The Way Home
NOT a long time afterward Bobbin must have changed her mind for some reason or other, for voluntarily she came to call on Miss O'Neill. That is, she appeared in the garden and threw a queer scarlet flower up to the veranda. Then she waited without trying to escape when Polly came down to talk to her. And evidently she must have felt, somewhere back in the odd recesses of her mind, that she was to be considered a visitor, for she had washed her face and hands and even her hair. Indeed, though it hung perfectly straight, Polly thought that she had never seen more splendid hair in her life, it held such strange bright colors from being always exposed to the sun and air; besides, it was long and heavy.
Moreover, Bobbin worean oldred jacket, which some one recently had given her, over the same pitiful calico dress.
By and by, using all the tact she possessed, Polly persuaded her visitor out of the yard and up-stairs to her own rooms. Of course Marie, the maid, was shocked and displeased, but after all she was fairly accustomed to her mistress's eccentricities. Moreover, after a little while she too became interested in Bobbin. The first thing Polly undertook to do was to feed her visitor. She had an idea that Bobbin might be hungry, but she did not dream how hungry. The girl ate like a little wolf, ravenously, secretly if it had been possible. Only, fortunately, she had learned something of table manners from her occasional training in institutions, so that she at least understood the use of a knife and fork, and altogether her hostess was less horrified than she had expected to be.
Later on Bobbin and Polly undertook to have a conversation. This they managed by acquiring large sheets of paper and nicely sharpened pencils. But it was astonishing how easily Bobbin appeared to understand whatever her new friend said to her and how readily she seemed to be willing to accept her suggestions.
The truth is that the half savage little girl had conceived a sudden, unexplainable devotion to the strange lady whom she had discovered asleep on the sands. Perhaps Bobbin too may have dreamed dreams and imagined quaint fairy tales, so that Polly's appearance answered some fancy of her own. But whatever it was, she had offered her faithful allegiance to this possible fairy princess or just ordinary, human woman. Yet how Bobbin was to keep the faith it was well that neither she nor Polly knew at the present time.
However, by the end of her visit the girl had promised to go back to the home which the town had provided for her and to do her best to learn all she could. As a reward for this she was to be allowed to make other visits to Miss O'Neill. She was even to be allowed to eat from the same blue and white china and drink tea from the same blue cup.
Moreover, before Bobbin's final departure Marie persuaded her into the bathroom and half an hour later she came forth beautifully clean and dressed in a discarded costume of Polly's, which was too long forher, but otherwise served very well. It was merely a many times washed white silk shirt waist and blue serge walking skirt and coat. They made Bobbin appear rather absurd and old, so that Polly was not sure she had not liked her best in her rags. However, both Bobbin and Marie were too pleased for her to offer criticism; yet, notwithstanding, Polly made up her mind that she would try and purchase the girl more suitable clothes as soon as possible and that she would write and ask Betty Graham's and Sylvia's advice in regard to her.
For Richard Hunt had not come to see her since their accidental meeting and she could hope for no interest from him. Polly wished she had never laid eyes upon him, for their little talk had only served to start a chain of memories she wished forgotten. Besides, of course, she felt lonelier than ever, since there is nothing so depressing as waiting for a friend who does not come.
Soon after dinner that evening Polly undressed and put on a pretty kind of tea gown of dark red silk, the color shehad always fancied ever since girlhood. She was idling about in her sitting room wondering what she could do to amuse herself when unexpectedly Mr. Hunt was announced.
"Why, Polly," he began on entering, his manner changed from the coldness of their first meeting, "do you know what that gown you are wearing brings back to me? Our talk in the funny little boarding house in Boston so many years ago, when you explained to me that you had run off and were in hiding in order to try and learn to be an actress. I wish I could tell you how proud I am of your success."
But Polly did not wish to talk of her success tonight. So she only shrugged her shoulders. "Oh, I have always been doing foolish things for the sake of my acting and yet I don't seem to amount to much."
After this visit Richard Hunt returned half a dozen times. Polly did not understand whether he was acting in the West not far from Colorado Springs or whether he too was taking a holiday. She askedthe question once, but as her old friend did not answer her explicitly she let the matter drop.
Nevertheless it was quite true that from the time his visits began she grew steadily better. Finally, about ten days before Christmas, Miss O'Neill's physician announced that she might return to the New Hampshire hills to complete her cure at her sister's home.
Then came the hour of final decision in regard to Bobbin.
