The Grey Wig: Stories and Novelettes

acquaintance, when I went to dine once or twice with a studio chum who was quartered there. I had never exchanged two sentences with her before, as you can well imagine. She was not inviting to the artistic eye; indeed, I rather wondered how my friend could tolerate her at the head of the table, till he jestingly told me it was reckoned off the bill. The place was indeed suited to the student's pocket. But this morning I was surprised at the sprightliness of her share in the dialogue of mutual apologies. Her mind seemed as alert as her step, her voice was pleasing and gentle, and there was a refreshing gaiety in her attitude towards the situation.

''But I am quite sure it was my fault,' I wound up rather lamely at last, 'and, if you will allow me to make you amends, I shall be pleased to send you a ticket for the ball to-morrow night.'

'She stood still. 'For the Kunstner Karneval!' she cried eagerly, while her poor absurd face lit up.

''Yes, Froeken; and I shall be happy to escort you there if you will give me the pleasure.'

'She looked at me with sudden suspicion-the idea that I was chaffing her must have crossed her mind. I felt myself flushing furiously, feeling somehow half-guilty by my secret thoughts of her a few moments ago. We had arrived at the Amagertorv-the market-place-and I recollect getting a sudden impression of the quaint stalls and the picturesque Amager-women-one with a preternaturally hideous face-and the frozen canal in the middle, with the ice-bound fruit-boats from the islands, and the red sails of the Norwegian boats, and the Egyptian architecture of Thorwaldsen's Museum in the background, making up my mind to paint it all, in the brief instant before I added in my most convincing tones, 'The Kronprinds will be there.'

'Her incredulous expression became tempered by wistfulness, and with an inspiration I drew out the ticket and thrust it into her hand. I saw her eyes fill with tears as she turned her head away and examined some vegetables.

''You will excuse me,' she said presently, holding the ticket limply in her hand, 'but I fear it is impossible for me to accept your kind invitation. You see I have so much to do, and my children will be so uncomfortable without me.'

''Your children will be at the ball to a man,' I retorted.

''But I haven't any fancy costume,' she pleaded, and tendered me the ticket back. It struck me-almost with a pang-that her hand was bare of glove, and the work-a-day costume she was wearing was ill adapted to the rigour of the weather.

''Oh! Come anyhow,' I said. 'Ordinary evening dress. Of course, you will need a mask.'

'I saw her lip twitch at this unfortunate way of putting it, and hastened to affect unconsciousness of my blunder.

''She wouldn't,' I added with feigned jocularity, nodding towards the preternaturally hideous Amager-woman.

''Poor old thing,' she said gently. 'I shall be sorry when she dies.'

''Why?' I murmured.

''Because then I shall be the ugliest woman in Copenhagen,' she answered gaily.

'Something in that remark sent a thrill down my backbone-there seemed an infinite pathos and lovableness in her courageous recognition of facts. It dispensed me from the painful necessity of pretending to be unaware of her ugliness-nay, gave it almost a cachet-made it as possible a topic of light conversation as beauty itself. I pressed her more fervently to come, and at last she consented, stipulating only that I should call for her rather late, after she had quite finished her household duties and the other boarders had gone off to the ball.

'Well, I took her to the ball (it was as brilliant and gay as this without being riotous), and-will you believe it?- she made quite a little sensation. With a black domino covering her impossible face, and a simple evening dress, she looked as distinguee as my best girl would have done. Her skin was good, and her figure, freed from the distracting companionship of her face, was rather elegant, while the lively humour of her conversation had now fair play. She danced well, too, with a natural grace. I believe she enjoyed her incog. almost as much as the ball, and I began to feel quite like a fairy godmother who was giving poor little Cinderella an outing, and to regret that I had not the power to make her beautiful for ever, or at least to make life one eternal fancy ball, at which silk masks might veil the horrors of reality. I dare say, too, she got a certain kudos through dancing so much with me, for, as I have told you ad nauseam, this lovely costume of mine was the hit of the evening, and the Kronprinds asked for the honour of an introduction to me. It was rather funny-the circuitous etiquette. I had to be first introduced to his aide-de-camp. This was done through an actress of the Kongelige Theatre, with whom I had been polking (he knew all the soubrettes, that aide-de-camp!). Then he introduced me to the Kronprinds, and I held out my hand and shook his royal paw heartily. He was very gracious to me, learning I was an American, and complimented me on my dress and my dancing, and I answered him affably; and the natives, gathered round at a respectful distance, eyed me with reverent curiosity. But at last, when the music struck up again, I said, 'Excuse me, I am engaged for this waltz!' and hurried off to dance with my Cinderella, much to the amazement of the Danes, who wondered audibly what mighty foreign potentate His Royal Highness had been making himself agreeable to.'

