“Darling, sweetest Nance,” she cried, “I am sure the message will come. Perhaps she’ll telegraph, and they will telephone from the village. Judy and I love you so dearly, it breaks our hearts to see you cry like this. Doesn’t it, Judy?”
“Indeed, it does,” answered Judy, who was kneeling at the side of the couch with her cheek against Nance’s hand.
It was a comfort to Nance to realize that she had gained the friendship and affection of these two loving, warm-hearted girls. Never in her life had she met any girls like them, and presentlythe bitterness in her heart began to melt away.
“Perhaps she will telegraph,” she said, drying her eyes. “It was silly of me to take on so, but, you see, I had a little shock—I’m all right now. You’re dears, both of you.”
Judy went into her own room and returned in a moment with a large bottle of German cologne. Filling the stationary wash basin with cold water she poured in a liberal quantity of the cologne.
“Now, dearest Nance,” she said, “bathe your face in that, and then powder with Molly’s pink rice powder, and all will be as if it never had been,” she added, smiling.
The others smiled, too. Somehow, Nance’s outburst had done her more good than harm. For the first time in her life she had been coddled and sympathized with and petted. It was almost worth while to have suffered to have gained such rewards. After all, there were some pleasant things in life. For instance, the note which had come to her that afternoon from young Andy McLean, son of Dr. McLean, the college physician. To think that she, “the little gray mouse,” as her father had often called her, had inspired any one with a desire to see her again.It was almost impossible to believe, but there was the young Scotchman’s note to refute all contrary arguments.
“Dear Miss Oldham,” it said, in a good, round handwriting, “I have been wanting so much to see you again since our jolly day at Exmoor. I am bringing some fellows over on Saturday to supper at my father’s. If you should happen to be in about four o’clock, may I call? How about a walk before supper? I can’t tell you how disappointed I’ll be if you have another engagement.“Yours sincerely,“Andrew McLean, 2d.”
“Dear Miss Oldham,” it said, in a good, round handwriting, “I have been wanting so much to see you again since our jolly day at Exmoor. I am bringing some fellows over on Saturday to supper at my father’s. If you should happen to be in about four o’clock, may I call? How about a walk before supper? I can’t tell you how disappointed I’ll be if you have another engagement.
“Yours sincerely,“Andrew McLean, 2d.”
Of course, she would have to give up the walk now, but it was pleasant to have been remembered and perhaps he would come again.
That night at supper Nance was unusually bright and talkative. She answered all the many questions concerning her famous mother so easily and pleasantly that even Margaret Wakefield must have been deceived.
The two sophomores at Queen’s were giving a dance that evening, and while the girls sat in the long sitting room waiting for the guests to arrive, Judy took occasion to whisper to Molly:
“Why should she have to appear at the lecture, anyhow?”
“Because it would be disrespectful not to,” answered Molly. “She must be there, of course. Would you go gallivanting off with a young man if your mother was going to give a lecture here?”
“I should say not; but that’s different.”
“No, no,” persisted Molly; “it’s never different when it’s your mother, even when she doesn’t behave like one. Can’t you see that Nance would rather die than have people know that her mother isn’t exactly like other mothers?”
The next day was one of the busiest in the week for Molly. Two of her morning hours she spent coaching Judy in Latin. Then there were her lace collars to be done up, her stockings to be darned; a trip to be made to the library, where she stood in line for more than twenty minutes waiting for a certain volume of the Encyclopædia Britannica, and spent more than an hour extracting notes on “Norse Mythology.” It was well on toward lunch time when she finally hastened across the campus to Queen’s to fill some orders for “cloud-bursts,” which were intended to be part of the refreshments for certain Saturday evening suppers.
So weary was she and so intent on getting through in what she called “schedule time,” thatshe almost ran into Professor Edwin Green before she even recognized him.
“Oh, I beg your pardon,” she exclaimed, a wave of color sweeping over her pale face.
“Why are you hurrying so fast on Saturday?” he asked pleasantly. “Don’t you ever give yourself a holiday?”
“Oh, yes; lots of them,” she answered; “but I’m a little rushed to-day with some extra duties.”
She thought of the “cloud-bursts,” which must be made and packed in boxes by the afternoon.
“You are overdoing it, Miss Brown. You are not obeying the doctor’s orders. When I see you there to-night I shall confront you in his presence with the charge of disobedience.”
“There to-night?” repeated Molly.
“Certainly. Have you forgotten about the supper to-night?”
“But I’m not invited.”
“Oh, yes, you are,” answered the Professor, with a knowing smile. “You’ll probably find the note waiting for you. And you must be sure and come, because the McLean’s are real characters. They will interest you, I am sure.”
“Poor Nance,” was Molly’s first thought. And her second thought was: “If her mother is invitedout to dine, she can accept.” Her face brightened at this, and without knowing it, she smiled.
Molly led such a busy, concentrated life, that when she did relax for a few moments, she sometimes seemed absent-minded and inattentive. The Professor was looking at her closely.
“You are pleased at being asked to the McLean’s?” he said.
“I was thinking of something else,” she said. “I was wondering if, after all, Nance couldn’t arrange to go. Of course, she’ll be invited, too; but, you see, her mother is to be here.”
“Is Mrs. Oldham, the Suffragette, her mother?” he asked in surprise.
“Yes.”
“Mrs. Oldham is to dine at the President’s to-night. I know, because I was asked to meet her, but”—he looked at her very hard indeed—“I had another engagement.”
“Then Nance can go. Isn’t it beautiful? I am so glad!” Molly clasped her hands joyously.
Professor Green gave her such a beautiful, beaming smile that it fairly transfigured his face.
“You are a very good friend, Miss Brown,”he said gently; “but would not Miss Oldham rather be with her mother, that is, in case the President should invite her, too, which is highly probable?”
“Oh, I hope she won’t. You see, Nance has never had much pleasure with young people, and”—it was difficult to explain—“and her mother——” she hesitated.
“Her mother, being the most famous clubwoman in America, hasn’t spent much time at home? Is that it?”
“Well, yes,” admitted Molly. “In fact, she hardly remembers she has a daughter,” she added indignantly, and then bit her lip, feeling that she was bordering on disloyalty.
The Professor cleared his throat and thrust his hands into his pockets. He was really very boyish-looking to be so old.
“So you have set your heart on Miss Oldham’s going to the supper to-night?” he said gravely.
“If there is any fun going, Judy and I would be sorry to have her miss it,” she answered. “And I don’t suppose it would be thrilling to dine at the President’s with a lot of learned older people.”
