CHAPTER XVII.ALEXIA HAS GRACE TO HERSELF.
“WELL, if I’m not glad to get you here!” cried Alexia that same morning, dragging Grace into the front doorway of “The Pumpkin.” “Now you shall make me such a visit! Dear me, won’t we have good times together,” making all sorts of wild plans in her mind on the spot, to atone for any former coldness.
“I can’t stay but two days,” cried Grace in alarm. “I’m to go back to ‘The Oaks’ then.”
“Nonsense! Why, it would take you two days to see that blessed child alone. You’ve no idea how he’s grown this last week,” said Alexia.
“Hadn’t I better see him now?” asked Grace, feeling it unsafe to put off such a wonderful sight any longer.
“That you had!” exclaimed Alexia, delighted at such enthusiasm. “Come right up into the nursery this very minute, Grace.”
So the two ran up the winding stairs into the tiny box of a room called the nursery. There on the floor, sprawling after a red rubber ball, was Algernon. His mother seized him, and covered his round red face with kisses. “The blessed, precious baby!” she cried.
“Ar-goo-goo-goo!” screamed Algernon in a passion, and kicking fearfully.
“See how he tries to talk—how hedoestalk!” cried Alexia, whirling around with him till his arms and legs appeared to Grace like so many spokes to a wheel in rapid motion. “Oh, my dear! So he should tell his old mother all about it. Grace, isn’t he perfectly wonderful?”
“Heisa baby,” said Grace, saying the first thing that came into her mind.
“I knew you’d say so when you came to see him,” declared Alexia, with a triumphant flush on her sallow face. “That isn’t half he can do, either.”
She set Algernon on the floor, and dropped there herself, regardless of her elaborate morning-dress. “Crawl over mummy, now,” she commanded.
But Algernon preferred to crawl just the other way, after his ball.
“That’s just it!” cried Alexia delightedly. “Now, you see he’s not to be led. He’s going to think for himself. Oh, I expect great things from that boy, Grace!”
A placid-looking woman in a big stiff white cap sat by the window sewing.
“Now, there’s Bonny,” said Alexia, still sitting on the floor, and looking over at her, “she’s thoroughly commonplace, and can’t rise to the superiority of that blessed child. And strange to say, Grace, his father can’t either. But I can; oh, you dear!” with that she caught Algernon by one of his fat little legs, and drew him to her. And then ensued a wild screaming on Algernon’s part, and a petting on Alexia’s, Grace backing off to the door, feeling that the room was too small for so much action.
“Now I’m going to have a talk with you, Grace,” said Alexia presently, and hanging tightly to her baby, “come,” in one of the lulls when Algernon paused to take breath, “let’s go into your room.”
“Can we talk with the baby?” asked Grace with wide eyes.
“Nonsense; yes, indeed! Algernon loves to hearconversation, and he really understands a good deal,” said Alexia, tucking her “blessed child” under one arm, and going off. “This is your room, right next, so you can hear his dear little voice the first thing in the morning. Oh, you darling!” stopping to kiss Algernon. Then she ran with him into Grace’s small apartment room, and dumped him into the middle of the bed. “Now, then, Grace, he’s all right. Come in, dear, this is your room.”
“Will he stay there?” asked Grace fearfully.
“Dear me, yes,” said Alexia; “he’s so very sensible. And I’m going to sit this side to make it absolutely sure. Well, now, Grace, take off your bonnet, and come here. I want to ask you something.”
Grace took off her bonnet, and came round by the side of the bed.
“Sit on the foot there, will you,” said Alexia.
“That’s a dear. Well, now, Grace, do tell me about Roslyn May. I’ve been dying to know, and couldn’t get a chance with all this swarm of company around our ears, ever since you said he was your cousin the other night. How did that ever happen?”
“Why, he was born so,” said Grace.
“Of course, you stupid child,” cried Alexia; “why, even Algernon would know that! But I mean—oh, isn’t it just the most wonderful thing in all the world that it turns out that Roslyn May is your cousin?”
“Why, no; I don’t see how it is very wonderful,” said Grace in a perplexed way.
