CHAPTER XXII

BAD NEWS

The music was entrancing--a dreamy waltz was being played. There was the odour of flowers. All about were presumably pretty women and girls--presumably, for their masks still hid their faces. Outside the moon shone, still bewitchingly. From behind the bank of palms, which stirred gently in the night air that swept in through the open windows, came the wailing of the oboe, the shriller crying of the violin, the tinkle of the piano, the bird-like notes of the flute, the mellow call of the French horn--all blending together in a strain that, without conscious effort, seemed to move one into the mazy whirl of the waltz.

Almost before she knew it Sylvia found herself moving about in company with the cavalier, and it was a delightful motion, for, like the other three mysterious Knights of the Canoe, he was an excellent dancer.

"I have been waiting for this opportunity, O Night," he whispered in Sylvia's little ear that was half hidden by her hair.

"Yes?" she replied, non-committaly. "Do you mean you, or some of your friends?"

"I don't know what you mean," he answered, feigning ignorance.

"Oh, yes, you do," she said, as she put out her hand to ward off an unskilful couple who were going around the wrong way of the room.

"Upon my honour----"

"Swear not at all, especially in this moonlight!" she mocked.

"It is glorious; isn't it?"

"Perfect."

"Would you rather dance, or go out where we can see----"

"Dance," she said, shortly. She was going to take no chances of any practical, or impractical, jokes being played in the shimmering and inconstant moonlight.

"The moon will last--the music not," he said, softly, and they swept on around the room in a slow, graceful glide.

Sylvia, as she confessed afterward, was just "dying" to ask her cavalier what it all meant--the four claimants to the title of Knight of the Overturned Canoe, each of whom had appeared in a different costume. But she refrained. She felt that the mystery would reveal itself in due season.

Were there four young men? Was it not the same one all the while, who had changed disguises with his friends, and so managed to claim Sylvia in a different garb each time? She could not be sure.

Yet there was an indefinable something different in the dancing of each of her four partners. She was almost sure they could not be the same.

"Are you staying at the Antlers much longer?" the cavalier asked, as the music came to an end, and the dancers vigorously begged for an encore.

"I am not sure," she answered. "Why?"

"Oh, I just wanted to know. There is another dance next week."

"A masquerade?"

"No. I wish it were."

"So that you could hide your identity further?"

"Don't you know who I am?" he teased.

"Of course. You are Harry Blair," and she purposely named at random a certain young man stopping at the hotel.

"Right--not!" he laughed. "You don't believe I saved your canoe?"

"There are too many claimants to the----"

"Honour," he hastily interposed. "Don't hesitate to say it."

"Oh, it wasn't that, so much as it was----"

The music cut in on their talk with a blare of drum and trumpet, and once more they were off in the dance.

"What were you going to say?" he persisted, when there came a lull.

"Nothing of any consequence."

And so the small talk went on. There came more numbers, and the cavalier, the Dutchman, Mephistopheles and the Spaniard danced in turn with Sylvia, Rose, Hazel and Alice. The other three girls were as puzzled as Sylvia had been.

"Who can they be?" asked Hazel, when they were in the dressing-room, just before the signal for unmasking was to be given.

"Haven't the least idea," Sylvia replied.

"Do you really think they can be one and the same young fellow who helped us with the canoes?" Rose demanded. "Or is there more than one?"

"What do you mean?" asked Alice.

"Well, they might have changed clothes, and certainly one could tell the other enough details so that all would know just what happened that day," Rose insisted.

"We'll soon know," Sylvia said. "There they are, all four together, and they're looking this way as if they expected us to come out. They're going to give the signal to unmask!"

It was on the stroke of twelve, and the trumpeter had come to the edge of the music platform to sound the call that would mean the revealing of identities hitherto hidden.

"Let's not go out," suggested Rose.

"The idea!" Alice cried. "When they're such good dancers? Much better than any of the fellows at the hotel. I wonder who they can be? It's such fun!"

Sylvia gazed out of a window into the moonlight, and wondered also. She rather liked the title, "Knight of the Overturned Canoe," but she felt sure that only one was entitled to it--and that one, somehow or other, she felt was the last partner she had danced with--the cavalier. He had rather a masterful way with him.

The trumpet blared out. There was a moment of silence, then came the taking off of masks, and gasps of astonishment vied with peals of merriment, for there were many surprises.

