Ties from Other Days
ONE morning, a few days later, Mrs. Jack Emmet was ushered into Betty's personal sitting room. Betty was writing notes and Bettina was curled up in a big chair near the window with a book of fairy tales in her lap.
Both of them rose at once, Betty kissing her friend affectionately. But her little girl, who showed her affection differently from other children, sitting down by Meg's side, slipped her small hand inside hers.
Meg was beautifully dressed in a dark blue broadcloth and black fox furs with a velvet hat and small black feather curled close against her light hair. Yet the hat was the least bit awry, one lock of hair had come uncurled and been blown about by the wind, and a single blue button hung loose on the stylish coat. Noticing these absurd details for some reason or other,Betty felt oddly pleased. For they brought back the Meg of old days, whom not all the strenuous years of Camp Fire training had been able to make as neat as she should have been, although since her marriage she seemed to have greatly changed.
Therefore, in observing these unimportant facts of her friend's costume Betty failed to catch the difference in her expression. They began their conversation idly enough in discussing the ball of a few nights before, the Governor's health and just how busy he was and what people were saying of him in Concord. For, although Mr. and Mrs. Graham had only been installed in the Governor's mansion a few weeks, Mr. and Mrs. Jack Emmet had been living in Concord ever since their marriage about five years before.
Nevertheless, if Betty had not observed the change in her friend, in some unaccountable fashion Bettina had. Not that the little girl realized that Mrs. Emmet had dark circles under her eyes and that instead of gazing directly at her mother as she talked, her glance traveled restlessly aboutthe pretty room. Nor did Bettina know that Meg's cheeks were not a natural pink, but flushed to uncomfortable redness; no, she only appreciated that "Aunt Meg," for whom she cared a great deal, was uneasy and unhappy and would perhaps enjoy having her keep close beside her.
"You will stay and take lunch with us, won't you, dear?" Betty urged, moving forward to assist her visitor in removing her wraps. "You see, we shall probably be all by ourselves. Anthony is too busy to come home, Angel is at the office and Faith asked to be left alone for the day. The child is probably scribbling away on some story she desires to write. Then after lunch we can see little Tony. The baby is well again, only the nurse wants him kept quiet."
Affectionately Betty placed her hands on Meg's shoulders and standing directly beside her now for the first time looked closely into her face. To her shocked surprise she discovered that unexpected tears had started to Meg's eyes.
At once Betty Graham's happy expression clouded. For she was no less readywith her sympathy than in former days, and the Camp Fire girls of the old Sunrise Club seemed almost like real sisters.
"You came to tell me of something that is troubling you and I didn't dream of it till this minute!" Betty exclaimed, slipping off Meg's coat and unpinning her hat without waiting for permission. Then, pushing her friend down into a big, soft armchair, she took a lower one opposite.
"Isn't it good fortune that we are living in the same place just as we used to long ago?" She continued talking, of course, to allow her companion to gain her self-control. Then she glanced toward Bettina, but Meg only drew the little girl closer, hiding her face for an instant in her soft hair.
"I'm absurd to be so nervous, Betty," Meg whispered apologetically. "Please don't think there is anything serious the matter. Only—only I have come to ask you a favor and I don't know exactly how to begin. Of course, we used to be very intimate friends and all that, but now you are the Governor's wife, and—and——"
Before she could finish a somewhat hurtvoice interposed. "And—and—I am Betty Ashton Graham still, very much at your service, Sweet Marjoram, as Polly once named you. Dear me, Meg, don't be absurd. I can't say I feel particularly exalted by my position as wife of the new Governor, though of course I am frightfully vain of Anthony. Besides you know if there is anything I can do that you would like, I shall be happier than I can say." With a laugh that still had something serious in it, Betty put her hand over her friend's. "I still insist that I owe Anthony partly to you," she ended.
But this time Meg did not trouble to argue the absurd statement.
She began talking at once as rapidly as possible, as if glad to get the subject off her mind.
"It's about John, I came to talk to you, my brother, John Everett, Betty," Meg explained. "I don't know whether you have seen much of him lately, but you were devoted friends once and I thought perhaps for the sake of the past you might be interested."
"John Everett? For the sake of thepast I might be interested! Whatever are you talking about?" Betty was now frowning in her effort to understand and looked absurdly like a girl, with her level brows drawn near together and her lips pouting slightly. "Why, of course I am interested. I used to like John better than any of the other beaus we had, when we were girls, except Anthony. Tell me, is John going to be married at last? I have wondered why he has waited such a long time. But I suppose he wanted to be rich first. It has been about two years since we met by accident in a theater in New York, but I thought he had grown handsomer than ever." This time Betty's laugh was more teasing than sympathetic. "I wonder why sisters are so jealous of their big brothers marrying, Mrs. Jack Emmet? You are married yourself—why begrudge John the good fortune? I don't believe Nan has ever entirely forgiven me for capturing Anthony. I am convinced she would have preferred any other of the Camp Fire girls. There is only one of us, however, whom she would have really liked, and that is Sylvia. Yet who would ever think of Doctor Sylvia Wharton's marrying?"