“I’m just on my way to President Walker’snow,” pursued the Professor thoughtfully. “In fact, I was just about to deliver my regrets in person regarding dinner to-night, and having some business to attend to with Miss Walker, I thought I would call. While I am there, it is possible—well, in fact, Miss Brown, there should be a good fairy provided by Providence to grant all unselfish wishes. She would not be a busy fairy by any means, I am afraid, except when she hovered around you. Good morning,” and lifting his hat, the Professor hastened away, leaving Molly in a state of half-pleased perplexity.
On the table in her room she found a note from Mrs. McLean, inviting her to supper that evening. Two other invitations from the same lady were handed to Nance and Judy, but Nance was at that moment seated at her desk accepting an invitation from Miss Walker to dine there with her mother at seven. She was writing the answer very carefully and slowly, in her best handwriting, and on her best monogram note paper.
“Do you think that’s good enough?” she demanded, handing the note to Molly to read.
“Why, yes,” answered Molly, looking it over hastily while she prepared to write her own answerto Mrs. McLean, and then she threw herself into the business of “cloud-bursts.”
Just as the lunch gong sounded, Bridget, the Irish waitress at President Walker’s house, appeared at their half-open door.
“A note for Miss Oldham,” she said; “and the President says no answer is necessary. Good afternoon, ma’am; they’ll be waitin’ lunch if I don’t make haste.”
“‘My dear Miss Oldham,’” Nance read aloud. “‘I have just learned that you are invited to a young people’s supper party to-night at Mrs. McLean’s, and I therefore hasten to release you from your engagement to dine with me. Your mother will spare you, I am sure, on this one evening, and I hope you will enjoy yourself with your friends. With kindest regards, believe me,“‘Cordially yours,“‘Emma K. Walker.’”
“‘My dear Miss Oldham,’” Nance read aloud. “‘I have just learned that you are invited to a young people’s supper party to-night at Mrs. McLean’s, and I therefore hasten to release you from your engagement to dine with me. Your mother will spare you, I am sure, on this one evening, and I hope you will enjoy yourself with your friends. With kindest regards, believe me,
“‘Cordially yours,“‘Emma K. Walker.’”
“Isn’t she a brick?” cried Judy, dancing around the room and clapping her hands.
“It was awfully nice of her,” said Nance thoughtfully. “I wonder how she knew I was invited to the McLean’s?”
“Some good fairy must have told her,” answered Molly, half to herself, as she stirred brown sugar into a saucepan.
Nance did get a telegram from her mother that afternoon. It was very vague about trains and merely said: “Arrive in Wellington about two this afternoon. Meet me. Mother.”
Fortunately, the girls were as familiar with the train schedule as with their own class schedules, and knew exactly what train she meant.
“It’s the two-fifteen, of course,” announced Judy. “Shall we go down with you to meet her, Nance?”
“Why, yes; I think mother would like that very much,” answered Nance, pleased with the idea. “She loves attention.”
Therefore, when the two-fifteen pulled into Wellington station, our three freshmen, together with Margaret Wakefield heading a deputation from the Freshman Suffrage Club, and Miss Bowles, teacher in Higher Mathematics, were waiting on the platform.
“There she is!” cried Nance, with a note of eagerness in her voice that made Molly’s heart ache.
They all moved forward to meet a gaunt, tired-looking woman, with a sallow, faded complexion and a nervous manner; but her brilliant, clear brown eyes offset her unprepossessing appearance. Glowing with intelligence and with feverish energy they flashed their message to the world, like two mariner’s lights at sea, and those who caught that burning glance forgot the tired face and distraught manner of the woman of clubs.
“How are you, my dear?” she said, kissing Nance quite casually, without noticing where the kiss was going to land, and scarcely glancing at her daughter.
She had evidently been making notes on the trip down and still carried a pencil and some scrap paper in one hand, while the other grasped her suit case, of which Nance promptly relieved her. She shook hands cordially with Miss Bowles, and the girls whom Nance introduced, searching the face of each, as a recruiting officer might examine applicants for the army. Then they all climbed into the bus and presentlyshe plunged into a discussion with Miss Bowles on the advance of the suffrage movement in England and America.
“And this is the woman,” whispered Judy to Molly dramatically, “who has spoken before legislatures and represented the suffrage party abroad and been regent of Colonial Dames and President of National Societies for the Purification of Politics and—and lecturer on ‘The History of Legislation——’”
“How under the sun can you remember it all?” interrupted Molly.
“I don’t think I have got them straight,” answered Judy, “but they all sound alike, anyhow, so what’s the odds?”
Molly discreetly took herself off to Judy’s room that afternoon, leaving Nance and her mother together for the short time that elapsed before the lecture was to begin. But Nance soon followed them.
“Mother wants to be alone,” she said. “She has some notes to look over, and she has never read her day-before-yesterday’s mail yet. By the way, you are not going to the lecture, are you?”
“Of course we are,” answered the girls in the same breath.
“But the walk?”
“That can be postponed until to-morrow,” answered Molly promptly. “The boys are going to spend the night at the McLean’s, you know.”
Thus Nance’s happiness was all arranged for by her two devoted friends.
The gymnasium was only half full when the girls escorted “the most distinguished clubwoman in America” across the campus and into the great hall. The freshmen had turned out in full force, partly to do honor to Nance and partly because President Margaret Wakefield had been talking up the lecture beforehand. Miss Walker and others of the faculty were there, and in a far gallery seat Molly caught a glimpse of Professor Green, whose glance seemed to be turned unseeingly in her direction.
If Judy and Molly had had any fears as to how the absent-minded member of clubs was going to conduct herself on the platform, all doubts were soon dispelled. After the introduction made by the President, the lecturer’s nervous manner entirely disappeared. She approached the front of the platform with a composure marvelousto see, and in a cultivated, trained voice—not her everyday voice, by any means—she delivered an address of fervid and passionate eloquence; a plea for woman’s rights and universal suffrage so convincing that the most obstinate “anti” would have been won over. After the lecture there was an impromptu reception on the platform; then tea at Miss Bowles’ room and at last home to dress for the supper parties.
Judy and Molly had hastened ahead, leaving Nance to tear her mother from her circle of admirers with the plea that she would be too late. At twenty minutes before seven they hurried in, Mrs. Oldham looking so frail and exhausted that it hardly seemed possible she could keep up. While her poor daughter dashed into her own clothes, her mother sat limp and inert during the process of having her hair beautifully arranged with lightning speed by the deft and handy Judy, while Molly gave the weary woman aromatic spirits of ammonia in a glass of water and presently hooked her into a dinner dress which was really very handsome, of black lace over gray satin.