Sylvia kept her eyes fixed on the group of four young men, the Dutchman, the Spaniard, Mephistopheles and the cavalier. They unmasked together, and, in a straight line, like the advance of some guard of soldiers, came toward the Nowadays Girls.

"Oh, I feel like--running away!" murmured Rose, her cheeks hot with blushes.

"Don't you dare!" said Alice. "They all look like nice fellows."

Sylvia gave a quick glance at the cavalier. Yes, she was right. He was the Knight of the Overturned Canoe, the same bronze-faced youth with crisp, curling hair. He smiled at her, showing two rows of white, even teeth.

Sylvia smiled in welcome.

The other three were evidently his chums, for there existed, it seemed, a jolly and excellent understanding among them. In a solid phalanx they advanced toward the girls.

"Shall we dance with them?" inquired Alice.

"Better wait until they ask us," suggested Hazel.

"Oh, they'll _ask_ us all right," Sylvia said. "Anyhow, this is a Paul Jones, and we'll naturally have to dance with a lot of strangers. It is perfectly all right, I think."

"So do I," declared Rose, with a new conviction.

"She likes that Spaniard," laughed Hazel.

"He dances beautifully," Rose confessed, blushing more vividly than ever.

"May I have the honour?" asked the cavalier, advancing to Sylvia.

She nodded and smiled.

"So there was but one real, true knight?" she murmured, when they were dancing.

"Only one, O Night, and you will find him very true," he whispered, rather earnestly.

Sylvia laughed, and it seemed to vie with the mellow notes of the flute.

"What's the joke?" she asked. "I mean, how did you four manage it?"

"I'll tell you, out in the moonlight, after this dance."

She rather regretted it when a new figure in the Paul Jones separated him from her. And she was a little impatient for the promised explanation. In due time it came. The dance ended, and the different couples strolled to various resting-places.

Sylvia noticed that Rose was with the Spaniard, Hazel with the Dutchman and Alice with Mephistopheles. The three girls followed Sylvia out to the piazza.

"Well," began the cavalier, "I suppose you girls have been doing all sorts of wondering. We hope you'll forgive the little joke. You see there are really four of us. We have a camp over near Shedd Lake, and I was lucky enough to be on hand that day when your canoe upset," and he nodded at Sylvia and Rose.

"When I went back and told the boys, guessing that you were stopping at the Antlers, we decided to come to this masquerade, and see if we could not mystify you a bit. I gave my chums all the details of the canoe episode, so they could talk about it as well as I, and we each one, in turn, decided to pretend he was the only and original Knight of the Overturned Canoe.

"Which we did, to the best of our ability. We hope we are forgiven. If you want proper introductions to us----"

He broke off to give the names of himself and his companions. They had friends stopping at the hotel, and very soon the girls were formally presented, Aunt Theodora also meeting the youths, and unconsciously expressing her satisfaction with them.

"There goes the music!" exclaimed Rose, after the refreshments, the four girls having been escorted thereto by the four camping chums.

"Yes, don't let's miss any of it," said the Spaniard.

Once more they were dancing.

"But what I don't understand," said Sylvia, "is why you came last."

She was speaking to the cavalier--the real Knight.

"It was this way, Princess," he said, laughingly. "I could not reach here the same time as did the other fellows, so I made them each promise in turn to dance with you first, and, by an implied engagement, keep you until I came. I arrived in the nick of time."

"And at one time I thought there was only one of you, and that you changed your costume after every dance," Sylvia said. "Well, it was an enjoyable surprise."

"Then you are not angry?"

"Of course not!"

He was very good-looking, and a fine dancer. Sylvia was only human.

The masquerade was almost over. Sylvia was walking out on a moonlit path with the cavalier, who was finding out more about her than she imagined she was telling.

"Sylvia, where are you?" called Mrs. Brownley.

"Here, Aunt Theodora. I'm coming right in. I suppose you'll say it is too damp."

"No, my dear! But a telephone message just came for you. I took it, as I could not find you. It was from----"

"My brother!" gasped Sylvia, and her grasp tightened on the arm of her escort.

"Yes, it was about your brother," said Mrs. Brownley, in rather solemn tones. "He is not so well. You are to call up on long-distance, my dear."