This time Meg's voice was firmer. "But John isn't going to be married, Betty. It is quite a different thing I wish to talk to you about. Instead of John's getting rich on Wall Street, as you think, he has gotten dreadfully poor. And I am afraid it is not just his own money he has lost, but father's savings. Now Horace will have to give up his college and I really don't know what will become of father. He is too old to begin teaching again since his resignation several years ago."
Her voice broke, but then her friend's face was so bewildered and so full of a sudden, ardent sympathy, that it was difficult for Meg to keep her self-control. However, she said nothing more for a minute, but sat biting her lips and wondering how to go on to the next thing.
Fortunately Betty helped her. "I expect John will have to come back home and take care of your father. Horace is too young and it is more John's place than your husband's. I am sorry, for I'm afraid things will seem pretty dull for him here after his gay life in New York."
All at once Betty's face cleared a littleand she leaned back in her chair. "But you remember, Meg, that when you first spoke you said you wished me to do you a favor. Is there anything in the world I can do? I am sure I can scarcely imagine what it is, yet if I can in any way help you out of this trouble——"
"You can," Meg whispered shyly; "that is, perhaps not you, but Anthony, and you are almost the same person."
In answer to this rather surprising statement Betty Graham merely shook her head quietly. However, this was scarcely the time to argue whether or not marriage merged two persons into one or simply made each one bigger and more individual from association with the other. She wanted to do whatever was possible to assist Meg and John Everett too in this trying time in their affairs. Besides, as a little girl she had always been fond of old Professor Everett, whose life had been given to the wisdom of books rather than to the living world. But most of all, being a very natural woman, Betty was now keenly curious to know how she could possibly be expected to be involved in thepresent situation and what she could do to help out.
"You are right. John does mean to come home, or at least he wishes to return. He says he is tired of New York and all the fret and hurry and struggle of life there. But you see, Betty dear," and Meg spoke quickly now that she had finally come to the point of her story, "there is no use John's returning unless he has something to do. There is where you and Anthony can help. I didn't think of this myself, but when my husband and I were talking things over he said that Anthony and you and I were such old friends and that the new Governor had so many appointments he could make to all sorts of good positions. So we thought perhaps you would ask Anthony to help John. I know Anthony does anything you wish."
"Oh!" Betty replied somewhat blankly. For never had she been more surprised than by Meg's request. Of course she knew that Anthony was making a number of changes in positions held by people whom he thought unworthy of trust throughout the state. Often he talkedabout what he felt he should do, but really it had never dawned upon Betty until this minute that she or her friends could be in any way concerned. Still, why not? John was a good business man, Betty thought; he was not dishonest or dishonorable and the Everetts were her old friends. If Anthony could help them in their present trouble, surely he would be as glad as she was to have the opportunity.
Yet Betty hesitated before answering. However, as she did not wish to make Meg uncomfortable she slipped from her own chair and put her arm sympathetically about her friend's shoulders, while she endeavored to think things quietly over. Finally Betty returned:
"I can'texactlypromise what you first asked, Meg dear. You see, I have always intended not to interfere in the things that did not seem altogether my affair. But somehow, since you have asked me and for John's and your father's sakes, who are such old friends, why I don't feel as I did before. I tell you, Iwillask Anthony this very night, so let's don't worry any more. Tina darling, run and tell the maids wewould like our luncheon up here. Our dining room is so absurdly big."
As she talked, as if by magic Betty's expression had changed and again she was her usual gay, light-hearted self. Of course she and Anthony together would be able to clear away Meg's troubles. Never before had she entirely realized how fine it was to have power and influence.
Moreover, Betty's confidence also inspired Meg, and for the first time in weeks Mrs. Jack Emmet felt like the Meg Everett of the old days in Woodford, who used to keep house for her father, kiss her small brother Horace's (surnamed Bump's) wounds and help and encourage her big brother John in all his ambitions and desires.
Just as Meg went away, however, she insisted quite seriously:
"Betty, I often think that even if our old Camp Fire Club did nothing more for us than to bind our friendships together in the way it has, it would be dreadful for all girls not to have the same opportunities in their lives. Talk of college friendships, surely they are not to be compared with those of Camp Fire clubs!"