Of course Polly could not adopt the girl in the conventional sense. It would have been impossible to have her travel about with her or to have kept her constantly with her. And even if it had been possible this was not what Bobbin needed. Fortunately for Polly, Richard Hunt's ideas on the subject were far more sensible than her own. Between them it was decided that Bobbin should travel east with Miss O'Neill and her maid and spend Christmas at the big Webster farm. Mollie had written she would be glad to have her. Then later Bobbin was to see Sylvia Wharton and be put into some school whereshe might learn to talk and perhaps acquire some useful occupation.
There was no difficulty in persuading the town authorities to permit the little girl to follow her new friend. Indeed, the child had always been a tremendous problem and they were more than glad to be rid of the burden. She seemed completely changed by Miss O'Neill's influence. She was far quieter and more tractable and had not run away in several weeks. Besides this she appeared to be learning all kinds of things in the most extraordinary fashion. However, her teacher explained this to Polly by saying that Bobbin had always been unusually clever, but that some wild streak in her nature had kept her from making any real effort until now.
Another peculiarity of the girl's which Polly remembered having seen an example of on the morning of their first meeting was that she had absolutely no sensation of physical fear. Either nothing hurt her very much or else she was indifferent to pain. For this reason it had always been impossible either to punish her or to make her aware of danger. The thought interestedPolly, since she considered herself something of a coward. She wondered if some day she and Bobbin might not change places and the little girl be discovered taking care of her.
However, when the three women finally started east there was nothing unusual in the appearance of any one of them. For by this time Polly's protégé was dressed like any other girl of her age with her hair neatly braided. There only remained her peculiar fashion of staring.
Richard Hunt saw the little party off. He expected to be in New York later in the winter and promised to write and inquire what had become of Bobbin. However, he did not promise to come to Woodford to see Miss O'Neill, although Polly more than once invited him.
"A Little Rift Within the Lute"
"BUT, my dearest sister, what is the matter with Betty? You were perfectly right, she isn't one bit like herself and neither is Anthony. I don't even believe she was particularly glad to see me when I stopped over in Concord with her for a few days."
Polly O'Neill was in her sister Mollie's big, sunshiny living room in her splendid old farm-house near Sunrise Cabin. There was no specially handsome furniture in the room, perhaps nothing particularly beautiful in itself, yet Polly had just announced that it was the very homiest room in all the world and for that reason the nicest.
There were low book-shelves on two sidesofthe room, for though Mollie never read anything except at night when her husband read aloud to her, Billy Webster kept up with all the latest books, fiction, history, travel, besides subscribing to mostof the magazines in the country. Indeed, although he and Polly often quarreled good-naturedly, Polly was openly proud of her brother-in-law, who had turned out to be a more intelligent and capable man than she had ever expected.
But besides Billy's books there were lots of old chairs, some of them rather worn, but all delightfully comfortable; a great big table, now littered with children's toys; the old-fashioned couch upon which Polly was reposing; some ornaments belonging to ancestral Websters and a tall grandfather's clock, besides half a dozen engravings and etchings on the walls.
Mollie was sitting in a low chair dressing a big china doll. The sunshine lingered on her dark hair, her plump pink cheeks and her happy expression. For she was in a delightful state of content with the world. Was not her beloved Polly at home for the Christmas festivities and were not Billy and the children and her mother in excellent health and spirits?
Yet she looked a little uneasy over her sister's question. For Betty was nearer toher heart than any one outside her own family.
"So you noticed it too, Polly?" she returned, stopping her work for a moment and gazing out the great glass window. Outside in the snow her three children were playing, her little girl, Polly, and Billy and Dan. Bobbin was standing a short distance away watching them intently. Indeed, ever since her arrival at the farm she seemed to have done almost nothing except look and look with all her might and main. The girl seemed scarcely to wish either to eat or sleep. And at first this had worried her new friends, until suddenly Polly had realized what a wonderful new experience Mollie's home and family were to this child who had never seen anything in the least like it in her whole life.
But Mollie was not watching the children. Polly got up and leaned on her elbow to discover what had attracted her sister's attention. For only a few moments before the children had been sent outdoors to keep them from tiring the aunt whom they adored.
No, Mollie's gaze was fastened on a big man who had just approached wearing a heavy overcoat and a fur cap and carrying a great bunch of mistletoe and holly in his hands, which he was showing with careful attention to the little girl visitor.
"Here comes Billy," she explained. "Perhaps he can tell us."