“Thank you, my dears,” she said amiably, giving an absent-minded glance at herself in theglass. “You are very kind, I am sure. I am such a busy woman I have little time to spare for beautifying; but I must say Miss Kean has improved my appearance by that high arrangement of hair.”
They were surprised that she remembered Judy’s name until they learned from Nance later that such was her training in meeting strangers, she never forgot a name or face.
“Now, where am I going?” continued the famous clubwoman. “You will drop me there, you say? You are going somewhere, Nance?”
“Yes, mother,” answered Nance patiently. It was the third time she had told her mother that fact.
At last they got her be-nubiaed and be-caped, and at exactly two minutes past seven o’clock deposited her at the President’s front door.
Then, with feelings of indescribable relief, they ran gayly across the campus, chattering and laughing like magpies.
Ten minutes later they were seated at Mrs. McLean’s large round supper table.
Professor Green, seated just opposite Nance, gave her happy, glowing face a long questioninglook, then turning to Molly next to him, he said:
“She is enjoying it, isn’t she?”
“Yes,” whispered Molly; “thanks to you, good fairy.”
“But the wish must come before the fairy acts, so that, after all, one is far more important than the other,” he replied.
“Wasn’t the lecture wonderful?” asked Molly.
“Very remarkable,” he answered. “Women like that should take to the platform and leave families to other women to rear.”
“They certainly can’t do both,” said Molly, remembering poor Nance’s outburst the afternoon before.
“And if you have the vote,” went on the Professor in a louder voice, and with a kind of mock solemnity, “what will you do with it?”
“They’ll pitch all the men out of office, Professor,” called Dr. McLean, who had overheard this question; “and they’ll do all the work, too, and we men will begin to enjoy life a little. We’ve been slaves long enough. I’m for the emancipation of men,” he cried, “and Woman’s Suffrage is the only way to bring it about.”
They all laughed at this original view of the question, and Mrs. McLean, a charming womanwith a beautiful Scotch accent, impossible to imitate, observed:
“My dear, the women are just as great slaves as the men, and they work much harder, if only you knew it. But you don’t because we are careful to conceal it. There areverafew women who do not wear their company manners in the presence of a man, take my word for it.”
“Is that the reason you are always so charming, Mrs. McLean?” put in Professor Green. “But I suspect you have only company manners.”
“Not at all, Professor; young Andy will tell you that I can be rude enough at times.”
Andy McLean, a tall, raw-boned youth with sandy hair and a thin, intelligent face, was too deeply engaged in conversation at that moment with Nance, to hear his mother’s speech.
“Let him alone, he’s busy,” remarked his father with a humorous smile.
“There’s an old song we sing at home,” went on Mrs. McLean, “‘there’s nae luck in tha’ hoose when the gude man’s awa’,’ but it should be the gude wife, for if ever a house goes to sixes and sevens it is my own house when I leave the two Andys and take ship for Scotland for a bit of a visit. There’s nae luck in the hoose for certain,and glad they are to get me back again, if ’tis only for their own personal comfort.”
“Hoity, toity, mother,” exclaimed the doctor; “we’re joost as glad to have you for your ainsel’, my dear.”
“Now, is it so, then?” laughed the gude wife. “Well, that’s satisfying assurance, truly.”
They found the doctor and his wife very amusing, and Molly liked Lawrence Upton, too, who was seated on her other side. He was a typical college youth, tall and stalwart, his brown hair brushed back in a pompadour, his clear, ruddy complexion glowing with vigor. In fact, he was one of the leading athletes at Exmoor, and had won a championship at high jumping and running.
“I hope we’ll have some dancing after dinner, Miss Brown,” he said. “I hear Southern girls fairly float, and I’d like to have a chance to find it out.”
“I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed with me, then,” answered Molly. “I’ve been leading at most of the college dances this fall, and it’s ruination to good dancing, you know. A leader is always pulling against the bit like a badly trained horse.”
“You look to me like a thoroughbred, Miss Brown,” said the gallant youth. “I’m not afraid of your pulling against the bit.”
Therewassome dancing after dinner in the McLean’s long, old-fashioned drawing-room, while Mrs. McLean herself played long old-fashioned waltzes on the piano, funny hop polkas and schottisches of antique origin. They enjoyed it immensely, however, fitting barn dances to the schottisches and mazurkas and two steps to the polkas. Twice Professor Green engaged Molly in a waltz. She had anticipated that his dancing would be as old-fashioned as the music, but to her surprise, she found him thoroughly up to date. In fact, she was obliged to admit that the Professor in English Literature danced better than any of the younger men at Mrs. McLean’s that night.
It was really the most delightful evening Molly had spent since she had been at Wellington. To Nance, it was the most delightful evening of her entire life and Judy, who always enjoyed the last time best of all, told Mrs. McLean when they left that she had never had a better time in her life.
After the dance, they sat around the big open fire, roasting chestnuts, while Dr. McLean sang a funny song called “Wee Wullie,” and Judy followed with an absurd “piece” on the piano called “Birdie’s Dead,” in schottische time, which sent them into shrieks of laughter and amused Dr. McLean so that he laid his head on his wife’s shoulder and wept with joy.
Sitting in the inglenook by the fireplace, Professor Green said to Molly:
“I have been waiting to say something to you, Miss Brown, and I will ask you to regard it as confidential.”
She looked up thinking perhaps it was the comic opera he was going to talk about, but she was vastly mistaken.
“When, as Botticelli’s Flora, you came to that night with the words, ‘I saw her——’ you did not guess, did you, that I, too, had seen her?”
They looked at each other and a flash of understanding passed between them. They now shared two secrets.
“I always wanted to tell you,” he continued in a low voice, “how much I admired your generous silence. You are a very remarkable young woman.”
With that the party broke up. Later, stretching her long slenderness in the three-quarter bed beside Judy, Molly smiled to herself, and decided that some older men were almost as nice as some young ones.
Just about this time a new figure appeared at Wellington College. She was known as “inspector of dormitories,” and her office was mainly sanitary, and did not infringe on the duties of the matrons. The new inspector lodged at Queen’s, since there was an empty room in that establishment, and her name was Miss Steel.
“If she had had her choice of all the names in the English language, she could not have chosen a more suitable one,” remarked Judy who had taken a violent dislike to Miss Steel from the first.