Something Unexpected
DINNER was tiresomely dull! Again Anthony did not return, but telephoned that he would be in as soon afterwards as possible. Several times during the meal Betty almost wished that she had accepted an invitation for the evening without him. For they had been invited to a dinner party and dance, but as Anthony had declared he would be too busy to attend, Betty had declined without any objection at the time. She had made up her mind never to go out into society unless accompanied by her husband.
Nevertheless, tonight the young wife of the new Governor felt somewhat differently. If Anthony was going everlastingly to be kept at his office must she always sit alone during the evenings? Always as Betty Ashton she had loved people and gayety and still loved it quite as much as Betty Graham. Moreover, her only two companionsat dinner, Angel and Faith, were both in extremely bad humor and unwilling to confess the cause, for Faith looked sulky and annoyed and Angel undeniably cross. Of course, the two girls must recently have had a quarrel. Their hostess wondered for a few moments what the trouble could have been. But then they were so utterly different in their dispositions and tastes, it was not surprising that they sometimes disagreed. Besides, she decided that they were both unlike the intimate friends of her youth and far harder to understand. In fact, though she was scarcely much more than a girl herself, Mrs. Graham concluded that "girls had changed since her day" and determined as soon as dinner was over to leave them to themselves. Naturally, if they had wished her society Betty would have been glad enough to have remained and received their confidences. However, neither Angel nor Faith showed the slightest sign of desiring her society.
In a pale blue silk dinner gown Betty wandered disconsolately about her big house waiting for her husband. He had promised to come home early and it seemed notworth while to settle down to any task beforehand. The babies were asleep and she did not feel like writing letters either to Esther or her mother. Several times she thought of Polly. But Polly was so far away out West that she really did not know where to find her at the present time. Betty wondered if her best friend was happy with no home or husband or children, nothing intimate in her life but her career as an artist. She had always been puzzled to understand why Polly and Richard Hunt had never married after an engagement lasting over several years. But since neither of them had cared to explain their separation, it was, of course, useless to conjecture again after all this time.
The drawing room was too hopelessly big and formal! After Betty had walked around inside it for half an hour perhaps, sitting down in half a dozen chairs and then pacing up and down, she grew even more restless. Surely it was no longer early in the evening, and why did Anthony not keep his word and come home at the time he had promised? It would be ever so much more satisfactory to have her talkwith him in regard to giving John Everett a good position, with a comfortable salary, early in the evening, before they were both tired and wanting to sleep.
Suddenly, with an impatient stamp of her foot, Mrs. Graham fled from her state apartment. She was homesick tonight for her old home in Woodford, where she and Anthony had lived ever since their marriage until his election as Governor, and where her mother still lived.
Passing through the hall, more and more did Betty become convinced that Anthony was not keeping his word, for the tall clock registered quarter to ten. The upper part of the house looked dark and quiet as if the rest of the family had already gone to bed. Besides it was lonely enough on the first floor, for the servants had their sitting room and dining room in a big old-fashioned basement and were nowhere to be seen. Of course, one of them would come at once if she desired anything, but Betty could not think of anything she wished at present except society and amusement.
In the library back of the drawing rooma few moments later she decided that things were not so bad. There was a little wood fire in the grate, kept there for its cheerful influence and not because the steam-heated house required it; but Betty had not been a Camp Fire girl for half her lifetime without responding to the cheerful influence of even a grate fire.
Sinking down into a comfortable chair, she picked up a magazine and began reading. The clock in the hall ticked on and on and she was not conscious of the passing of time. The story was not particularly interesting—an absurd tale of a husband and wife who had quarreled. It was, of course, perfectly unnecessary for people who loved each other to quarrel, Betty Graham insisted to herself, and yet the writer did not seem convinced of this fact. Toward the close of the story she grew more interested and excited.
Then, without actually hearing a sound or seeing a figure, Betty suddenly looked up, and there in the open doorway of the library stood a strange man. Like a flash her mind worked. She was alone on the first floor of a big, rambling old house anduncertain of how late the hour. Must she at once cry for help, or should she try to get across the floor and ring the bell furiously?—for that would be more certain to be heard. Yet for the moment her knees felt absurdly weak and her hands cold. However, with a stupendous effort Betty now summoned her courage, of which the shock of the moment had robbed her. For her Camp Fire training had taught her the proper spirit in which to meet emergencies. Quietly Mrs. Graham rose up from her chair.
"What is it you wish? I think you have made some mistake," she remarked stiffly. For in spite of her terror the man in the doorway did not look like an ordinary thief. Besides, if he were a thief why did he remain there staring at her? Why had he not committed his burglary and gotten away with his spoils without alarming her?
But he was now advancing a few steps toward her and there was no light in the library, except from the reading lamp.