Of course Polly laughed. "Gracious, dear, isn't there anything in the world you won't let your husband decide? I should think that even Mr. William Webster could hardly tell us what is troubling our beloved Betty. And I don't know that it is even right to ask him. You see, old maids are shy about these things."
But in reply Mollie shook her head reproachfully. "I was only going to ask Billy about the difficulty Anthony is having with his position as Governor," she explained. "You see, I know there is some kind of talk. People are saying he is not being as honest as they expected. There is a bill which ex-Governor Peyton and Meg's husband, Jack Emmet, and her brother, John, are trying to get through the Legislature. Most people don't thinkthe bill is honest and believe Anthony should come out and say he is opposed to it. But so far he has not said anything one way or the other. I thought maybe Betty was worrying because people were thinking such hateful things about Anthony. I simply couldn't stand it if it were Billy."
"Wise Mollie!" her sister answered thoughtfully. "You may be right, but somehow there seemed to me to be something else troubling Betty. If it were only this political trouble, why shouldn't she have confided in me?"
But at this instant William Webster came into the room with a dozen letters and almost as many newspapers in his hands. Six of the letters he bestowed on Polly, who opened five of them and stuck the sixth inside her dress.
Ten minutes later Billy Webster looked up from the paper he was reading. "See here," he said, "I don't like this. This paper comes pretty near having an insulting letter in it concerning Anthony Graham. Of course it does not say anything outright, but the insinuations are evenworse. See, the article is headed: 'Is Our Reform Governor So Honest As We Supposed?' Then later on the writer suggests that Anthony may not be above taking graft himself. Everybody knows he is a poor man."
Afterwards there was an unusual silence in the big room until Billy turned inquiringly toward his wife and sister-in-law.
"Don't take my question in the wrong way, please," he began rather timidly. "But is Betty Graham a very extravagant woman? I know she was brought up to have a great deal of money, and although she was poor for a little while that may not have made any difference. You see, Anthony Graham is absolutely an honest man, but everybody knows that he adores his wife——"
Billy stopped because quite in her old girlhood fashion Polly had sprung up on her sofa and her eyes were fairly blazing at him.
"What utter nonsense, Billy Webster! You ought to be ashamed of yourself for suggesting such a thing. In the first place, Betty is not extravagant, but evenif she were she would most certainly rather be dead than have Anthony do a dishonest thing on her account. Besides, if Anthony is your friend and you really believe in him, you ought not to doubt him under any possible circumstances." Then Polly bit her lips and calmed down somewhat, for Mollie was looking a little frightened as she always did when her sister and Billy disagreed. However, her sympathies this time were assuredly on her sister's side.
"If you had only belonged to a Camp Fire club as we did with Betty Ashton you would never have doubted her even for a second, Billy. I know you don't really," Mollie added, somewhat severely for her. "Oh, dear, I never shall cease to be grateful for our club! All the girls seem almost like sisters to me, and especially Betty."
Billy Webster folded up his paper and glanced first at his wife and then at his sister-in-law.
"I beg everybody's pardon," he said slowly, "and I stand rebuked! Certainly I did not mean really to doubt eitherAnthony or Betty for a moment. But you are right, Mollie dear, that Camp Fire Club certainly taught you girls loyalty toward one another. I don't believe people dare say nowadays that women are not loyal friends, and perhaps the Camp Fire clubs have had their influence. But some day soon I believe I will go up to Concord and see Anthony. Perhaps he might like to talk to an old friend."
"He and Betty and the children are coming to Woodford for Christmas," Mollie announced contentedly, whipping away at the lace on the doll's dress now that peace was again restored. "Betty says she can't miss the chance of spending a Christmas with Polly after all these years. Besides, she is curious about Bobbin. I hope Sylvia will come too. She won't promise to leave her old hospital, but I believe the desire to see Polly will bring her here. You know she writes, Polly, that you are positively not to come to her for the present."
Her sister nodded, but a few moments later got up and went up alone to her own room.
Their talk had somehow made her feelmore uncomfortable about Betty than she had in the beginning. Somehow she had hoped that Mollie would not be so ready to agree with her own judgment. Yet most decidedly she had noticed a change in Betty during her short visit to her. Betty was no longer gay and sweet-tempered; she was nervous and cross, sometimes with her husband and children, now and then with the two girls who were spending the winter with her, Angelique Martins and Faith Barton. Moreover, she had gotten a good deal thinner, and though she was as pretty as ever, sometimes looked tired and discontented. Besides, she was living such a society existence, teas, balls, dinners, receptions almost every hour of the day and night. No wonder she was tired! Of course Anthony could not always go with her; he was far too busy and had never cared for society. For a moment Polly wondered when Betty and her husband managed to see each other when they were both so occupied with different interests. Yet when they had married she had believed them absolutely the most devoted and congenial of all her friends.