She was indeed a steel-like person, steely eyes, steel-gray hair, pale, thin lips, and at her belt metallic chains from which jangled notebook and pencil. When she spoke, which was rarely, her voice was sharp and incisive, and cut the air like a knife. But her most objectionable quality, the girls thought, was that she never made anysound when she walked, the reason being that she had rubber heels on her shoes.
The first real encounter the girls had with Miss Steel was at a Thanksgiving Eve spread given by the combined G. F. Society, most of the members having received bountiful Thanksgiving boxes from home. Nance’s neglected and lonely father had sent her a five-pound box of candy in lieu of the usual box, which takes a woman to plan and pack, and Judy’s devoted parents, always on the fly, had shipped her a box of fruit. All the others had received regular boxes full of Thanksgiving cheer, and the feast was to be a grand one. Each member invited guests, and by general vote extra ones were asked: Frances Andrews, who declined because she was going away, and two freshmen who lived in the village, and were working their way through college. Judith Blount was to be there by invitation of pretty Jessie Lynch, and Molly had invited Mary Stewart.
Most of the girls wore fancy costumes, and Molly’s and Nance’s large room was the scene of an extravaganza. The feast was piled on four study tables placed in an unbroken row and covered with a white cloth.
Jessie had worn her famous ballet costume, and was as pretty as a little captive sprite. Judith was in a gorgeous Turkish dress consisting of full yellow silk trousers, a tunic of transparent net and embroidered Turkish slippers. Nance wore her Scotch costume, and at the last minute Molly, who had been too busy even to think of a costume all day, dressed herself up charmingly like a Tyrolean peasant in what she could collect from the other girls.
A great many of the guests had arrived and the room was filled when a chambermaid appeared in the doorway with a tray of cards.
“Some gentlemen to call, Miss,” she said, endeavoring not to smile at a Little Boy Blue and a Little Lord Fauntleroy, who were waltzing together.
There were four cards on the tray: “Mr. Edwin Green,” “Mr. George Theodore Green,” “Andrew McLean, 2d,” and “Mr. Lawrence Upton.”
“Well, of all the strange times to pay a call,” exclaimed Molly. “Will you say that we are very sorry, but we must be excused this evening,” she said to the maid.
The servant bowed and slipped away, while all the girls in the room pounced on the cards.
“Well, I never! Four beaux, and one of them a professor!” cried Jessie, showing the cards to Judith.
“Miss Brown could hardly claim Cousin Edwin as a beau,” said Judith, her black eyes snapping. “His younger brother, George, often drags him into things, and poor Cousin Edwin consents to go because George is so timid, but as for paying a social call on a freshman, even the most self-confident freshman could hardly regard a visit from him as that.”
“I don’t regard it as that,” ejaculated Molly.
She was not accustomed to sharp-tongued people, and it was really difficult for her to deal with them properly, as Judy could, and Nance, too. But she forced herself to remember that Judith was a guest in her room, and was about to partake of some of her good Kentucky fare. She turned away without saying another word, and fortunately the maid came back just then and relieved the strained situation.
“The gentlemen say they must see you, ma’am,” she said; “and if you won’t come down to them, they’ll just come upstairs.”
“What?” cried a chorus of girls.
Suddenly there was a wild scramble on the stairs; shouts of laughter, a sound of heavy boots thumping along the hall, and four tall young men burst into the room. There were shrieks from disappearing Boy Blues and Fauntleroys, who endeavored to cover their extremities with sofa cushions, the captive sprite rushed into a closet and a wild scene of disorder and pandemonium followed.
“Don’t be frightened, ladies,” said the tallest young man, who wore correct evening clothes, from his opera hat and pearl studs to his pointed patent leather pumps. His hair was light and curly, and he had a long yellow mustache, like Lord Dundreary’s.
“Ladies! ladies! why all this excitement?” called another of the quartette, dressed in full black and white checked trousers, a short tan overcoat, a red tie and a brown derby.
The third young man wore a smoking jacket and white duck trousers, and the fourth was dressed in an English golf suit and visored cap.
“Oh, you villains!” cried Jessica, popping her head out of the closet. “You have frightened us almost to death. Do you think I wouldn’t knowyou, Margaret Wakefield, even in that sporting suit. Come over here and show yourself!”
The bogus gentlemen were indeed three of the evening’s hostesses and one of the guests. Mary Stewart wore the evening clothes, borrowed from her brother for a senior play to take place shortly. Judy had on the golf suit, Sallie Marks the dinner coat and Margaret the rakish sporting costume.
“But where did you get the cards?” asked Judith, ashamed of herself, now that the visitors’ real identity was disclosed.
“I wrote to Dodo and asked him for them,” answered Judy, giving her a look, as much as to say, “What affair is it of yours?”
After the banquet was commenced and the fun waxed fast and furious, there was a cakewalk at the last, with a box of “cloud-bursts” as the prize, the eight hostesses taking turns as judges.
“After this wild orgy, I think we’d better be leaving,” said Mary Stewart. “It’s getting cold and late, but we’ve had a glorious time. Will you permit a gentleman to kiss you on the cheek, Molly?”
“That I will,” answered Molly, “and proud of the honor.”
Slipping on a skirt and a long ulster, Mary took her departure with Judith and the other girls, who did not have rooms at Queen’s, and pretty soon the party had disbanded.
“I’ll stay and help you gather up the loaves and fishes,” Judy announced. “It’ll soon be ten, but we can hang a dressing gown over the transom and draw the blinds and no one will know the difference just this once,” she added, proceeding to carry out her ideas of deception.
“I’m still hungry,” observed Nance. “I had to wait on so many people I didn’t have a chance to eat any supper myself.”
“So am I famished,” said Molly; “but I was ashamed to confess it.”
“I’d like a cup of hot tea,” observed Judy, who had waited on nobody but herself.
“When Mrs. Markham comes around,” cautioned Nance, “in case she knocks on the door, one of us be ready to put out the light. Judy, you slip into the closet. She’s been known to come in, you know, after one of these jamborees.”
“Mrs. Markham’s away,” answered Judy. “‘Steel beads’ is taking her place until after Thanksgiving.”
The girls munched their sandwiches and talked in low voices. Suddenly there was a sharp rap on the door. Instantly the light went out and there was dead silence. Judy, crawling on all fours toward the closet, was about to conceal herself behind protecting skirts, when the rap was repeated.
“Well, what is it?” called Nance, the boldest among them, “the light is out.”
There was no answer and the rap was not repeated.
The girls waited a few moments, and then cautiously lighting a student’s lamp with a green shade, proceeded with their supper. Judy looked at her watch. It was a quarter of eleven.
