“You’ll do better to suppose it wasn’t,” Ethel told her practically. “He refused to come when you begged him to, didn’t he? What makes you think he’d change his mind?”

“But if he did? And I... Oh, Ethel! What shall I do?”

“Don’t turn on the waterworks,” Ethel said impatiently. “I thought you were through with that guy. Suppose he is here? Are you going to let him ruin your fun? Going to let him be a killjoy? He did his best to keep you from coming. Going to let him pull his dog-in-the manger stuff again?”

“Oh but... but you don’t understand.”

“The devil I don’t. I understand his type all right,” Ethel told her viciously. “It gripes his soul to see anybody have a good time. But I bet he wouldn’t turn down anything if he thought he could get away with it.”

“Oh no! Not Bob!” Barbara defended him quickly. “He’s too fine and good. That’s why... last night...” She began to sob unhappily.

“Forget it.” Ethel shook her roughly. “Ten to one it wasn’t Bob. And suppose it was? You haven’t anything to be ashamed of. You’re still pure. You’ve still got your virginity, if that’s what you’re worrying about...”

“It’s no credit to me that I’m not... not ruined,” Barbara sobbed. “I just the same as gave myself to Frank last night. I tried to... and wanted to. I just... happened to... to lose consciousness before it... it happened.”

“What of it? He doesn’t need to know that,” Ethel comforted her. “You’ve still got your cherished purity to hand over to him, if you persist in marrying the yokel. So dry those tears and let’s go out to make whoopee.”

“But what about Bob?” Barbara protested. “He may call up again.”

“If it was Bob and if he wanted to find you he would have left a message for you. I’ll tell mom to get his phone number if he calls again, and we can call here any time you get impatient to see if he’s called. You can’t sit around all Mardi Gras with just the thin suspicion that it’s Bob,” she ended angrily.

“All right.” Barbara dried her eyes and essayed a smile. “Dumb of me,” she conceded. “But I’m all right now.”

“Come on then.” Ethel arose quickly. “I’ll go tell mom to be sure and check on any telephone calls that come. You get your face fixed and come on. It’s time we were getting down to where we can see the parade. An hour from now we’ll not be able to move on the streets for the crush.”

Chapter Fifteen

Mr. Brinkley drove the two girls downtown. He had arranged to drop them on St. Charles Avenue near Lee Circle, and return for Mrs. Brinkley who would go with him to view the Rex pageant from their parked automobile.

Ethel told Barbara that the reason her father and mother didn’t want to stay with them on St. Charles was because of the impossibility of driving a car through the streets for hours after the procession.

Barbara sat tensely in the automobile and was all eyes as Mr. Brinkley drove them downtown. The streets presented a thunderous spectacle which totally eclipsed the more subdued gayety of the preceding day.

Every house and every automobile was draped with flags, banners, and all manner of Carnival decorations. The hordes of people who pressed eagerly to obtain a point of vantage along the line of the parade were tremendous. Everywhere the Carnival spirit was evident.

Fully two-thirds were garbed in fantastic costume, and masked with dominoes or grotesque caricatures. All of New Orleans was at play to-day, and it seemed that every soul in the city was in the streets, dancing, capering, shouting, giving full rein to the holiday spirit of reckless merriment.

There would be street dancing after the pageant, Ethel told her. And the Druids would present their pageant and tableau after Rex had passed by. Throughout the city during the afternoon and evening there would be local gatherings for masked street dancing and reviews of masqueraders for the award of prizes.

But King Rex, the Merry Monarch of the Carnival was the focal point of interest now. After he passed the throngs would turn more to localized and group gayety.

St. Charles Avenue was a seething maelstrom of expectant humanity. Police were everywhere, directing traffic as best they could, keeping the route of the parade open good-naturedly and with laughing insistence.

Ethel and Barbara got out of the car a block away from St. Charles and plunged into massed watchers to worm their way through to a reserved point of vantage on a first story balcony overlooking the avenue. The building was owned by Mr. Brinkley, and the balcony was kept cleared each year for those of Ethel’s friends whom she invited to join her for the spectacle.

She and Barbara were breathless and disheveled when they finally gained the stairway leading to the balcony. Barbara’s face was flushed and her eyes were starry. The magnificent spectacle of which she was a part had driven all thought of Robert from her mind. She was determined to grasp the present and hug it to her heart.