Well, Betty need not expect finally to escape confessing her difficulty. Even if there was no opportunity for an intimate talk during the Christmas gayeties they must see each other soon again. Either she would go to Concord or have Betty come again to Mollie's.
Then Polly cast off her worries and settling herself comfortably in a big leather chair by the fire took out the letter concealed inside her dress and began reading it.
Suspicion
"ANGEL, will you go into Anthony's private office; he told me he wanted to speak to you," Betty Graham said carelessly one afternoon in December. She was dressed for driving in a long fur coat and small black velvet hat which brought out the colors in her auburn hair in the most attractive fashion.
However, her expression changed as she saw the girl to whom she had just spoken turn white and clasp the railing of the banister as if to keep herself from falling.
"What on earth is the matter with you, Angel?" she demanded crossly. "You look like you were going to faint when I deliver a perfectly simple message. Surely you are not afraid of Anthony after living here with us all this time and working for him even longer. I suppose he just wants to speak to you about some business in connection with the office. He never talks ofanything else." Then a little ashamed of her impatience, Betty put her arm on Angel's shoulder.
"There has been something on your mind recently, hasn't there, Angel, something you have not cared to confide to me?" She stopped, for her remark was half a statement and half a question.
However, Angel nodded agreement.
"Well, I am sorry, but I don't seem to be worthy of any one's confidence these days," Betty continued, trying to speak lightly. "However, if any one wishes to know where I have gone, dear, please say that Meg Emmet and I are driving together and that we are to have tea with old Professor Everett." And the next moment Betty Graham had disappeared down the steps.
Still Angel stood in the same place and in the same position.
Surely Betty was being kept in the dark if she did not dream of the trouble that had been hovering over the Governor's office for several weeks. Several important state papers had been misplaced, lost or stolen. No one knew what had become of them, yet on them a great deal depended. Theywere the proof that the Governor required for exposing certain men whom he believed dishonest. It was absolutely necessary that they should be found.
Summoning her courage, Angel knocked timidly at the Governor's study door. It was in front of this same door that she had watched the guests at the Inaugural Ball some weeks before. Of course it was absurd for her to be frightened at the Governor's having sent for her. She was too insignificant a person even to be questioned in regard to the lost papers, as she was only one of the unimportant stenographers at the Capitol and was only occasionally asked to do any of the Governor's private work.
Anthony was sitting with his desk littered with papers when Angel walked timidly in. She thought he looked rather old and tired and stern for so young a man. But he was always very polite and at once got up and offered her a chair.
"I am sorry to disturb you out of office hours like this, Angel," he began kindly. "I know it is Saturday afternoon and a half holiday, but I thought perhaps we couldtalk something over better here at home than at the office. One is so constantly interrupted there."
Angel made a queer little noise in her throat which she believed to have sounded like "Yes."
Of course the Governor was going to dismiss her from her position. She was not a particularly good stenographer, not half so fast as many of the girls, although she had tried to be thorough. But then she had no real talent for office work and of course there was no reason why she should continue to hold her position because she was a friend of the family. Positively Angel was beginning to feel sorry for the Governor's embarrassment and already had made up her mind to try and get some other kind of work. She would not stay on and be dependent.
Anthony was tapping his desk with his pencil.
"See here, Angel," he said, "I wonder if you by any chance have the faintest idea of what has become of some papers we have been a good deal worried about at the office. I know you don't often have anythingto do with my private business, but I thought by accident you might have seen them lying around at some time. They were two or three letters bound around with a blue paper and a rubber band. Know anything about them?"
The girl started. For suddenly the Governor's manner had changed and he was looking at her sternly out of his rather cold, searching eyes. For a man does not win his way to greatness through all the trials that Anthony Graham had endured without having some streak of hardness in him.
Quietly Angel shook her head, but she was neither nervous nor offended by the Governor's questioning. She had heard the gossip, strictly within the office, of the loss of these letters and it was most natural that every member of the force should be investigated concerning them.