Again they were interrupted. This time by some pebbles thrown against the window.
Molly raised the sash softly and gazed down into the darkness below.
“What is it?” she called.
“It’s Margaret,” answered a voice from the yard. “For the love of heaven, can’t you let me in? I’ll explain afterward. I wouldn’t mind ringing up Mrs. Markham, but I’m afraid of that Steel woman.”
“Wait a minute,” answered Molly, and closingthe window, she turned to consult with the others.
“There’s nothing to be done but to go down,” they decided, and Molly insisted on being the sacrificial lamb. Judy made her slip on her nightgown over her dress, and her dressing gown over that, in order to appear in the proper guise in case anything happened.
But they were doomed to another shock that night.
Just as Molly opened the door she came face to face with Miss Steel standing outside in the hall.
“Oh, I beg your pardon,” said Molly politely, feeling thankful she had put on her nightgown, “I thought I heard a noise outside.”
“You seem to be sitting up very late to-night, Miss Brown,” said Miss Steel, looking at her coldly. “I was told to enforce the ten o’clock rule in Mrs. Markham’s absence, and I must ask you to get to bed at once, unless you wish to be reported.”
“I’m sorry,” said Molly.
The woman seemed unnecessarily stern, she thought, because, after all, this was not a boarding school, but a college. However, she wentback, and closed and bolted the door. In her heart she felt a contempt for any one who would creep about and listen at people’s doors. Mrs. Markham would have been incapable of it.
Just then there came another pebble against the window.
Judy crept to the window this time.
“Wait, Margaret,” she called. “Miss Steel is about.”
There was perfect stillness for several long black minutes. The three girls sat in a row on the floor listening with strained ears and to Judy at least the adventure was not without its enjoyment. At last they felt that it might be safe to act. Taking off their shoes they moved noiselessly to the window and looked down. There stood the courageous Margaret in full view on the roof of the piazza. She had actually shinned up one of the pillars, which was not such a difficult feat as it might seem, as the railing around the piazza had placed her within reach of the wooden grillwork and swinging onto that she had drawn herself up to the roof. She had skinned her wrist and stumped one of her stockinged toes, having removed her shoes and hidden them under the house, but she appeared nowthe very figure of courage and action, waiting for the next move. The three girls stood looking down at her in a state of fearful uncertainty as to what should be done next, and as if this were not exciting enough, three light telegraphic taps were heard on the door.
“That’s not Miss Steel,” whispered Judy.
“Who is it,” she called softly through the keyhole.
“Jessie,” came the answer.
Instantly the door was opened and Jessie crept in.
“Miss Steel is up,” she whispered. “I saw her on the landing below just now. Be careful. I am scared to death because Margaret hasn’t come back.”
For an answer, they led her to the window and pointed to the shadowy figure of her roommate on the piazza roof.
Because Molly had conceived a dislike and distrust for Miss Steel, she made up her mind to outwit her and save her friend. She reflected that if Margaret tried any of the girls on the second floor whose windows opened on the roof, she might get in but she would still have the third flight to make and as the stairs creaked at everystep, it would be a difficult matter. Fortunately Miss Steel’s room was on the other side of the hall.
“I have a scheme,” she whispered at last. “Now, don’t any one move. I can manage it without making a sound.”
There was a ball of twine on the mantelpiece. Thank heavens for that. She tied one end to the back of a cane chair, which she let slowly out of the window. Then, snipping off the end of the cord, she gave it to Nance to hold. Another chair, which was fortunately smaller, she let down in the same way and finally a stool. Margaret placed one on top of the other, mounted the precarious and toppling pyramid, and with the strength of arm and wrist which showed her gymnasium training, pulled herself to the window sill and was in the room.
“Be quiet,” they whispered. “Miss Steel is about.”
The four girls lay down on the couches and waited a long time. Judy really fell asleep in the interval before they dared risk pulling back the chairs. It was, in fact, a risky business, and had to be done cautiously and carefully to keep them from bumping against the walls of thehouse. At last, however, the whole thing was accomplished.
Margaret explained that she had gone over to one of the other houses to return the clothes she had borrowed and had joined another Thanksgiving party and stayed longer than she had intended. They also had been held up by the matron, and had been obliged to put out the lights and hide everything under the bed. She had escaped from the house by a miracle without being found out, and had trusted to luck and her friends for getting into Queen’s unobserved.
And now, at last, the adventure was almost over. After another interminable wait, Judy and Margaret and Jessie crept off to their rooms.
Judy’s door was still ajar when she saw a flash of light on the stairs, which heralded the approach of Miss Steel, still fully clothed, and walking noiselessly as usual. Judy closed her door and locked it softly.
“Only a spy would wear felt slippers,” she said to herself scornfully. Then she laughed. “It was rather good fun to be sure, but would it have mattered so much, after all, if Margaret had boldly come in at the front door and explained?”
They would never have gone to all that trouble to deceive nice Mrs. Markham, her thoughts continued as she removed her manly attire, but Miss Steel was different.
As for Molly, her thoughts were about the same as Judy’s.
“A lady doesn’t creep,” she was thinking, as she thankfully crawled into bed; “a lady doesn’t listen at doors or wear soundless slippers in order to walk like a cat. No, Miss Steel is decidedly not a lady.”
And when Molly came to this decision about a person, she avoided them carefully ever afterward. Her definition of a “lady” was about the same as a man’s definition of a “gentleman.” It had nothing whatever to do with birth or education.
During those fast flying weeks which tread on one another’s heels so rapidly between Thanksgiving and Christmas, came one of the most important events of the season.
It was announced on the bulletin board as the “Harboard-Snail Football Game,” and was, in fact, a grand burlesque on a game played not long before between two university teams.
Quite half of the Wellington students took part in the affair and those who were not actively engaged were placed in the cheer sections to yell themselves hoarse. There were a dozen doctors, an ambulance, stretcher bearers, trained nurses and the two teams in proper football attire.
Everybody in college turned out one Saturday afternoon to witness this elaborate parody. A coach drove over from Exmoor fairly alive with students, and the fields outside the Wellington athletic grounds were black with people.
Judy was a member of the corps of physicians who were all dressed alike in frock coats reaching well below the knees, gray trousers and silk hats. They had imposing mustaches, carried bags of instruments and were the most ludicrous of all the actors that day.
But it was the stretcher bearers who seemed to excite the greatest merriment in the grand parade which took place before the game began. They were dressed something like “Slivers,” the famous clown, in full white pantaloons and long white coats cut in at the waist with wide skirts. The members of the cheering sections which headed the grand column were dressed in every sort of absurd burlesque of a college boy’s clothes that could be devised.