"Anthony!" Betty cried instinctively, although she knew that the Governor could not be in the house at the time, else he would have come straight to her.
Then to her immense amazement, almost to her stupefaction, the intruder actually smiled.
"Betty," he answered, "or rather Mrs. Graham, have I startled you? Yes, I know it is dreadfully informal, my coming upon you in this fashion and not even allowing your butler to announce me. But I ran down from New York today to spend the night with Meg and Jack Emmet. A few moments ago we began talking of you. Well, as I've got to go back to town in the morning I decided that nothing would give me more pleasure than seeing the wife of our distinguished new Governor, so here I am!"
Positively the stranger was holding out his hand.
Moreover, the next instant Betty had laid her cold fingers inside it.
"John, John Everett, how ridiculous of me not to have recognized you! Yet, though I was thinking of you, you were the last person in the world I expected to see at present. And I confess you frightened me." Betty made her visitor a little curtsey. "Remember how you boys usedto try to terrify us when we were in camp just to prove the superiority of Boy Scouts over Camp Fire girls? I would not have been frightened then! But do let us have more light so that we can really see each other."
Betty touched the electric button and the room was suddenly aglow.
Then she again faced her companion. It had been foolish of her not to have recognized her old friend, John Everett. He did look a good deal older, but he was a large, handsome man with blond hair, blue eyes and a charming manner. Moreover, he was undoubtedly returning Betty's glance with undisguised admiration.
"You won't mind my saying it, will you, Mrs. Graham, but you are more stunning than ever. I suppose it sounds a little impertinent of me, but you know even though I always thought you tremendously pretty as a girl, really I never believed——" John began.
Betty shook her head reproachfully and yet perhaps she was a little pleased, even though she recognized her visitor's compliment as extravagant.
Motioning to another chair, she then sat down in her former one. For a few moments there was a kind of constraint in the atmosphere, such as one often feels in meeting again an old friend with whom one has been intimate in former years and not seen in a long time.
Under her lashes Betty found herself studying her visitor's face. At first she did not think that he appeared much discouraged by his misfortunes, but the next moment she was not so sure.
"I am awfully pleased the world has gone so well with you, Mrs. Graham," John Everett began, to cover the awkwardness of the silence. "You were a wise girl to have known that Anthony had so much more in him than the rest of us fellows. I hear he is making things hum in the state of New Hampshire."
Betty looked a little shocked. "Oh, I did not care for Anthony because I thought him cleverer than other people. I—oh, does one ever know exactly why one cares? But do tell me about yourself, John. You don't mind my knowing of your present difficulty? Meg has just told me, butI am sure things will be all right soon again."
Half an hour later the young Governor, coming in very tired from his long day's work, seeing the light burning in the library, walked quickly toward the door. He was worn out and hungry and wanted nothing so much as supper and quiet talk with his wife. For Anthony had never gotten over the pleasure he felt at returning home to find her there to receive him. Already it seemed ages since he had said good-bye at breakfast.
However, just before he arrived at the open door he heard the sound of Betty's laughter and some one answering her.
Of course it was selfish and absurd of him to feel a sudden sense of disappointment. He knew that he should have been glad to find Betty entertained.
Before entering the library the new Governor managed to assume a more hospitable expression. He was also surprised at finding John Everett their caller. But then he too had known him in their boyhood days in Woodford and was glad to see him. Certainly they had never beenfriends as boys. The young Governor could still remember that John had then seemed to have all the things he had wanted as a boy—good looks, good family, money enough for a college education. Yet with all these advantages John had not been able to win Betty. Now was Anthony's chance to feel sorry for him. Lately he too had heard that John Everett was in some kind of business trouble. He hoped that this was not true.
Therefore it was Anthony who insisted that their visitor should remain with them while they had a little supper party in the library. And Betty was glad to see that her old friend was making a good impression upon her husband. For she was now firmly determined to ask Anthony to give John Everett a fine position at once.
The First Disillusion
"BUT you can't mean, Anthony, that you positively refuse to do what I ask?"
It was a little after midnight and Betty and Anthony were up-stairs in their own apartment. Betty had on a blue dressing gown and her hair was braided and hung over her shoulders. But her cheeks were flushed, her gray eyes dark with temper and her voice trembled in spite of her effort to keep it still.
Undeniably Anthony appeared both obstinate and worried. Moreover, he was extremely sleepy and yet somehow Betty must be made to understand before either of them could rest. Never before had he dreamed that she could be so unreasonable.
"I don't think that is exactly a fair way of stating the thing, Betty," the young Governor answered gently enough. "You see, I have tried to explain to you, dear, that Ican't give positions to friends just as though running the affairs of the state was my private business. I could afford to take risks with that if I wished, but you know I promised when I was elected Governor only to make appointments of the best men I could find."