"I am sorry," she answered, her voice trembling the least little bit in spite of her efforts, "but I have never at any time seen anything of the letters you mention. Could it be possible that one of the servants at the Capitol realized their importance and stole them in order to get money for them?"
"No," the Governor answered promptly, "that is not possible, because the letters were taken from this study and in this house. Think again, Angel, have you seen nothing of them? There is no one else living in the house here, you know, who works at my office except you."
Angel jumped quickly to her feet. "You don't mean—you can't mean," she began chokingly. "Oh, I can't bear it! I shall tell Betty—she will never believe. Why, I thought you were my best friends, almost my only friends." For a moment she found it impossible to go on.
But the Governor was looking almost as wretched as she was herself. "My dear, I don't mean really to accuse you of anything, remember. I am only asking you questions. And I particularly beg of you not to mention this trouble of ours to Betty. She is not very well at present and I am afraid she thinks I am too hard on all her friends. Indeed, I am sure I should never have dreamed of you in connection with this matter, but that some one in whom I have great confidence told me that he had seen you coming out of my study on thenight on which I believe my papers were mislaid. We won't talk about the matter any more for the present, however. Possibly the letters will yet turn up, and it has been only my own carelessness that is responsible for the loss. There, do go up to your own room and lie down for a while, Angel. I assure you this conversation has been as distasteful to me as it has to you. It was only because the discovery of these letters is so important that I decided to talk to you. But don't think I am accusing you."
Sympathetically and apologetically the Governor now smiled at his companion, the smile that had always changed his face so completely from a grave sternness to the utmost kindness and charm.
But Angel would not be appeased. She had always a passionate temper inherited from her Latin ancestors, though she usually kept it well under control.
"You mean your private secretary, Kenneth Helm, has suggested that you question me," she announced bitterly. "I knew he disliked me for some reason or other, but I did not know his dislike wasas cruel as this. It was he who saw me sitting out here watching the people down-stairs the night of your Inaugural Ball, because I was too shy to go down alone." For an instant it occurred to Angel to say that she had seen Kenneth Helm enter the Governor's private study on this same evening. But what would have been the use? The Governor probably knew of it and certainly he had the utmost faith in his secretary. It would only look as if she were trying to be spiteful and turn the suspicion upon some one else. Besides, had she not promised Kenneth Helm not to tell? At least she would not condescend to break her word.
Stumbling half blindly, Angel made her way out of the study. In the hall she found Bettina waiting for her.
"You promised to come and play more secret with me. Will you come now, Angel? We can go up to the nursery and lock the door; there is no one to find us," Tina urged.
But Angel could only shake her head, not daring to let the little girl see into her face.
Nevertheless, outside her own bedroom door she had to meet an even greater strain upon her nerves. For there stood Faith Barton in a pretty house dress and with a box of candy in her hands.
"May I come in and talk to you for a little while, Angel?" she asked, hesitating the least little bit. "Kenneth has just sent me a note and a box of candy, saying that he cannot keep his engagement with me tonight. He is so dreadfully busy, poor fellow! I don't believe Governor Graham works one-half so hard. So I thought maybe you would let me stay with you, as I am rather lonely. Besides, Angel, there isn't any sense in your treating me so coldly as you have lately. If I am doing wrong in keeping my engagement a secret, I am doing wrong, that's all. But I don't think you ought to be unkind to me. If I have been hateful to you about anything, truly I am sorry. You know I have always been awfully fond of you, dear, and wanted to be your friend ever so much more than you ever wished to be mine."
But instead of answering Faith, the othergirl had to push by her almost rudely, stammering:
"I can't talk to you now, Faith. I've got the headache. I'm not very well; I must lie down."
Then with Faith standing almost on her threshold, resolutely Angel closed the door in her face.
If there was one person above all others at this moment with whom she could not bear to talk it was Faith Barton.
Waiting to Find Out
AS the days passed on, the little French girl did not find her difficulties grow less. At the office she continued to hear veiled discussions of the seriousness of the lost letters. No one, of course, except a few persons in the Governor's confidence, knew exactly what information the letters contained, but there was no question of their political importance, for everybody could feel the atmosphere of strain and suspense. Yet for one thing at least Angelique Martins was grateful: no one had in any way associated her with the lost or stolen papers. For whatever Kenneth Helm suspected, or Governor Graham feared, they had both kept their own counsel. Yet this did not mean that they both considered her guiltless.