“How they ever collected all those ridiculous costumes is a marvel to me,” exclaimed President Walker to Dr. McLean, whose face had turned an apoplectic purple from laughter and who occasionally let out a roar of joy that could be heard all the way across the field.
Following the cheering sections in the parade were the two teams, hardly recognizable at all as human beings. Their wigs of tousled hair stood out all over their heads like the petals ofenormous chrysanthemums. Most of them wore nose guards or their faces were made up in a savage and barbaric fashion. In their wadded football suits, stuffed out of all human recognition, they resembled trussed fowls. In the vanguard of this strange and ludicrous procession stalked a gigantic figure of Liberty. She was about fifteen feet high, and her draperies reached to the ground. Her long red hair blew in the breezes and she carried a Wellington banner, which she majestically waved over the heads of the multitude. By her side ran a dwarf. They were the mascots of the two sides.
“Why, if that isn’t our little friend, Miss Molly Brown,” exclaimed Dr. McLean, pointing to Liberty. “She’s a bonnie lass and a sweet one. Think now, of her being able to walk on those sticks without losing her balance. It’s a verra great achievement, I’m thinking, for a giddy-headed young woman. For they’re all giddy-headed at seventeen or thereabouts.”
It was indeed Molly, the only girl in all Wellington who could walk on stilts. The seniors had advertised inThe Communefor a first-class “stiltswoman,” and Molly had promptly offeredher services. Jessie had been selected as the dwarf.
“I hope the child won’t fall and break her neck,” said Mrs. McLean on the other side of the doctor. “It’s verra dangerous. Suppose she should become suddenly faint——”
“Don’t suppose anything of the sort, mither. You’ve no grounds for thinkin’ the lass will tumble. She seems to be at home in the air.”
Professor Green, just beyond Mrs. McLean, frowned, and put his hands in his pockets. He wondered if Dr. McLean had forgotten that he had been sent for just three weeks before when Molly had fainted in the gymnasium, and the Professor breathed a sigh of relief when Liberty presently descended to the earth and the game began.
It was one of the bloodiest and roughest games in the history of football. The ambulance bell rang constantly. Every time a victim fell, the cheering section on the other side set up a wild yell. Doctors and nurses were scattered all about the edges of the field attending to the wounded and the stretchers were busy every minute. As fast as one man tumbled another jumped into his place, and at last when there came a touchdownthe players seemed to have fallen on top of each other in a mad squirming mass.
People laughed that day who were rarely seen to smile. Even Miss Steel’s severe expression relaxed into a cold, steely smile.
Molly had gathered up her long cheesecloth robe and was sitting with Jessie on a bench at the side of the field.
“Isn’t it perfect, Jessie?” she was saying. “I don’t think I ever enjoyed anything so much in all my life. It will make a wonderful letter home.”
Jessie smiled absently. With a pair of field glasses, she was searching the faces of the spectators for two friends (men, of course), who had motored over to see the sport. At her belt was pinned the most enormous bunch of violets ever seen. In fact, they were two bunches worn as one, from her two admirers. Presently Judith joined them on the bench. Ever since the Thanksgiving spread she had endeavored to be very nice to Molly.
“Hello, Ju-ju!” called Jessie; “you are a sight.”
“I know it,” she said. “I feel that I am a disgrace to the sex. I only hope I’m not recognizable.”
“Your shiny black eye is the only familiar thing about you. The rest is entirely disguised.”
“I think I’d recognize that ring, Miss Blount,” put in Molly. “Almost everybody knows that emerald by sight now, who knows you at all.”
Judith glanced quickly at her finger.
“Do you know,” she exclaimed, “I forgot I was wearing it? How stupid of me! I am booked to take Rosamond’s place in a minute. Will one of you girls take care of it for me? I shall be much obliged.”
“You’d better take it, Jessie,” said Molly, looking rather doubtfully at the ring. She had only one piece of jewelry to her name, a string of sapphires, which had belonged to her mother when she was a girl.
But the ring was too big for Jessie’s slender, pretty little fingers.
“I can’t,” she said, “unless I wear it on my thumb, and it might slip off, you know. You’ll have to take it, Molly.”
Molly slipped it on her finger and held it up for admiration.
“It’s the most beautiful ring I ever saw,” she exclaimed. “It’s the color of deep green seawater. Not that I ever saw any, but I’ve heard tell of it,” she added, laughing.
“You don’t mean to say you have never seen the ocean!” cried Judith in a pleasant tone of voice.
Molly had never seen her so amiable before.
“No,” replied the freshman, “this is the nearest I have ever been to it.”
“Well, thanks for taking care of my ring,” went on Judith. “I’ll see you after the game,” and she departed to take up her duties on the field, just as Rosamond, at the appointed time, with a gash across her face, made with finger-nail salve, was borne from the field on a stretcher.
After the game came another grand procession in which all the wounded took part, Molly on stilts, with Jessie running beside her, as before.
All that morning Molly had felt buoyed up by the fun and excitement of the great burlesque. But, now that the game was over, as she strode along on the giant stilts, she began to feel the same overpowering fatigue she had experienced that night at the living picture show. For a week she had been living on her nerves. Oftenat night she had not slept, but had tossed about on her bed trying to recall her lessons or make mental notes of things she intended to do. On cold mornings, her feet and hands were numb and dead and Judy often made her run across the campus and back to start her circulation. And now that numbness began to climb from her toes straight up her body. Molly turned unsteadily and with shaky strides at least six feet long, hastened across the field. Her feeling that she must get out of the noise and turmoil, away from everybody in the world, carried her back of a row of sheds under which the players sat during the intermissions. Once in this quiet place she let herself down from the stilts. She was conscious of being very cold. There was a deep red light in the western sky from the setting sun, then the numbness reached her brain and she remembered nothing more until she opened her eyes and saw Dr. McLean at one side of her and Professor Green at the other.
“Here she comes back at last,” exclaimed the doctor. “Aye, lass, it’s a good thing this young man has an observant eye. Otherwise ye might have been lying out here in the cold all night. You feel better now, don’t you?”
“Yes, doctor,” answered Molly weakly.
“I don’t like these fainting spells, my lass. You’re not made of iron, child. You’ll have to give up one thing or t’other—study or play.”
But there were other things Molly did beside studying and playing. Of course the doctor did not know about the “cloud-bursts” and the shoe-blacking and the tutoring.