If possible, the Governor's wife looked even more unconvinced. She was sitting in a big blue chair almost the color of her wrapper, and every now and then rocked back and forth to express her emotion, or else tapped the floor mutinously with the toe of her bedroom slipper.
"You talk as if there was something wrong with John Everett," she answered argumentatively, "and as if I were asking you to give a position to a man who was stupid or dishonest. I am perfectly sure John is none of these things. He has been unfortunate in business lately, of course, but that might happen to any one. Really, Anthony, would you mind telling me exactly what you have in your mind against John Everett? Of course, I remember you never liked him when you were boys, but I thought you were too big a man——"
"See here, Betty," the Governor interrupted, "can't we let this subject drop? I never knew you to be like this before." He had thrown himself down on a couch, but now reached over and tried to take his wife's reluctant hand. "I've been explaining to you for the past hour that I have nothing in the world against John Everett personally, except that he has no training for the kind of work I need men to do. He has been a Wall Street broker. Well, that is all right, but what does he know about prison reform, about building good roads for the state, or anything else I'm after? Just because he is your friend—our friend, I mean—I can't thrust him into a good job over the heads of better men. Please look at this as I do, Betty. I hate desperately to refuse your request and I know Meg will be hurt with me too and think I'm unfaithful to old times. Heigh-ho, I wonder if anybody thinks being Governor is a cheerful job? Good-night, Princess."
Plainly meaning to end their conversation, Anthony had gotten up from his sofa. He now stood above Betty, waiting to haveher make peace with him. But Betty looked far from peaceful, more like a spoiled and angry little girl thwarted in a wish which she had not imagined could be refused.
Of course the Princess had always been more or less spoiled all her life. Her friends in the Camp Fire Club and her family had always acknowledged this. But she was usually reasonable with the sweetest possible temper, so that no one really minded. Nevertheless Betty was not accustomed to having her serious wishes denied, and by her husband of all people!
Really she would have liked very much to cry with disappointment and vexation, except that she was much too proud. Moreover, even now she could not finally accept the idea that Anthony would not eventually do as she asked.
But she drew back coldly from any idea of making friends until then.
"Good-night," she replied indifferently. "I don't think I shall try to go to sleep." Her voice trembled now in spite of all her efforts.
"Really, Anthony, I don't know how Ican tell Meg and John that you have declined to do what I have asked you. I wonder what they will think? Certainly that I haven't any influence with my own husband! Do you know, Anthony, perhaps I am wrong, but I thought I had helped you a little in your election. I've made a good many sacrifices; you have to leave me alone a greater part of the time because you are too busy to spend much of your time with me. Well, I have never thought of complaining, but somehow it does seem to me that I have the right to have you do just this one thing I ask of you. I'm afraid I don't find being a Governor's wife so very cheerful either."
While she was talking Betty had also gotten up and was now standing near the doorway. As her husband came toward her she moved slowly backward.
"I say, Betty dear, you are hard on a fellow," Anthony protested. "Of course I owe my job to you and anything else that is good about me. But you can't want me to do wrong even for your sake. Maybe you may see things differently tomorrow."
However, instead of replying, the Governor'swife slipped outside the room. In the nursery she lay down by Bettina. But she slept very little for the rest of the night.
For in her opinion Anthony had not been fair; he had not even been kind. A few hours before, when she had assured John and Meg of her sympathy and aid, she could not have believed this possible. This was the first time in their married life that her husband had refused her anything of importance. Surely she had been wrong in suggesting or even thinking for half a second that his old boyish dislike and jealousy of John Everett could influence Anthony now! It was an absurd idea, and even a horrid one; and yet is one ever altogether fair in anger?
Down-stairs, in spite of his fatigue, Anthony Graham walked up and down their big room for a quarter of an hour. If he only could have reconciled it with his conscience to do what Betty asked him, how much easier and how much more cheerful for both of them! She was right in saying that he owed something to her. He owed everything. It was not just that she had helped him since his marriage—most wivesdo that for their husbands—but she had helped him from that first hour of their meeting in the woods so many years before.
Nevertheless he had given his word to keep his faith as Governor of the state. He had promised to give no one a position because of pull and influence. Naturally he had not expected his wife to have any part in this, but only the politicians and seekers after graft. Yet even with Betty misunderstanding he must try to keep his word.
Sighing, the young Governor turned out the lights. He did look too boyish and delicate for the weight of his responsibilities tonight. For there had been other troubles in his office which he had wished to confide to his wife, had she only been willing to listen. However, he finally fell asleep somewhat comforted. For he was convinced that Betty was too sensible a woman not finally to see things in the light that he did. When he had the opportunity and she was neither tired nor vexed with him he would explain to her all over again.