Yesterday’s madness seemed far away. The morrow did not exist. Only the present mattered. An exultant and tremendous present. The Carnival spirit flowed through her and exalted her. One could not be a portion of that throng without knowing that only happiness mattered. And happiness was fragmentary and fleeting.

The balcony was massed with costumed and masked revelers. Ethel moved among them, shouting greetings and bandying gay repartee. She held tightly to Barbara’s arm and introduced her impartially to all.

Barbara recognized none as having been among those she had met at Frank’s party... nor was Frank present. But it didn’t seem to matter. They accepted her as one of themselves, and she was happy to be so gladly accepted.

“Oh! There’s Sonia,” Ethel exclaimed suddenly. “I hoped she’d be here. I want you to meet her. You could learn a lot from Sonia.”

“Which one is she?” Barbara asked.

“Over on the edge,” Ethel whispered. “Surrounded by all the best-looking men. She’s not in costume. See? Wearing the sport dress and beret.”

Barbara saw a tall girl sitting in a chair with half a dozen young men hanging about her. She was very dark and very beautiful. The simple sport dress was arrestingly different from the fancy costumes worn by the others.

“She knows her stuff,” Ethel whispered enviously. “She’s the only one up here not in costume.”

“Who is she?” Barbara asked again. “She looks... exotic... and foreign.”

“She’s quite the wickedest wanton in New Orleans,” Ethel told her. “Come on. There’s two empty chairs right behind her. Her name’s Sonia Jenson,” she went on as they moved closer. “The men are all wild about her. All she has to do is crook her finger. She lives alone in a little cottage in the suburbs... and there’s been some pretty rotten rumors of the sort of orgies she pulls out there. But only rumors. The participants don’t talk. Get Frank to tell you about her,” she ended quickly. “He was the wick in her candle all last spring.”

They settled in seats behind Sonia. Barbara was thrilled to her very soul as she gazed out over the expanse of watchers who lined the avenue as far as the eye could reach. It was almost eleven o’clock, the witching hour when Rex was scheduled to start the parade from St. Charles Avenue and Calliope.

A shout of laughter went up from the youths surrounding Sonia. She heard her vibrantly husky voice:

“I pretty near ruined things when I said that. Cousin Hattie’s face turned as red as the wattle on a turkey gobbler.”

Barbara shook her head and stared at the back of Sonia’s beret. Cousin Hattie? She listened tensely.

“... so I told them I’d order some Dervish Delight. I swore on my honor there wasn’t any alcohol in it. Just absinthe, vermouth, and a few harmless ingredients like that...”

A gale of laughter made her miss the next few words. She glanced sidewise at Ethel and saw she was listening to Sonia too.

“... you can imagine what happened after they wrapped themselves around two pitchers of Dervish Delight. Cousin Hattie was hell-bent on moving about and seeing things. She was so far gone by that time that I got her a bottle of benedictine, and she killed it. When it mixed with the absinthe, she got rather hotcha. You should have seen her squirming around in her chair, trying to keep her hands off that poor old worn-out hulk she’d picked up. There was a gleam in her eye that said, ‘Wait’ll I get you alone, and I’ll show you some tricks these youngsters don’t know’...”

Another gale of laughter interrupted her. Barbara had forgotten everything in the world except Sonia’s deeply flowing voice. She knew it was absurd to think of Robert’s Cousin Hattie in connection with Sonia’s story. But the thought persisted, and she leaned forward eagerly to hear the end of it.

“... then she remembered that her dear Cousin Robert was going to meet her...”

The world went black before Barbara’s eyes. She shrank back as though she had been struck in the face. Then Robert was in New Orleans! He must have followed her there. It had been he who phoned when she was out. Happiness followed her dismay. Sonia had seen him perhaps. Perhaps she knew where he was. She leaned forward again to speak to her, but Ethel’s fingers clawed at her shoulder to drag her back.

“Shut up,” Ethel whispered in her ear. “Get a load of this. It may straighten out some goofy ideas you’ve got about your precious Robert.” Her tone was vindictive. Her hand gripped Barbara’s shoulder and counseled silence.

“... he’d come down from a farm upstate to rescue his milkmaid sweetheart from the nasty influence of the city. I was getting such a kick out of them that I couldn’t bear to see their fun spoiled. I’m like that, you know. Big-hearted Sonia. So I told her to go out into the byways with her boy friend and I’d stay to glad-hand the dirt farmer and tell him his Cousin Hattie was all fixed up. She described him to me... and in he walks after a bit. I don’t want to discourage you boys, but believe you me, there weren’t any straws in that boy’s hair...”