'It was plain enough,' I broke in. 'His Satanic Majesty, of course.'

'I am glad you interrupted me,' he said, 'for you give me an opening to state that the Kronprinds has nothing to do with the story. You, of course, would have left him out; but I am only an amateur, and I get my threads mixed.'

'Shut up!' I cried. 'I mean-go on.'

'Oh, well, perhaps, he has got a little to do with the story, after all; for after that, Froeken Jensen became more important-sharing in my reflected glory-or, perhaps, now I come to think of it, it was only then that she became important. Anyway, important she was; and, among others, Axel Larson-who was got up as an ancient Gallic warrior, to show off his fine figure-came up and asked me to introduce him. I don't think I should have done so ordinarily, for he was the filthiest-mouthed fellow in the atelier-a great swaggering Don Juan Baron Munchausen sort of chap, handsome enough in his raffish way-a tall, stalwart Swede, blue-eyed and yellow-haired. But the fun of the position was that Axel Larson was one of my Cinderella's 'children,' so I could not resist introducing him formally to 'Froeken Jensen.' His happy air of expectation was replaced by a scowl of surprise and disgust.

''What, thou, Ingeborg!' he cried.

'I could have knocked the man down. The familiar tutoiement, the Christian name- these, perhaps, he had a right to use; but nothing could justify the contempt of his tone. It reminded me disagreeably of the ugliness I had nigh forgotten. I felt Ingeborg's arm tremble in mine.

''Yes, it is I, Herr Larson,' she said, with her wonted gentleness, and almost apologetically. 'This gentleman was good enough to bring me.' She spoke as if her presence needed explanation-with the timidity of one shut out from the pleasures of life. I could feel her poor little heart fluttering wildly, and knew that her face was alternating from red to white beneath the mask.

'Axel Larson shot a swift glance of surprise at me, which was followed by a more malicious bolt. 'I congratulate you, Ingeborg,' he said, 'on the property you seem to have come into.' It was a clever double entente-the man was witty after his coarse fashion-but the sarcasm scarcely stung either of us. I, of course, had none of the motives the cad imagined; and as for Ingeborg, I fancy she thought he alluded merely to the conquest of myself, and was only pained by the fear I might resent so ludicrous a suggestion. Having thrown the shadow of his cynicism over our innocent relation, Axel turned away highly pleased with himself, rudely neglecting to ask Ingeborg for a dance. I felt like giving him 'Hail Columbia,' but I restrained myself.

'Some days after this-in response to Ingeborg's grateful anxiety to return my hospitality-I went to dine with her 'children.' I found Axel occupying the seat of honour, and grumbling at the soup and the sauces like a sort of autocrat of the dinner-table, and generally making things unpleasant. I had to cling to my knife and fork so as not to throw the water-bottle at his head. Ingeborg presided meekly over the dishes, her ugliness more rampant than ever after the illusion of the mask. I remembered now he had been disagreeable when I had dined there before, though, not being interested in Ingeborg then, I had not resented his ill-humour, contenting myself with remarking to my friend that I understood now why the Danes disliked the Swedes so much-a generalisation that was probably as unjust as most of one's judgments of other peoples. After dinner I asked her why she tolerated the fellow. She flushed painfully and murmured that times were hard. I protested that she could easily get another boarder to