An uncomfortable spirit, however, seemed to be brooding over the Governor's mansionthis evening, for in another part of the big house, there was another argument also lasting far into the night.
Angel and Faith sat on either side an old-fashioned four-poster bed, often talking at the same time in the way that only feminine creatures can.
In her white cashmere kimono over her gown, with her pale hair unbound, Faith Barton looked like a little white saint. But alas, and in spite of her name, the little French girl bore no resemblance to one!
Angel's dark hair was extraordinarily heavy and curly but not very long, and now in her uneasiness she had pushed and pulled at it until it was extremely untidy. Moreover, her black eyes now and then flashed resentfully at her friend and two bright spots of color burned in her cheeks. When she was not talking her lips were pressed closely together.
"Faith, it isn't right of you; you know it isn't. You should not have made me promise to keep your secret before telling me it. How could I ever have guessed such a dreadful thing! I simply must, must tell Betty if you are not going toconfide in Mrs. Barton. Then Betty can do what she thinks best and it will be off my conscience."
Certainly Angelique Martins was not speaking in an amiable tone, and yet her companion seemed not in the slightest disturbed.
Indeed, Faith began quietly brushing her long, straight hair.
"Don't be a goose, Angel, and don't have so much conscience for other people. Of course, I am sorry I told you. Kenneth said it would be wiser not to speak to any one for the present, but I had to have some confidant. Now you are trying to spoil my first real romance by wanting me to get up and proclaim it on the housetops. What I like most about being engaged to Kenneth is that no one knows of it and that we can see each other without a lot of silly people staring and talking about us. Of course, when we begin to think about being married I shall tell Rose everything. Then I know she will understand. But we are not going to be married for a long, long time, I expect. Kenneth says that nothing would persuadehim to marry me until he could give me everything in the world I want. Oh, you need not look so superior, Angel; I understand you don't approve of that sentiment, but I think it is beautiful for a man to feel that way about a girl. You simply can't appreciate Kenneth." And Faith looked sufficiently gentle and forgiving to have tried the patience of a saint.
"Perhaps not," the other girl answered shortly. "Anyhow, Faith, you are right in believing I don't approve of the things you have told me. The idea of your being secretly engaged to a man whom you have only known about two weeks! It is horrid! Naturally you don't either of you know whether you are really in love; but then I don't think you ought to be engaged until you are willing to tell people. Besides, what do you know about Mr. Helm's real character, Faith? He is the kind of fellow who makes love to almost every girl he meets."
Almost under her breath and with her cheeks flaming the little lame French girl made this last speech. Nevertheless hercompanion heard her. Still Faith did not appear angry as most girls would have been under the circumstances, but perhaps her gentle, pitying expression was harder to endure.
"Is that what troubles you, Angel? I am so sorry," Faith returned, ceasing to brush her hair to smile compassionately at her friend. "You see, Kenneth warned me that you did not like him very much. He was too kind to explain exactly the reason, only he said that you seemed to have misunderstood something about him. I suppose he was kind to you once, Angel, because of course he would be specially kind to a girl like you. But, there, you need not look so angry! You have a dreadful temper, Angel. Even Betty Graham thinks so in spite of being so fond of you."
With pretended carelessness Faith Barton now glanced away, devoting all her energy to plaiting her long hair. Really her speech had been more unkind than she had intended it. But somehow she and Angel were always having differences of opinion and it seemed to Faith that itwas usually Angel's fault, because she never quarreled with any one else.
Besides, ever since her first meeting with the little French girl at Sunrise Cabin she had been the one who had tried to make and keep their friendship. Angel never seemed to care deeply for any one except her mother and now Mrs. Graham and her babies, and was always getting into hot water with other people.
However, it certainly did not occur to Faith that her own amiability came partly from a lack of interest in any one except herself and partly because her own whims were so seldom interfered with.
Curious that Rose Barton, who had been such a sensible guardian and friend to her group of Camp Fire girls, had been so indulgent to her adopted daughter! But very few persons understood Faith Barton. She seemed to be absolutely gentle and loving and to live always in a world of beautiful dreams and desires. How could any one guess that she was often both selfish and self-willed?
"There is no use talking any more on this subject, Faith, if you think I wishto interfere because I am jealous of you," Angel declared, and finding her cane slipped down from the bed. "Besides, you know perfectly well you are doing wrong without my saying it. Anyhow, I believe that something will happen to make you sorry enough before you are through."
With this parting shot Angel marched stiffly out of the room, too proud to reveal how deeply her friend had wounded her.