“Oh, dear me! well, you are stupid—I mean! well, I wish I could tell you, but I suppose I mustn’t.”
“And what made everybody look so queer when I spoke his name, when Mrs. King said that the Fishers were going to Rome?” asked Grace, recognizing here a mystery, and meaning to get at the bottom of it. “Why did they, Mrs. Dodge?”
“Oh, dear me! Algernon, would you tell her?” asked his mother.
“Ar-goo!” said Algernon, having recovered himself, and finding it very pleasant to pull at the pillow-shams.
“There, since that blessed child says so, I believe I ought to tell you, Grace!” said Alexia; “and besides, all our set, the old friends I mean,know it. Why, Phronsie Pepper and Roslyn May are lovers.”
Grace gave a squeal that entirely threw Algernon’s into the shade, as she hopped off from the bed, and ran around into Alexia’s arms. “Oh, say that again—do say it again, dear Mrs. Dodge!” she cried with blazing cheeks.
“Ar-goo!” said Algernon“Ar-goo!” said Algernon, finding it very pleasant to pull at the pillow-shams.
“Ar-goo!” said Algernon, finding it very pleasant to pull at the pillow-shams.
“Ar-goo!” said Algernon, finding it very pleasant to pull at the pillow-shams.
“Oh, my goodness me!” cried Alexia, feeling of her throat; “how you scared me, Grace! And you’ve frightened this blessed child;” as Algernonput up his little lip, and scuttled over like a rabbit to the side of the bed next to his mother.
“I can’t help it—I can’t help it,” cried Grace wildly, and spinning around the room on her toes; “to think that my dear Miss Phronsie Pepper loves my cousin Roslyn May—oh, oh!”
“Do stop!” cried Alexia, picking off her boy from the bed to go after her and pluck her by the sleeve. “Hush, hush—Bonny will hear. And besides, it can’t ever be—no, never in all this world, I tell you; so what’s the use of hopping so.”
“Can’t ever be?” asked Grace, coming to such a dead stop that she nearly overturned Alexia, baby and all. “Didn’t you say, Mrs. Dodge, that they loved each other?”
“Yes; oh, dreadfully!” said Alexia, backing up against the wall; “but it won’t ever be that they will be married, because Grandpapa King don’t want Phronsie to be married.”
“He don’t want Miss Phronsie to be married when she loves somebody?” gasped Grace.
“Oh, well! he doesn’t exactly believe that she does love him,” said Alexia testily, who had privately berated him so many times when talkingit all over with Pickering that she was now sore on the subject, “and he wants her to himself.”
Grace Tupper sat down on the first thing that she could see, which proved to be the scrap-basket. “Doesn’t old Mr. King love Miss Phronsie?” she gasped.
“Yes, yes,” gasped Alexia, running to pull at her; “but get out of that scrap-basket. Polly Pepper made that for me years ago, and you are mussing all the ribbons.” And calling to Bonny, who came without a ripple on her placid countenance, she bundled the baby into her arms, and began to pull out the big pink bows from which Grace gave a bound.
“I’ll tell you all about it, and then you must tellmeall about it,” she said, when the pink bows were found not to be much crushed after all. “There, come over here to the sofa. It’s a mercy that you didn’t ruin that basket. If you had, I’d never have forgiven you, Grace Tupper, in all this world. Well, you see, it all happened three years ago when they were abroad,—Phronsie and Grandpapa King and David, and the Fishers and Charlotte Chatterton,—there was a perfect mob of them; Charlotte was just going over to beginto study in Germany. And although Polly and Jasper heard something of it in Mother Fisher’s letters, it wasn’t till they all got home that we knew how it was. And then Roslyn May came over twice to see her. And then the most awful thing, Grace Tupper, in all this world, you can’t think,” she leaned her elbows on her knees and regarded Grace fixedly, “happened, and I’ve been worried to death about it ever since.”
“What?” Grace scarcely breathed it, while her large blue eyes dilated fearfully.
“Why, Roslyn May came across just a few weeks ago,” said Alexia in a stage whisper, “actually came to this side of the Atlantic, and didn’t come to see Phronsie! And I think—I really and truly do, Grace Tupper—that Grandpapa King had something to do about it; for Roslyn May didn’t stay but one day. What do you think of that?”
