Inthe whirl of events it is not to be supposed that Ann forgot home affairs. Sometimes, when lights were out and she composed herself for the night, she had a sudden pang of homesickness. Once some noise wakened her in the middle of the night and she blushed in the darkness to think of how prudishly she had talked to Maurice on one occasion. “What must he think of me!” she thought. Yet there was an impulsiveness about Maurice that warranted caution. She did like him very, very much, and had appreciated the real affection with which he had received her into the family circle. As she lay awake, unable to fall asleep again for some time, she fancied them all there at her grandmother’s home. How was her mother enjoying it? It was not likely that she would let Ann know details, if they were annoying. How were Grandmother’s business affairs coming on? Would Aunt Sue and Uncle Tyson really take advantage of her confidence? Grandmother was pretty wide awake about things now.
Then she pictured her father in Montana,—sofar, far away! It was hard on him to have Mother gone. She wondered if she would ever hear again from the old Indian, Never-Run, and her hand stole under her pillow to a small silk bag which her mother had made her. In this, unless she forgot it, she put the curious bracelet Never-Run had given her, together with certain precious mementos, the pretty jewelry that she had received from her grandmother at different times, and often what cash she had on hand. It was convenient for burglars, but also handy to swing on her arm during fire drill, which might or might not be the real thing. Her little ruby and diamond ring she usually wore, as well as her wrist watch. “It must be nearly morning,” she thought at last, after tossing for what seemed hours; but she had forgotten to put her flashlight under her pillow and was afraid to waken Marta by getting up. Finally she began to doze, and after a wild dream in which she and Maurice were dashing along a narrow mountain road, with Clifford on “Clipper” after them and calling to them to stop, she fell sound asleep.
The Beta Alpha Taus were pretty well satisfied with the results of their “rushing” season. There were a few disappointments, to be sure, for other sororities were after some of the same girls. But they added a small number of desirable and attractive Forest Hill girls, including the new junior thatliked Ann. Alice said, with some satisfaction, that they “had enough” and their share. The Owls, too, employed their activities in securing new members. Ann said that they scarcely had time to work at what they were supposed to come to school for, until sorority and society matters were settled. Fortunately, that was always done early; then the girls settled down to work with a better grace.
Ann and Marta congratulated themselves on their own good opportunity; for while their suite was often full of girls and gradually was becoming a central meeting place for Owls and Bats, according to Eleanor, who was herself an Owl, their study hours were quiet. They spread out their belongings all over the suite, till Marta said she hardly knew how they would “condense,” in case Miss Tudor sent some one to share it with them. But the weeks flew on to the middle of the term and they had not been disturbed.
Meanwhile, Madeline and Suzanne had effected a truce, spoke to each other and were able to meet in functions of the Sigma Epsilons without indulging in any side flings of unpleasantness. Genevieve, also, was able to acknowledge Eleanor’s presence by cool bows. This state of things had been brought about through sister Sigs, who told both Madeline and Genevieve that it would not do, and urged Suzanne and Eleanor to apologize. This Ann learned through Aline and Eleanor. It helped thesituation marvelously, said Aline, that Miss Tudor had removed the temporary suite-mate whom Genevieve and Madeline did not like, and filled the suite by placing there two new girls, a “wee bit” flashy in appearance, but more sensible than Genevieve or Madeline. One of the girls was the daughter of a millionaire, by report, and Genevieve, with superior airs, let it be understood that the personnel of the suite was perfectly satisfactory and much superior to what it would have been had Eleanor and Suzanne remained. This, of course, was not put in so many words, merely implied. But it reached Eleanor, who shrugged her shoulders and passed it on to Suzanne, always delighted to have the least of confidences from Eleanor. The new girls with Genevieve and Madeline were taken into the same sorority, though late in the term.
In spite of Ann’s best efforts, she could not get in any extra practice hours, as she had intended. The literary work, which she was too proud to neglect, took up the greater part of her time. Outside of her regular practice period, however, there were occasions on which she accompanied the girls, either Eleanor or Lora, or found a few minutes in between to practice on some solo for a society meeting. Her teacher said that she was advancing, which was encouraging, but it did not satisfy Ann’s ambition. She almost envied Marta, who was making the music course her particular object; but she knewthat her parents would not hear to her dropping out of the regular course.
“The trouble with me, Marta,” she said, “is that I am too divided up. I can’t pursue one thing, like you.”
“Don’t worry, Ann. You will have a fine foundation for ’most anything later on and your fingers are gifted. I’ve got to get something as quickly as possible, for I’m going to make most of my income when I get out of college. So I propose to make it doing what I like best.”
Mr. Sterling wrote to his daughter occasionally, from Montana, where he was, as usual, busily employed with ranch affairs and other matters. But it was from her mother that Ann learned the most about her father’s doings.
Maurice wrote one gay letter toward the beginning of the term, with no reference to anything discussed between them. He signed himself, however, “Yours, in spite of discouragements.”
Clifford Hart wrote several interesting letters, chiefly about school matters, though he urged her to take good care of herself and not to forget her Montana friends or the good old days. From Kendall Gordon, who took such a fancy to Ann during the summer, she received more than one carefully written message, more formal than those from Cliff and Maurice, yet expressing considerable interest in Ann and her surroundings. Ann was grownup, she thought sometimes. She heard from Inga and Hilda, her two partly Swedish girl friends. Greta was too busy to write, she supposed. Inga was going to school again. Poor Inga, so gifted, so tied! Grandmother had expressed an interest in Inga. Ann wondered if Grandmother could not have done something for Inga. But home and duty came first, she supposed. Perhaps some day Inga would have an opportunity to develop that wonderful voice.