A New Interest
IT is a far journey from the New Hampshire hills to the plains of the West.
Nevertheless a girl whom we once knew at Sunrise Hill is walking alone this afternoon on the rim of a desert and facing the western sun. It is scarcely fair to call her a girl, unless one has the theory that so long as a woman does not marry she retains her girlhood. Yet glancing at her as she strolled slowly along, no one could have guessed her to be more than twenty, though perhaps she was a little nearer the next decade.
Exquisitely dressed in a long, dark green broadcloth coat with a fur collar and small hat, she was a little past medium height and unusually slender. Her hair was so black that it had an almost somber look, and yet her eyes were vividly blue. Just now, having wandered a good many miles from the place where she was staying,she looked extremely tired and depressed. In no possible way did she appear to fit into her present surroundings, for without a doubt she was a woman of wealth and distinction. It was self-evident in the clothes she wore, but more so in the unconsciously proud carriage of her head and in the lines of her face, which was not beautiful and yet seemed to have some curious charm more appealing than mere beauty.
She stopped now for a moment to gaze with an appreciation that was almost awe at the beauty of the sinking sun. There was a glory of color in the sky that was almost fantastic; piles of white clouds seemed to have been flung up against the horizon like mammoth soap bubbles, tinted with every rainbow shade. With unconscious enthusiasm, the woman clasped her hands together.
"Why," she exclaimed aloud, "I was wondering what this scene reminded me of. It is dear old Sunrise Hill! What would I not give to be there in the old cabin tonight with Betty and Mollie and the others! But they must not know whathas become of me until things are all right again. Both Betty and Mollie are too happy with their babies and husbands to worry over the old maids in the family. Sometimes, though, I feel that I should like to send for Sylvia." Then the wanderer turned and stared around her.
In every direction there were long waving reaches of sand with an occasional clumping of rocks, while growing near them were strange varieties of the cactus plant. Some of them had great leaves like elephants' ears, some were small and thick with queer, stiff hairs and excrescences, and among them, in spite of the lateness of the season, were occasional pink and crimson flowers with waxen petals.
Behind the wayfarer there was a trail which she must have followed from some nearby village, yet it was growing less and less distinct ahead, and certainly the hour was far too late for a stranger to be traveling alone so near a portion of the great Colorado desert.
Nevertheless the young woman at this moment turned and left her path. Walking deliberately for a few yards sheseated herself on a giant rock, and leaning forward, rested her chin in her beautifully gloved hands.
"So like you, Polly O'Neill, even in your old age to have gotten yourself entirely used up on the first walk you were allowed to take alone!" she began aloud, giving a half despairing, half amused shrug of her thin shoulders. "I am not in the least sure that I know the way back to my hotel if it grows dark before I arrive there, and assuredly I am too weary to start for the present. And hungry! Heaven only knows when I was ever so ravenous! Now if I had only been a Camp Fire girl in the West instead of the East, doubtless I could at once discover all sorts of delectable bread fruit and berries growing nearby. But I don't feel I want to run any further risks at present."
So for the next half hour in almost perfect quiet Polly O'Neill remained seated. It would have been impossible for her to have done otherwise, for suddenly a curious attack of exhaustion had swept over her. It was not unusual of late, for indeed Miss O'Neill and her maidhad established themselves in a small hotel near Colorado Springs in order that the well-known actress might recover from an attack of nervous exhaustion which she had suffered during her successful tour in the Western states. So Polly was quite accustomed to finding herself all at once too weary either to move or speak. But quite like the Polly of old she had just deliberately walked five miles without reflecting on her lack of strength or the fact that she must return by as long a road as she had come.
No, in spite of the fact that Polly O'Neill had in the last ten years made a great name for herself as one of the leading actresses in the United States, she was as thoughtless and impetuous as she had been as a girl.
Finally, however, with what seemed to require a good deal of effort she got up and moved, this time toward the east, but all the elasticity had gone from her. The sand was uncomfortably heavy, so that she dragged one foot after the other and her slender body seemed to wave like a stalk in the wind. But the worst of herdifficulty was that her breath came in short, painful gasps. Unconsciously the effort which the business of walking required made Polly pay less strict attention to the path which she should have followed. But by and by, realizing that her way was less plain and that it was now quite dusk, she paused for a moment, put her hand to her side and then again seemed to be considering her situation. Whatever her decision, she must have accepted it philosophically, for this time, more deliberately, she sought another resting place. Fortunately not far away was a better shelter of rocks, half a dozen of them forming a kind of semicircular cave. Deliberately Polly crept toward their shelter and there removed her hat and tied her hair up in a long automobile veil. Then she lay down in the sand with the stones as a shield behind her and before her a wonderful view of the night as it stole softly over the desert.