Time and time again Angel tried to summon courage to speak directly to KennethHelm on the subject. She had frequent opportunities, for even if there was danger of notice or interruption at the office, he came very often to the Governor's mansion to see Faith or to dine with the family.
However, she simply did not know what to do or say. To go to Kenneth and ask him why he had accused her seemed to the girl almost like a confession of wrongdoing. For oftentimes it appears preposterous in this world to be forced into denying an act that one could never have even dreamed of committing. How can one suddenly say, "I amnota thief, I amnota liar," when every thought and act of their lives has been pure and good?
Neither could Angel persuade herself to tell Kenneth Helm that she felt just as suspicious of him as he could possibly feel of her. For she had no proof of any kind except her own dislike and distrust and the fact that she had seen him coming out of the Governor's private study on the same night on which he had suggested that she might have previously entered it. For of course the Governor's private secretaryhad a right to his chief's private papers at almost all times. No, Kenneth would only consider her accusation an expression of feeble revenge and be perhaps more convinced of her guilt in consequence.
Therefore there was nothing to do but wait with the hope that everything would soon be cleared up and the lost letters either found or their thief discovered.
Moreover, Angel was not even to have the satisfaction of talking the matter over with Betty, the one person in the world who could and would have helped her. For she had the Governor's strict command against this and did not dare disobey. Besides, Angel could see that Betty was unlike herself these days and so should not be troubled by any one else's trials. This, of course, was a mistaken point of view, as nothing would so have helped Betty Graham at this time as to have had some one to think about who really needed her. However, neither her friend nor her husband could have realized this.
Nevertheless there was one consolation that the little French girl enjoyed duringthese days and that was "the secret" which she and Bettina had been cherishing so ardently for weeks. Every spare hour she had from her work she and Bettina had spent together in a big room at the top of the house, which was Bettina's own private play-room, sacred to her uses only.
It was a lovely room with pale gray walls and warm, rose-colored curtains, and all about were pictures of girls and boys who had come straight out of fairyland and had their photographs taken by such wonderful fairy artists as Maxfield Parish and Elizabeth Shippen Greene.
For you see Angelique was absolutely attempting to draw one of these fairy pictures herself, while Bettina was acting as her model.
The picture was not to be a portrait, the artist had scarcely courage to have undertaken that, but it was to represent Bettina's favorite heroine, "Snow White and Rose Red."
All her life, ever since she was a little girl of five or six, Angelique Martins had been drawing and painting whenever shehad the least chance or excuse. Of course it was this same artistic gift that had showed in her clever fingers and sense of color through all the work which she had done in the Camp Fire Club. But of her actual talent as an artist Angelique had always been extremely shy. You see, she cared for art so much that she did not consider that she had anyrealtalent. But even confessing that she had the least little ability, of course it would take years of study and goodness knows how much money before she could have hoped to amount to anything.
Nevertheless there was nothing to forbid the little lame French girl's amusing herself with her fancy whenever she had the chance. And ever since she could remember, Angel had been drawing pictures for Bettina. It had been their favorite amusement as soon as Tina passed beyond her babyhood, which was sooner than most children.
Naturally Angel had drawn hundreds of pictures with Bettina as her model before, but never one half so ambitious as this. However, this last one represented aboutthe sixth effort, and it was a great question even now whether this was to be the final one. For "Snow White and Rose Red" was not merely a play picture, one that had been painted merely for amusement; it had a most serious intention behind it.
Weeks before in a magazine which the two friends had been looking over together they had come across an advertisement. A prize of two hundred dollars was offered for the best picture illustrating any fairy story. Moreover, no well-known artist was to be allowed to enter the competition; the drawings were all to be made by amateurs under twenty-five years of age.
The first suggestion that Angel should take part in this wonderful contest had come, of course, from Bettina as soon as the older girl had read her the amazing announcement, for Tina's faith in her friend was without limit. Then just as naturally Angel first laughed at her suggestion and afterwards decided to try just for fun to see what she could do; and here at last was most furiously in earnest, although still undecided whether to sendher picture to the competition or to throw it away.
There were only a few days more before the time limit expired. Therefore, would it be possible for her to undertake an entirely new picture here at the very last?
With these uncertainties weighing on her mind Angel was sitting in front of a small easel with a box of pastels on a table near by. Closer to the big nursery window Bettina was curled up in a white armchair, one foot tucked up under her in a favorite attitude and in her lap were half a dozen red roses.