“Aye, here comes one of my associates with a carriage,” he went on, chuckling to himself. “Shall we have a consultation now, Dr. Kean?”
Judy, still in her absurd burlesque costume, had driven up in one of the village surreys.
As the two men lifted Molly into the back seat, she noticed for the first time that she was wearing a man’s overcoat. It was dark blue and felt warm and comfortable. She slipped her hands into the deep pockets and snuggled down into its folds. Certainly she felt shivery about the spine, and her hands and feet, which were never known to be warm, were now like lumps of ice. As the doctor was still wearing his great coat of Scotch tweed, it was evidently the coat of the Professor of English Literature she had appropriated.
“It’s awfully good of you to lend me yourcoat,” she said to Professor Green, who was standing at the side of the carriage while the doctor climbed in beside her. “I’m afraid you’ll take cold without it.”
“Nonsense,” he said, almost gruffly, “I’m not dressed in cheesecloth.”
“But I have on a white sweater under all this,” said Molly timidly.
The carriage drove away, however, without his saying another word, and later that afternoon, after Molly had taken a nap and felt rested and refreshed, she engaged one of the maids at Queen’s cottage to return Professor Green’s overcoat with a message of thanks. Then, with a sigh of relief, because when she had borrowed anything it always weighed heavily on her mind, and because she felt somehow that the Professor was provoked with her, she turned over and went to sleep again.
Just as the clock in the chapel tower sounded midnight she sat up in bed.
“What is it, Molly, dear?” asked Nance, who was wakeful and uneasy about her friend.
Molly was looking at her right hand wildly.
“The ring!” she cried. “Judith’s emerald ring—it’s gone!”
The ring was indeed gone. Neither of her friends had seen it on her finger since she had been in her room.
It was gone—lost!
“It must have slipped off my finger when I fainted,” sobbed the poor girl.
Nance had summoned Judy at this trying crisis, and the two girls endeavored to comfort their friend, who seemed to be working herself into a state of feverish excitement.
“Never mind, we’ll find it in the morning, Molly,” cried Nance. “You know exactly where it was you fell, don’t you? Somewhere behind the sheds. It’s sure to be there. Judy and I promise to go there first thing, don’t we, Judy?”
“Yes, indeed,” acquiesced Judy, who loved her morning sleep better than anything in life. But Judy was learning unselfishness since she had been associating with Molly and Nance.
There was no more sleep for poor Molly that night, however, and she lay through the dragging hours with strained nerves and throbbing temples wondering what would happen if she did not find the ring.
Nance was still sound asleep when Molly crept from her bed and dressed herself. It was a dismal cold morning. A fine snow was falling and she shivered as she tied a scarf around her head, threw her long gray eiderdown cape over her shoulders and slipped from the room, without waking her friend, who was weary after the excitements of the day before.
Across the wind-swept campus she hastened, anxiety lending swiftness to her steps, and at last reached the Athletic Field. At the far end snuggled several low wooden sheds like a group of animals trying to keep warm by staying close together.
“I must hurry,” Molly thought, “or the snow will be so thick I shall never be able to find the ring,” and summoning all her energy she ran as fast as she could straight to the spot where she remembered to have dropped the day before behindthe sheds. Breathless and tingling all over with little prickly chills, she knelt down and began to search in the dead grass, brushing the snow away as she hunted. She had not stopped to find gloves, neither had she wasted any time lacing her boots, but had slipped on some pumps at the side of the bed.
For a long time Molly searched every inch of the ground back of the sheds where she might have been. Then, with an ever-growing feeling of desperation, she hunted in the field itself, across which she had followed the parade. And it was here that Judy and Nance found her so absorbed in her search that she had not even noticed their approach.
“Oh, Molly, Molly! what are we going to do with you?” cried Nance, seizing her by the arm impulsively. “You’ll kill yourself by your imprudence. Why didn’t you wait and let us look?”
Molly opened her mouth to answer, and the words came out in a husky whisper. She had entirely lost her voice from hoarseness, without even knowing that she had caught cold.
“I’ve looked everywhere,” she whispered, “and I haven’t found it. I couldn’t have lost it while I was on the stilts, because I never let go of themfor a moment. It must have been when I fainted.”
“Judy, you take her home while I look again,” volunteered Nance.
“Take her to the infirmary, you mean,” answered Judy, and she promptly led Molly by a short cut toward the last house on the far side of the campus, where stood the small college hospital.
Molly obediently allowed herself to be piloted along. Her cheeks were burning; there was a feverish light in her eyes, and she no longer felt cold at all, but hot all over with little chills along her spine.
“I’m afraid I’m a great nuisance, Judy, dear. I hope you’ll forgive me, but I’m really in great trouble,” she said huskily, as Judy confided her to one of the two nurses at the hospital.
“Don’t worry,” was Judy’s parting command. “We’ll find the ring. It can’t possibly be lost utterly. It’s too big and green. I’ll see Judith Blount, too. Some one may have found it and returned it to her by this time. I’ll leave a notice on the bulletin board and stand my little St. Joseph on his head,” she added laughing. “Youmay be sure I’ll leave nothing undone to find that old ring.”
The first thing Judy did after breakfast that Sunday morning was to pay a visit to Judith Blount. There was a placard on her door announcing to whom it might concern that Judith was busy and did not wish to be disturbed, but Judy knocked boldly and at an impatient “Who is it?” replied: “I wish to see you on important business. Please unlock the door.”
Judy couldn’t make out why Judith Blount looked so white and uneasy when she entered the room; nor why her expression changed to one of intense relief a moment later.
“I came to ask you,” began Judy abruptly, “if any one had found your emerald ring.”
“Miss Brown has my ring,” answered Judith promptly.
“Didn’t you know that Molly had fainted and is now ill in the hospital and the ring is lost?”
“My emerald ring lost?” Judith almost shouted.
“Don’t carry on so about it,” put in Judy. “It’ll be found. Molly herself was up at dawn this morning. She stole away before anybody could stop her, and went to the field to look forit, but she hasn’t been able to find it, and neither has Nance, who looked for it later. Nance has gone down to the village to find the surrey that took Molly home. We are all doing everything we can and in the meantime I thought I would tell you so that you could help us.”
Judy could be very impudent when she wanted to, and she was impudent now, as she stood looking straight into Judith’s angry black eyes.
“She should have been more careful,” burst out Judith in a rage. “How do I know that——” she stopped, frightened at what she was about to say.
“Better not say that,” said Judy calmly. “It simply wouldn’t go, you know, and you must know as well as I do that it would be absolutely false.”
