The caption underneath the picture read: “Lady Sylvia Southwoode, Who Readjusts--and Adorns--the Cosmos.”
Missy didn't catch the full editorial intent, perhaps, in that grouping of Lady Sylvia and the Cosmos; but she was pleased to come upon the word Cosmos. It was one of her pet words. It had struck her ear and imagination when she first encountered it, last spring, in Psychology IV-A. Cosmos--what an infinity of meaning lay behind the two-syllabled sound! And the sound of it, too, sung itself over in your mind, rhythmic and fascinating. There was such a difference in words; some were but poor, bald things, neither suggesting very much nor very beautiful to hear. Then there were words which were beautiful to hear, which had a rich sound--words like “mellifluous” and “brocade” and “Cleopatra.” But “Cosmos” was an absolutely fascinating word--perfectly round, without beginning or end. And it was the kind to delight in not only for its wealth, so to speak, for all it held and hinted, but also for itself alone; it was a word of sheer beauty.
She eagerly perused the paragraph which explained the manner in which Lady Sylvia was readjusting--and adorning--the Cosmos. Lady Sylvia made speeches in London's West End--wherever that was--and had a lot to do with bettering the Housing Problem--whatever that was--and was noted for the distinguished gatherings at her home. This alluring creature was evidently in politics, too!
Missy's eyes went dreamily out over the yard, but they didn't see the homely brick-edged flowerbeds nor the red lawn-swing nor the well-worn hammock nor the white picket fence in her direct line of vision. They were contemplating a slight girlish figure who was addressing a large audience, somewhere, speaking with swift, telling phrases that called forth continuous ripples of applause. It was all rather nebulous, save for the dominant girlish figure, which bore a definite resemblance to Melissa Merriam.
Then, with the sliding ease which obtains when fancy is the stage director, the scene shifted. Vast, elaborately beautiful grounds rolled majestically up to a large, ivy-draped house, which had turrets like a castle--very picturesque. At the entrance was a flight of wide stone steps, overlaid, now, with red carpet and canopied with a striped awning. For the mistress was entertaining some of the nation's notables. In the lofty hall and spacious rooms glided numberless men-servants in livery, taking the wraps of the guests, passing refreshments, and so forth. The guests were very distinguished-looking, all the men in dress suits and appearing just as much at home in them as Ridgeley Holman Dobson had, that night on the Opera House stage. Yes, and he was there, in Missy's vision, handsomer than ever with his easy smile and graceful gestures and that kind of intimate look in his dark eyes, as he lingered near the hostess whom he seemed to admire. All the women were in low-cut evening dresses of softly-tinted silk or satin, with their hair gleaming in sleek waves and long ear-rings dangling down. The young hostess wore ear-rings, also; deep-blue gems flashed out from them, to match her trailing deep blue velvet gown--Raymond Bonnet had once said Missy should always wear that special shade of deep blue.