She was tired, for she had been quiet an unusually long time while Angel made slight changes in her work and then stopped to consider the whole thing disparagingly. But somehow her weariness made Bettina's pose even more charming.
Angel Had Caught Bettina's Attitude Almost ExactlyAngel Had Caught Bettina's Attitude Almost Exactly
Her long yellow-brown hair hung over her shoulders down into her very lap, her eyes were wide open and yet were plainly not looking at any particular object. For Tina was making up stories to amuse herself while Angel worked. It was only in this way that she could manage tokeep still for so long a time as Angel needed.
But this was the picture that Bettina herself made; what of her friend's drawing of her? Naturally it was not so graceful or pretty as the little girl herself.
Nevertheless, by some happy chance Angel had caught Bettina's attitude almost exactly. Then too she had drawn a little girl who did not look exactly like other children. There was a suggestion of poetry, almost of mystery, about her fairy tale girl, in the wide open blue-gray eyes, dreaming as Tina's so often were, and in the half uncurled lips.
Of course the lines of the drawing were not so firm and clear as an experienced artist would have made them, yet glancing at the little picture, you felt something that made you wish to look at it again.
However, Angel sighed so that Bettina came out of her dream story and stretched herself in the big chair.
"What is the matter?" she inquired. "May I get up and walk about the room now?"
The older girl nodded. "Thank you, dear. This is the last time I am going to trouble you to sit for this picture. I have just decided that I can't do any better by trying it over again, yet I don't know whether I shall send it to the competition after all."
The next moment Angel was startled by something that sounded almost like a sob from Tina. Since the little girl was so seldom cross, she was surprised and a little frightened.
"I am sorry you are so tired. Why didn't you tell me?" Angelique demanded.
Bettina had crossed the nursery and was standing close beside her picture.
"It isn't that, it is only that I do want you to send it so much," Bettina answered. "You see, I think it is the best picture anybody ever painted and we have both worked so hard and it has been such a nice secret," she said huskily.
Angel put her arm about her. "Of course I'll send it, dear, if you feel that way," she conceded. "But you must not even dream that I shall get the prize and you must promise not to be disappointedif we never hear of the picture again."
Bettina agreed and then there followed a most unexpected knocking at the locked nursery door. The two conspirators stared at each other in consternation.
"Who is it, please?" Bettina demanded. "You know Angel and I are having our secret together and we can't let any one come in."
Betty's voice replied: "Yes, I know; but I thought maybe the secret was over and you would like me to come and play too. I am feeling pretty lonesome."
"Oh," Tina returned, and then she and Angel whispered together. Finally the little girl came over toward the closed door.
"I wish you would not be lonesome just now, mother," she murmured, "just when we are most dreadfully busy. If you will only go away for a little while and then come back, why, Angel and I will love to play with you."
"I am afraid I won't be here after a while," Betty answered and then walked slowly away. It was absurd for her tofeel wounded by such a trifle, and yet recently it had looked as though Bettina preferred Angelique's company to hers. What a useless person she was growing to be! Well, at least she and Meg were going to a Suffrage meeting that afternoon! She had not intended going, but the baby was asleep and Anthony would not be home for hours. Perhaps after the talk ended she might drive by and get Anthony to return with her. She had not thought him looking very well that morning.
A Talk That Was Not an Explanation
THE Suffrage meeting was fairly interesting, but then both Meg and Betty had been believers in equal rights for men and women ever since their Camp Fire days and there were few new arguments to be heard on the subject.
When they came out from the crowded hall, however, it was still too early to call for Anthony. There could be no hope of getting hold of him before half-past five o'clock. So it was Meg Emmet's suggestion that she and Betty stop by and see her father for a few moments. Professor Everett had a slight cold and his daughter was a little uneasy about him.
They found the old gentleman in his library sipping hot tea and re-reading a letter from his son, Horace, whom Betty could not ever think of by any more serious name than "Bumps." She always saw a vision of the small boy dragging around athis sister Meg's heels and tumbling over every object in their way. However, "Bumps" had grown up to be a very clever fellow and had a better record at college than his brother John ever had. The young man was to graduate in law at Cornell in the coming spring. The present letter was to say, however, that he expected to spend Christmas in Concord with his father. He had been doing some tutoring at Cornell and had earned the money for his trip himself.
Plainly Professor Everett was much pleased by this news. He had always been a devoted father to all his three motherless children, but Horace was his "Benjamin."