One afternoon her thoughts had been turned upon home affairs, as she lay resting upon their couch in the central study. Marta was away practicing. Ann had just returned from her last class after a full day. There was plenty of time to get ready for dinner and she was too lazy to study before that. Stretched out, she almost dozed off, when Eleanor tapped and came in.
“For once!” exclaimed Eleanor. “For once, I do not find you studying—are you sick?”
Ann laughed and rubbed her eyes. “Not a bit of it! ‘Sick’ because I was not studying? I didn’t know that I had such a terrible reputation as that. But I have had to dig in a good deal between times of society rushing, banquets, feasts, and one thing or another. How do you like being president of the sophomore class?”
“It is not a very hard duty,—but I am surprised over it.”
“Reward of merit,” laughed Ann.
“I think that you had a hand in it, in spite of what I said to you.”
“Maybe I did; but, of course, if we could have elected a Bat,——” Ann lifted her brows and left it there.
“I didn’t work for it, Ann.”
“I know you didn’t, but some of the rest of us did. We had had a Bat the freshman year, and it was only fair, besides, we wanted a girl like you, and so it happened. Honestly, Eleanor, I wouldn’t have believed the first of last year that you and I would ever be friends like this; would you?”
“No, Ann, but we are never going to stop being friends, I hope.”
“Not a bit of it. You’ll come out to Montana next summer, won’t you?”
“I will if I can. Couldn’t you and Suzanne come to our place this year some time, say the spring vacation?”
“It would be lovely, Eleanor, but I suppose that our plans are too indefinite to make any definite ones for me.”
“By the way, what I came in for was to bring you a letter from your mother, I suppose. The mail was just being put in our boxes as I came away and Marta gave me this for you. She said that she was going off somewhere, I’ve forgotten where, with Ethel Johns, and would not be back till just beforedinner.” Eleanor opened one of two books which she had been carrying and took out the letter, which she handed to Ann.
“Thanks, Eleanor,—but you are not going, are you? I’m in no hurry to read the letter.”
“I can’t stay this time. Take another nap. I’m afraid I wakened you.”
After Eleanor left, Ann raised the curtain a little and stretched out again, tearing open the end of the letter. It was a good fat one, such as she loved to get from her mother.
“Dearest Daughter,” she read. “Forgive me for making you wait a little longer than usual for your letter from me. There have been so many things going on, and you know that Mother wants me with her a great deal. We are making up for lost time. I think that Mother has rather overdone the having company for me. She is tired and Sue gloats a little over the fact, I think,—not that I would accuse her of wanting Mother to be ill, but it proves, you see, that her pretended concern about Mother’s health is right.”
Ann was surprised at her mother’s plain speaking, but since the denouement in regard to many things at Grandmother’s, her mother had broken over her long reserve with Ann. Rapidly Ann read on.
“We have about finished entertaining the ‘country-side,’ village and town, I think, and I am glad. To be sure, we shall be entertained in turnand have already received many invitations. But Mother need not go unless she desires. Sue goes right along with me and so far as I can see, has accepted the situation. She seems to have recovered from her chagrin at the failure of her plans and matters move as usual. I told you, I think, that Mother lets her continue to direct the household.
“There are some arguments between her and Mother, who is then tired, indeed. Sue is disappointed at not being able to persuade Mother to the trip abroad and is putting obstacles in the way of the Florida trip. Why this should be so I can not see; for she would enjoy the trip. Mother tells me privately that if there is much more of it, she will simply arrange to go with your father and me, and let the rest do what they please and entirely at their own expense. In that case, my dear, you will not be too much disappointed, I hope, if you do not accompany us, after our Christmas all together at your grandmother’s. Oh, yes,—Sue wants to take the whole party, maids and all, to one of the most expensive hotels at Palm Beach. Mother thinks that the business this year scarcely warrants that expense and prefers a more quiet spot, perhaps an apartment, though she is willing to take a house somewhere, close this one except for one or two servants, and take the whole outfit down. Privately, I think that this would entail as much expense as the other. But I am out of the way of many thingsthat once I would have felt were natural enough.
“I tell you this that you may understand the situation. What Mother decides I do not much care, just so she is not worn out with argument, which is worse than entertaining. I see clearly why Mother let so much slip into your Aunt Sue’s hands. It was easier than the continual fretting. Your Uncle Tyson looks worried, except in the presence of Mother. Maurice has made a flying trip home and back to school again. I do not know what brought him, perhaps nothing special, but he had several conversations with his father which were rather argumentative, I thought, not being able to get beyond the sound of their voices as we sat in the drawing room.
“Do not think from all this that I am leading a worried existence myself. As was the case with you last year, I am trying to grasp the situation the best I can, in the hope of being able to protect Mother from any unhappiness. I have enjoyed meeting my old friends, and the most of the time passes pleasantly. The Bentleys are over often, and from Maurice I understand that he and Ronald are intimate, which is a good thing for Maurice, I judge. Maurice is very much of a gentleman with his ‘long-lost aunt,’ as he calls me. I like the boy very much and hope that he will finish his senior year with some honors, though I fear me that he is not much of a student.
“Madge and Roy talk of you a good deal. I see them every day for a time. Mother, indeed, asked me to take a little interest there, if I could without offending or interfering with Sue. The governess has little control and is far from being a good person to be in charge.”
This was all of the letter which pertained to the LeRoy family. With a little Montana news and private messages for Ann, the letter closed.
“Hum,” said Ann. “I wonder if I’d better tell Suzanne that Florida may be only a bright dream for us. No,—I’d better not bring Suzanne’s possible complaints into it.”