“How do you know what I was going to say?”
“I could guess,” said Judy, shrugging her shoulders. “I can often guess things you would like to say, but don’t, Miss Blount. What I came for was to ask you to help us find the ring. Molly is very ill, and, of course, it’s the loss of the ring as much as anything else that’s made her so. We’re all doing the best we can, and ifyou’ll just kindly add your efforts to ours, it might help some.”
“Supposing the ring isn’t found, what redress have I? It’s been in our family for generations. It was brought over from France by a Huguenot ancestor——”
“Nice place to be wearing it, then, at a football game!” exclaimed Judy indignantly. “And then forcing other people to take charge of it for you! Redress, indeed! Do you want Molly to pay you for your ring? I tell you, Miss Blount, that a person who really had Huguenot ancestors would never have suggested such a thing. It wouldn’t have been Huguenot etiquette.”
And Judy flung herself out of the room and down the steps before the astonished Judith had time to realize that she had been insulted by an upstart of a freshman.
It looked very much for a day or two as if Molly were going to have a congestion in one lung. For several days she was a very sick girl. She had a strange delirium that she was looking for something while she was walking on stilts. Many times she asked the nurse if sapphires were as valuable as emeralds, and once she demanded to know if an emerald as large as her little fingernail was worth much money, say, two acres of good orchard land. But the lung was not congested, as Dr. McLean had at first thought. In a day or two the fever subsided and by Thursday she was able to sit up in bed, propped by many pillows and see Judy and Nance.
Her room was a bower of flowers. They had even come from Exmoor, Lawrence Upton having sent her a box of lovely pink roses. Mrs. McLean had brought her a bunch of red berries from the woods, and one day two cards were brought up, one of which looked familiar: Miss Grace Green and Mr. Edwin Green, inquiring as to the improvement in Miss Molly Brown’s condition, were pleased to hear that she was better.
And now Nance and Judy sat on either side the young invalid, each trying to assume a cheerful expression and each feeling that whatever disagreeable things had happened—and several had happened—they must be hidden from Molly at all costs.
Judith Blount had scattered reports around college of an extremely hateful character which Molly’s friends had done their best to suppress. The ring had never been found, although everythinghad been done that could be thought of in the way of advertising and searching.
Moreover, Miss Steel had asked twice of Molly’s condition in a very meaning tone of voice, and had wished to know exactly when the nurse thought Molly would be able to see visitors. These things the girls knew, and since Molly was still weak and very hoarse, her friends were careful to keep off dangerous subjects.
Strange to say, Molly had never mentioned the ring to any one since she had been in the hospital.
“Everybody has been so beautifully kind,” she was saying, “and really, I think the rest is going to do me so much good, that when I get well I’ll be better than I was before I got sick,” she added, laughing.
“We’ve missed you terribly,” said Nance dolefully.
“Queen’s just a dead old hole without you, Molly, dear,” went on Judy affectionately.
Molly smiled lovingly at her two friends.
“You are the dearest——” she began, taking a hand of each when the nurse entered.
“Miss Stewart would like to see you, Miss Brown.”
“Oh, yes,” cried Molly; “do ask her to come up.”
Nance and Judy did not linger after Mary Stewart’s arrival. Her face also wore a serious look, and she took Molly’s hand and gazed down into her face almost with a compassionate expression.
“How are you, Molly, dear?”
“Oh, I’m much better,” replied Molly, cheerfully. “I shall be up by to-morrow, the doctor says, and I expect to go back to Queen’s Sunday.”
Mary sat down and drew her chair up close to the little white bed.
“It’s almost providential my being in the hospital like this,” went on Molly, “it’s rested me so. You see, I was terribly worried about something when I came here.”
“And you aren’t worried any longer?”
“No; I’ve conquered it. I know it’s got to be faced; but I believe there will be a way out of it, and I’m not frightened any more. I have always had a kind of blind faith like that when things look very black.”
“You are talking of the emerald ring, aren’t you, Molly?”
“Yes, Mary. I know it hasn’t been found, of course. I can tell that by the girls’ faces, and I know that Judith Blount is—well, she is your friend, Mary——”
“Oh, no; not now,” put in Mary. “We’ve had a—er—difference of opinion that has—well, not to put too fine a point on it, broken up our friendship. I always admired her, without ever really liking her.”
Molly looked at Mary and a very tender expression came into her heavenly blue eyes.
“Was the difference about me?” she asked presently.
Mary hesitated.
“Yes, Molly; since you force me to tell you, it was.”
“She has been saying some horrid things? Of course, I knew she would. I was prepared for that. And I could tell——” Molly paused. “No, no, I mustn’t!” she exclaimed hastily.
“What could you tell, Molly?”
“Don’t ask me. I would never speak to myself again, if I did tell. She has been saying that I never lost the ring, that I was poor and needed the money, and things like that. Tell me honestly, isn’t that the truth?”
Mary nodded her head and frowned. There was a silence, and presently Mary’s strong, brown fingers closed over Molly’s slender ones.
“Molly,” she began in a business-like tone of voice, “I’m almost glad that this subject has come up because I came here really to——” she broke off. “It’s very hard,” she began again. “I hardly know how to put it. You knew, Molly, dear, that I was rich, didn’t you?”
“Why, yes; I guessed you must be, although you have been careful not to mention it yourself. You’re the most high-bred, finest girl I ever knew, Mary,” she added impetuously.
Mary laughed.
“That’s nice of you to say such things, dear, because I haven’t but one ancestor on my paternal side and that’s father, but he’s generations in himself, he’s so splendid. But to go on, Molly, dear, I am rich, not ordinarily rich, but enormously, vastly rich. It’s absurd, really, because we’ll never spend it, and we don’t care a rap about saving it; but whatever father touches just turns to gold.”
“I wish he’d touch something for me,” laughed Molly, wistfully.
“Now, listen to me, dear, and don’t interrupt.Father adores me to that extent that I could spend any amount of money and he would just smile and say: ‘Go ahead, little Mary, go as far as you like.’ But, you see, I only want a few very nice things, consequently, I can’t be extravagant to save my life.”
Molly laughed aloud at this naïve confession.
“The point I’m coming to is this, Molly: Judith Blount is being exceedingly horrid over that ring. I believe myself it will be found eventually. But until it is found, I want you—now don’t interrupt me and don’t carry on, please—I want you to ask her the value of her old ring and give her the money for it. If she chooses to be ill-bred, she must be treated with ill-bred methods.”
“But, dearest Mary, I can’t——” began Molly.