
young bachelor, the all-important left held only Charley Paulson.
Charley lacked height, beauty, and social shrewdness, and in her
new enlightenment Bernice decided that his only qualification to
be her partner was that he had never been stuck with her. But
this feeling of irritation left with the last of the soup-plates,
and Marjorie's specific instruction came to her. Swallowing her
pride she turned to Charley Paulson and plunged.
"Do you think I ought to bob my hair, Mr. Charley Paulson?"
Charley looked up in surprise.
"Why?"
"Because I'm considering it. It's such a sure and easy way of
attracting attention."
Charley smiled pleasantly. He could not know this had been
rehearsed. He replied that he didn't know much about bobbed hair.
But Bernice was there to tell him.
"I want to be a society vampire, you see," she announced coolly,
and went on to inform him that bobbed hair was the necessary
prelude. She added that she wanted to ask his advice, because she
had heard he was so critical about girls.
Charley, who knew as much about the psychology of women as he did
of the mental states of Buddhist contemplatives, felt vaguely
flattered.
"So I've decided," she continued, her voice rising slightly,
"that early next week I'm going down to the Sevier Hotel
barber-shop, sit in the first chair, and get my hair bobbed." She
faltered noticing that the people near her had paused in their
conversation and were listening; but after a confused second
Marjorie's coaching told, and she finished her paragraph to the
vicinity at large. "Of course I'm charging admission, but if
you'll all come down and encourage me I'll issue passes for the
inside seats."
There was a ripple of appreciative laughter, and under cover of
it G. Reece Stoddard leaned over quickly and said close to her
ear: "I'll take a box right now."
She met his eyes and smiled as if he had said something
surprisingly brilliant.
"Do you believe in bobbed hair?" asked G. Reece in the same
undertone.
"I think it's unmoral," affirmed Bernice gravely. "But, of
course, you've either got to amuse people or feed 'em or shock
'em." Marjorie had culled this from Oscar Wilde. It was greeted
with a ripple of laughter from the men and a series of quick,
intent looks from the girls. And then as though she had said
nothing of wit or moment Bernice turned again to Charley and
spoke confidentially in his ear.
"I want to ask you your opinion of several people. I imagine
you're a wonderful judge of character."
Charley thrilled faintly--paid her a subtle compliment by
overturning her water.
Two hours later, while Warren McIntyre was standing passively in
the stag line abstractedly watching the dancers and wondering
whither and with whom Marjorie had disappeared, an unrelated
perception began to creep slowly upon him--a perception that
Bernice, cousin to Marjorie, had been cut in on several times in
the past five minutes. He closed his eyes, opened them and looked
again. Several minutes back she had been dancing with a visiting
boy, a matter easily accounted for; a visiting boy would know no
better. But now she was dancing with some one else, and there
was Charley Paulson headed for her with enthusiastic
determination in his eye. Funny--Charley seldom danced with more
than three girls an evening.
Warren was distinctly surprised when--the exchange having been
effected--the man relieved proved to be none ether than G. Reece
Stoddard himself. And G. Reece seemed not at all jubilant at
being relieved. Next time Bernice danced near, Warren regarded
her intently. Yes, she was pretty, distinctly pretty; and
to-night her face seemed really vivacious. She had that look that
no woman, however histrionically proficient, can successfully
counterfeit--she looked as if she were having a good time. He
liked the way she had her hair arranged, wondered if it was
brilliantine that made it glisten so. And that dress was
becoming--a dark red that set off her shadowy eyes and high
coloring. He remembered that he had thought her pretty when she
first came to town, before he had realized that she was dull. Too
bad she was dull--dull girls unbearable--certainly pretty
though.
His thoughts zigzagged back to Marjorie. This disappearance would
be like other disappearances. When she reappeared he would
demand where she had been--would be told emphatically that it was
none of his business. What a pity she was so sure of him! She
basked in the knowledge that no other girl in town interested
him; she defied him to fall in love with Genevieve or
Roberta.
Warren sighed. The way to Marjorie's affections was a labyrinth
indeed. He looked up. Bernice was again dancing with the visiting
boy. Half unconsciously he took a step out from the stag line in
her direction, and hesitated. Then he said to himself that it
was charity. He walked toward her --collided suddenly with G.
Reece Stoddard.
"Pardon me," said Warren.
But G. Reece had not stopped to apologize. He had again cut in on
Bernice.
That night at one o'clock Marjorie, with one hand on the
electric-light switch in the hall, turned to take a last look at
Bernice's sparkling eyes.
"So it worked?"
"Oh, Marjorie, yes!" cried Bernice.
"I saw you were having a gay time."
"I did! The only trouble was that about midnight I ran short of
talk. I had to repeat myself-- with different men of course. I
hope they won't compare notes."
"Men don't," said Marjorie, yawning, "and it wouldn't matter if
they did--they'd think you were even trickier."
She snapped out the light, and as they started up the stairs
Bernice grasped the banister thankfully. For the first time in
her life she had been danced tired.
"You see," said Marjorie it the top of the stairs, "one man sees
another man cut in and he thinks there must be something there.
Well, we'll fix up some new stuff to-morrow. Good night."
"Good night."
As Bernice took down her hair she passed the evening before her
in review. She had followed instructions exactly. Even when
Charley Paulson cut in for the eighth time she had simulated
delight and had apparently been both interested and flattered.
She had not talked about the weather or Eau Claire or automobiles
or her school, but had confined her conversation to me, you, and
us.
But a few minutes before she fell asleep a rebellious thought was
churning drowsily in her brain--after all, it was she who had
done it. Marjorie, to be sure, had given her her conversation,
but then Marjorie got much of her conversation out of things she
read. Bernice had bought the red dress, though she had never
valued it highly before Marjorie dug it out of her trunk--and her
own voice had said the words, her own lips had smiled, her own
feet had danced. Marjorie nice girl--vain, though--nice
evening--nice boys--like Warren--Warren--Warren-- what's his
name--Warren---
She fell asleep.
Read next: Bernice Bobs Her Hair#Chapter V
Read previous: Bernice Bobs Her Hair#Chapter III
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