Moreover, they were still talking of "Bumps" when unexpectedly John Everett made his appearance. He was looking rather fagged, but explained that there was nothing going on at his office and so he had quit for the day.
Nevertheless tea had a reviving effect upon him, as it had upon both Meg and Betty, so that Betty was surprised to discover that it was twenty minutes past five o'clock when her visit seemed scarcely to have begun.
It was quite dark, however, as it was toward the middle of December when the days are short, so that John Everett insisted upon accompanying his sister and friend, even though they were in Betty's carriage.
Meg's home was nearer. They drove there first and later John went on to the Capitol, where Betty sent in to inquire if the Governor were free to return home with her.
There was a little time to wait before the answer came, so that in the meanwhile Betty and John continued talking.
It was Betty who asked the first important question.
"I do hope, John, that your new business is succeeding," she said carelessly, although of course she felt a friendly interest in John's success and in that of Meg's husband.
However, John Everett hesitated a moment before replying.
"Oh, our success depends on your Governor and so perhaps on you," he answered in a half joking tone. "I don't know whether you happen to have heard anything about it, but we are trying to get abill through the Legislature this season which will give us the chance to build the new roads in the state of New Hampshire for the next few years. But we don't know just yet how the Governor feels about it, whether he is going to oppose our bill or work with us. He has a big lot of influence."
"Oh," Betty replied vaguely. She sincerely hoped that John Everett was not going to try persuade her to ask her husband to assist him for the second time. Surely if he did she would refuse. For in the first place she did not wish to confess that she believed herself to have no real influence with her husband and in the second she wouldn't try to interfere in anything so important as a bill to be gotten through the Legislature unless she knew everything about it. Formerly she had taken an intense interest in all the political affairs that interested her husband, yet recently Anthony had not been discussing matters with her very often. Moreover, she had a sudden feeling that she did not wish to be mixed up again with John Everett's concerns.
So fortunately before Betty had a chance to reply Anthony came down the length of stone steps to his wife's carriage.
He seemed pleased at seeing her, but not very enthusiastic over her companion.
However, John Everett said good-bye and left at once.
They had only fairly started on the road toward home when Anthony said suddenly:
"I do wish, Betty, that you would not be seen so often with John Everett. Oh, I know you don't realize it, but it seems to me that you are very often with him. I know he is Meg's brother and that you are devoted friends, but I tell you I don't like the fellow. The more I know him, the less I like him. So I simply won't have my wife in his society."
Betty caught her breath and her cheeks flushed hotly in the darkness. How unkind Anthony was to her these days! Could it be possible that he did not love her any more? He certainly could not be jealous of John Everett; that idea was too absurd to be considered. For she never had cared for any one in her life except her husband andhe must know it. However, she had no intention of being bullied.
"Don't be silly, Anthony," Betty replied petulantly. "I don't see very much of John Everett. Besides, if I did what difference would it make? Of course, if you know anything actually against him you would tell me?"
"So you no longer wish to do things just because I wish them? I'm sorry, Betty," Anthony returned. Then they drove the rest of the way home in silence, both behaving like sullen children in spite of the fact that they were entirely grown-up people, the Governor of the state and his clever and charming wife.
For the truth was that Anthony Graham was jealous of John Everett and yet was ashamed to speak of it. He would never have dreamt of such a feeling if only he and Betty had not been estranged for the past few weeks. Besides, he was missing the opportunity to spend as much time with her as he formerly had before his election to office. Surely Betty must understand that. How could he help hating to have another fellow drinking tea withher on any number of afternoons when he was slaving at his office—especially a man like John Everett?
Oh, of course Anthony realized that this was rather a dog-in-the-manger attitude on his part and that he ought to laugh over it with his wife.
Moreover, if he had, Betty would have understood and forgiven him. She might even have been a little pleased, since she believed that Anthony did not miss the loss of her society half so much as she had the loss of his. If he had even told her the special reason he had for disliking John Everett doubtless she would have been convinced, in spite of her natural loyalty to her old friends.
But Anthony did not even do this. He had an idea that he was saving Betty trouble by not telling her of the loss of the papers by which he could prove that the bill which ex-Governor Peyton, Jack Emmet and John Everett were trying to get through the Legislature was an effort to cheat the state.
Yet in consequence Betty cried herself into a headache and was therefore unableto come down to dinner, while Anthony decided that she would not come simply because she was too angry with him.
So can people in this world manage to misunderstand each other, even after they have been married a number of years and are very deeply and truly in love with each other.