Polly was not afraid and not even seriously annoyed. Life to her was but a series of adventures, some of them good and others less cheerful. She was notat all sure that she was not going to enjoy this one and she could not believe that it would do her any especial harm. She was sleeping outdoors for the benefit of her health in a small porch attached to her hotel bedroom. Perhaps the sand was less comfortable and clean than her bed, but then she had never before imagined so much sky and prairie. Moreover, there was no one to worry over her failure to appear except Marie, her maid. It was just possible that Marie might arouse the hotel and a searching party be sent to find her. In that case Polly knew that she would be glad to return to civilization. However, she did not intend to worry if no one came. Her hunger and thirst must be forgotten until morning.
Somehow, when the stars came out, in spite of the beauty of the night Polly found she could not manage to keep her eyes open. She was not exactly sleepy, only tired. For never in years had she had such an opportunity to think things over. How crowded her life had been, how full of hard work, of failure and success, yes, and loneliness! She was willingto confess it tonight to herself. How she would have liked to have had one of her old Camp Fire friends here in Colorado with her! Yet they were all too busy and she had not wished any one of her family to know how ill she had been. How much trouble she had always given all the people who cared for her ever since she could remember! Polly's conscience pricked her sharply. Why had she not married and settled down as her sister Mollie had suggested at least a hundred times? Because she would not give up her acting? Well, she need not have done this had she married Richard Hunt. But too many years had passed since their engagement had been broken for her to recall him. She had not even seen Mr. Hunt in the past five years, although they had occasionally acted in the same cities and at the same time.
Finally, however, when the famous Miss O'Neill actually fell asleep she was smiling faintly. For a vision had suddenly come to her of how shocked her sister Mollie and her brother-in-law, Mr. William Webster, would be if they knew that she wassleeping alone on the edge of a desert. But she was surely too near the village to be in any danger from wild animals and no one would undertake such a walk as hers had been at this hour.
Nevertheless, wisdom should have prompted an old Camp Fire girl to have found twigs enough to have started even a miniature camp fire. But the edge of a desert is scarcely the place where wood abounds and the fact is, though she had thought of it, Polly had been too tired to make the necessary effort. For goodness only knows how much farther she need have wandered before coming to an oasis of shrubbery or trees.
When at last Miss O'Neill opened her eyes actually it was broad daylight and standing before her was a figure that almost fitted into her dream. For the girl was just about the age of the group of friends who had once lived together in a log house in the woods, and all night she had been dreaming of Sunrise Cabin.
Nevertheless her visitor bore no other resemblance to them, so that the distinguished lady rubbed her eyes, wonderingif she were yet awake and how the girl could have come so close up to her without her hearing.
A glance explained this, for the intruder was barefooted and her legs and feet were so brown and hard they appeared totally unfamiliar with shoes and stockings.
She was staring so hard at Polly that she seemed scarcely conscious of anything except her own surprise.
With an effort Miss O'Neill sat upright. She did not feel tired now in the least, but gloriously rested and strengthened from her wonderful night out of doors in the clear, pure air. But of course she must explain her situation to the little girl before her, although she would have preferred her discoverer to have explained herself.
In spite of being about fourteen years old, this child had on only a thin yellow calico frock, and it was late October. Her hair was perfectly straight and Polly might have thought her an Indian except that it was light brown in color, although a good deal stained by wind and sun. However, the girl's eyes were a kind of greenish gray in shade and her features were delicatelymodeled. But she had a peculiar and not an agreeable expression.
"I wandered away from my hotel last evening and was not able to return, so I slept here all night. How did you happen to find me?" Polly began, feeling that some one must start a conversation in order to persuade her companion to cease her almost frightened staring. Of course Polly appreciated that she herself was not looking her best, but there was no reason why she should excite so much curiosity.
Notwithstanding she received no answer. With a slight gesture of annoyance Miss O'Neill stood up. After all, she did not feel as energetic as she had thought and it was undoubtedly a long walk back to her hotel.
"Do you live anywhere near here? I am both hungry and thirsty. If you could find some one to help me I should be most grateful," Polly said as politely as if she had been speaking to a friend. For if the girl was afraid of her she wished her to forget her timidity.
But instead of replying the strange child stared harder than ever for half a minute,and then before Polly could speak again or touch her she was off, running across the sand like a deer, without a backward glance.
Miss O'Neill watched her for some time until she vanished into what appeared at this distance to be a clump of trees. Then she deliberately set out to follow her. The child must have come from some place nearer than the village where she was staying. In almost any kind of settlement she would be able to find a horse to take her back to her hotel.