Part 19 (1/2)
She was turning it over, when Jimmy said, with a certain quick, sharp note in his voice,--
”I hope you'll excuse my cousin, Miss Benham; she has been so used to handling her own violin carelessly she forgets that other people may feel differently with regard to their instruments; and--”
”Jimmy is as cross as two sticks this morning, Hope; he's done nothing but lecture me ever since he came in,” Dolly declared airily; but at the same moment she gave the violin back into its owner's hands, to the owner's great relief, who could not help glancing gratefully at Jimmy as she received it. This glance of grat.i.tude did more to restore Jimmy's good-humor, that had been so sorely disturbed, than anything else could have done; ”for,” he said to himself, ”she doesn't think I'm exactly like Dolly if I _am_ her cousin, and, in spite of Dolly, I believe we should be first-rate friends if we saw more of each other.”
He was still more convinced of this possible friendliness as he listened to Hope's playing,--as he saw how thorough an artist she was, how she loved and lived in her music, when the violin was in her hands. No silly little tricks about her, no showing off in her pose and expression like some girl-players he had seen,--like Dolly, for instance,--and yet how pretty she was, with that smooth, brown hair ruffling out around her forehead, and the color coming and going, and the brown eyes, too, coming and going, as it were, in their expression, as she played. As pretty as Dolly _and not thinking_ about it,--not thinking about it a bit, as she stood there, an image of grace, her chin bent lovingly down to her violin, her skilful hands evoking such exquisite strains. And those waltzes! Were there any that were ever written fuller of perfect melody? So absorbed was Jimmy in all this listening and looking, he quite forgot that he had meant to run away directly after Hope had played. Dolly saw that he had forgotten; and while he was yet in the tide of his enthusiastic thanks for the Gungl' waltzes, she slipped the duet she had brought down with her on the music-rack, and said,--
[Ill.u.s.tration: ”SHE STOOD THERE AN IMAGE OF GRACE, HER CHIN BENT LOVINGLY DOWN TO HER VIOLIN”]
”Now, Hope, do just try this with me.”
”Dolly--Miss Benham must be tired; she must want to rest,” broke in Jimmy, his face flus.h.i.+ng, his tone revealing his mortification.
Hope saw the flush, and noted the tone. She could not add to his mortification, and going back to the music-stand, she said quietly,--
”Oh, it is one of those pretty folk-songs. Yes, I'll try it with you; I'm not tired.”
And so it was in this way that Kate Van der Berg's prophecy was fulfilled.
”I knew it would come about, I knew it, I knew it!” cried Kate, triumphantly, when Myra Donaldson told her what had happened, ”for I never saw such a persistent girl in my life as Dorothea,--so persistent and so thick-skinned.”
”But Hope couldn't help giving in to her,” explained Myra; ”she was so sorry for Dorothea's cousin.”
”Of course. I do wonder if Dorothea was clever enough to see that,--to plan it, perhaps.”
”No, I don't think she planned it, and I don't think she saw in the least why Hope gave in to her. She probably thought Hope had the leisure just then, and felt like it.”
”Well, she _is_ the queerest girl; but her cousin is a dear little fellow. My brother Schuyler and Peter Van Loon like him immensely.
Schuyler likes him so much he wants to get him to come up and visit us this summer. I hope he will; he knows everything about a boat, and that means a great deal in the way of a good time with us.”
”Why don't _you_ invite Dorothea to come up with him?”
”Yes, why don't I?” and Kate laughed. Then all at once she burst out seriously: ”How she _did_ go on at the party; and look here, Myra, I'll tell you something if you won't speak of it to any one,--any one but Hope,--I've told Hope.”
”No, I won't say a word about it.”
”Well, you saw how she carried on,--flirted in that silly, loud way with Raymond Armitage?”
”Yes.”
”Well, what do you think? She--she's carrying on the flirtation still.”
”No--no, you don't mean it!”
”I do.”
”_How_ is she carrying it on?”
”The next day after the party, the next morning,--that's day before yesterday,--I was down early, hunting for my carnelian pin; I'd dropped it somewhere, and I thought it might be in the reception-room, as I missed it soon after I had left the room to go upstairs the night before. I found it at last under a chair by the window. It was a little bent, and I stood at the window trying to straighten it, when I saw three or four of the Inst.i.tute boys coming along on their way to school.
One of them was Raymond Armitage; and as he pa.s.sed by, I heard him say to the others,--