Harp's Manor

INSTALLMENT II

March 17, 1928

How tired I am! What an eventful evening it has been! I cannot pause for sleep yet; I must record everything, before I forget it.

Tonight was the grand gala, introducing all of us at Harp's Manor. I was already inhabiting the building once the entrances began, but a good half of the people here made their grand arrivals tonight. How showy and luxurious they all were! I've never seen such sparkle in my life.

The others and I waited and watched from inside the drawing room, an expansive room that stretches at least twenty feet above my head and fifty feet across. We had declined talking to each other quite yet, in nervous apprehension of the others. I only recognized a few: that, over there by the miniature potted triangle palm, was Mr. Forrest, fiddling with his watch-chain; peeking out the window through the gauzy curtains, was Miss Pearce; and the woman with her eyes already lost in a book, must have been Miss Newman. The rest were scattered about, entering broken, hushed conversations, before dropping them in the silent atmosphere. It is something to say about our generation that, no matter how sublime we may think we are, we feel oppressed by the mere quiet of others!

The servants had only told us to wait in the drawing room as the others arrived outside. I assumed dinner would come next, but the girl who ushered me down had been so infuriatingly vague, I could not be sure of anything at this point. I was half-tempted to join Miss Pearce at the window and watch for the arrival of our fellow tenants. I briefly wondered where Mr. Harp himself was, but figured he was likely attending to the arrival of the others.

I took this time to study the fine design of the room we found ourselves in. White scalloping bordered the ceiling, stretching above the tall, glittering curtains and mountainous windows. Black marble columns contrasted with nearly everything else in the room, reflecting the five-bulb pendant chandeliers hanging above our heads. Tastefully chosen furniture was arranged casually around the far window and grand fireplace, the latter of which crackled and spit despite the semi-warm weather. Smooth, flower-patterned rugs rested below our feet, covering the bare marble floor. In the corners, delicately trimmed plants livened up the cold geometry. Everything gleamed with the appearance of having never been used.

"A rather gaudy place, don't you think?" a crisp voice asked from behind me. I turned; somehow, Mr. Forrest had managed to sneak up on me. The room was sparsely furnished, leaving much open space. I don't know how he could've covertly approached me without my notice. I suppose I must have been more distracted than I realized.

He is a man of average height and average looks, with slightly mussed hair, provoking the feeling that he is in a rush somewhere. This illusion was aided by his constant playing with his pocket-watch, which never left the pouch it rested in but appeared every now and then as he tugged at the chain connecting it. Undoubtedly the most prominent feature on his face are his eyes, which are a little unsettling. One eye is brown, while the other is blue.

"I suppose," I said delicately. I have never been the best at small talk, and now here I was, in front of a true celebrity. If I stumbled, or misspoke, I'd never forgive myself. Well- I suppose I would. I already have, due to the inevitable folly of my words that was to follow.

He laughed. "I assume this is all familiar to you," he replied.

"Oh, that's not what I meant, if you think I'm used to this," I returned hurriedly. "In fact, I find myself so unfamiliar with this luxury, that I am not certain if this is normal or a tad bit excessive."

Mr. Forrest nodded and held out his hand. "Harry Forrest," he said. "Am I correct in assuming I have the pleasure of speaking to Miss Rosetta Thronton?"