It was so very dreadful, that Grace couldn’t think of anything for the space of a minute; then she said, in a puzzled way, “But how could old Mr. King have done anything when he didn’t see Roslyn—I don’t see.”
“I don’t see either,” said Alexia irritably, “but it’s my private opinion publicly confessed that Grandpapa King is mixed up in it some way. It worries me to skin and bone. And Pickering won’t do anything when I beg him to, and everything is just as horrid as it can be. Well, now, tell me all about your cousin Roslyn May,” she added, brightening up, and eager for the news.
“Why, you see he is my very own cousin,” cried Grace in the greatest pride.
“How?” interrupted Alexia; “is General May your uncle?”
“Yes,” said Grace; “he is my mother’s brother. And Cousin Roslyn is awfully smart. Why, when he was a little boy he got hold of some clay, and he made dogs and pigs and horses just as natural. And Uncle May took him abroad—you know his mother died when he was a baby.”
“Oh, dear!” said Alexia.
“Yes, she did,” said Grace. “Well, and Uncle May took him abroad to see if it was really in him to be a sculptor, he said, and everybody was perfectly astonished. But Roslyn was determined to come home to be educated.”
“Good for him!” cried Alexia.
“Yes; and so he waited till after he’d got through college before he really did much sculpturing. Then he went abroad to stay; and I tell you he’s just worked! Why, haven’t you heard of the things he has done?”
She opened her blue eyes widely at Alexia now.
“Yes—yes, child, of course,” said Alexia; “I don’t want you to tell me that newspaper talk, I want to hear abouthim. Is he nice?”
“Oh, he’s splendid!” cried Grace, beating her hands together. “If he were to come into the room now, you’d say you never saw such a handsome man.”
“I don’t know about that,” said Alexia, who had ideas of her own as to manly beauty. “Well, go on.”
“And all the girls are in love with him,” said Grace; “but he’s just devoted to his art, and he don’t care anything for any of them.”
“Except Phronsie,” said Alexia.
“Except Miss Phronsie,” cried Grace, hugging herself at the thought. “Well, and the first bit of money he ever earned,—it was for a fountain or something, and it took the prize,—the design,I mean,—he gave it to a poor boy he knew at home, who hadn’t any money to study with. And mamma is going over next fall to see him; and I’ve been teasing her to take me, but she said I must stay with Aunt Atherton another year and go to school. And now—O Mrs. Dodge! I didn’t tell you, for this other news scared it all out of my head—Mrs. King has asked me to stay at ‘The Oaks.’”
“You don’t mean it, Grace?” cried Alexia, catching her by the arm; “why, I meant to have you myself.”
“Well, I’m to be with dear Mrs. King, and go in every day to Miss Willoughby,” said Grace in great satisfaction; “for mamma answered Mrs. King’s letter and said so, and Miss Willoughby says she wants me back again. She really did, Mrs. Dodge.”
“I don’t doubt it, child,” said Alexia. “I rather like you myself. Well, now, Grace, this troubles me.” She nursed her knee with her long arms, and gazed into Grace’s face. “Roslyn May is your cousin, and I am just determined to do something to help Phronsie. I can’t keep still any longer; I shall fly out of my head if Ido. Now, can’t you write to him, and ask him why he didn’t come to see Phronsie when he was over last time? That will bring some sort of an answer, and at least tell us the reason.”
“Oh, so I will!” cried Grace, springing up; “I will write it now, this very minute.” Then she stopped suddenly, and her face turned scarlet. “Mrs. Dodge,” she said, “I’d rather not. I’ve just been silly, you know, and—and—I don’t mean to do anything I don’t ask Miss Phronsie or Mrs. King about first.”
“And you blessed child,” cried Alexia, kissing her, “I knew the minute I’d asked you I’d said the wrong thing. To tell you the truth, Grace, I never do a single thing without asking Pickering first. Oh, dear me! but whatshallwe do? Things can’t be left to themselves so. Something must be done.”