Part 41 (1/2)

”Why, Arthur, where did you get it?” his wife had cried, involuntarily; and he had laughed and refused to tell her.

Ina herself, while she received the ring with the greatest delight, was secretly a little troubled. ”I am afraid poor papa ought not to have given me such a present as this,” she said to Charlotte, when the two girls were in their room that night. As she spoke she was holding the pearl to the lamp-light and watching the beautiful pink lights. It was a tinted pearl.

”It is a little different, because you are going away, and papa will never buy you things again,” said Charlotte. ”I should not worry, dear.” For the few days before her marriage, Charlotte had gotten a habit of treating her sister with the most painstaking consideration for her nerves and her feelings, as if she were an invalid. She was herself greatly troubled at the thought that her father had overtasked his resources to purchase such a valuable thing, but she would not for worlds have intimated such a thing to Ina.

”Well, I do worry,” said Ina. ”I cannot help it. It was too much for poor papa to do.” She even shed a few tears over the pearl, and Charlotte kissed and coddled her a good deal for comfort.

”It is such a beauty, dear,” she said. ”Look at it and take comfort in it, darling.”

”Yes, it is a beauty,” sobbed Ina. ”I never saw such a pearl except that one of poor papa's, the one he has in his scarf-pin that belonged to that friend of his who died, you know.”

”Yes, dear,” said Charlotte, ”I know. It is another just such a beauty. Don't cry any more, honey. Think how happy you are to have it.”

But Charlotte herself, after she had gone to bed in her own little room, had sobbed very softly lest her sister should hear her, until Ina was asleep. Her sister's remarks had brought a suspicion to her own mind. ”Poor papa!” she kept whispering softly, to herself. ”Poor papa!” It seemed to her that her heart was breaking with understanding of and pity for her father.

Charlotte's own gift to Ina had been some pieces of embroidery. She was the only one in the family who excelled in any kind of handicraft. ”Ina will like this better than anything,” she had told her aunt Anna, ”and then it will not tax poor papa, either. It will cost nothing.”

Her aunt had looked at her a minute, then suddenly thrown her arms around her and kissed her. ”Charlotte, you little honey, you are the best of the lot!” she had said.

Charlotte herself, the night of the wedding, was looking rather pale and serious. Many observed that she was the least good-looking of the family. Several Banbridge young men essayed to make themselves agreeable to her, but she did not know it. She was very busy. Besides their one maid there were the waiters sent by the caterer, and Eddy was exceedingly troublesome. He was a nervous boy, and unless directly under his father's eye, almost beyond restraint when impressed, as he was then, with an exaggerated sense of his own importance. His activities took especially the form of indiscriminate and superfluous helping the guests to refreshments, until the waiters waxed fairly murderous, and one of them even appealed to Anna Carroll, intimating in Eddy's hearing that unless the young gentleman left matters to them the supply of salad would run short.

”Why didn't we have more, then?” inquired Eddy, quite audibly, to the delight of all within ear-shot. ”I thought we were going to have plenty for everybody this time.”

”Eddy dear,” whispered Charlotte, taking his little arm, ”come with me into the hall and help me put back some roses that have fallen out of the big vase. I am afraid I shall get some water on my gown if I touch them, and I noticed just now that some one had brushed against them and jostled some out.”

”Charlotte, why didn't we have salad enough?” persisted Eddy, as he followed his sister, pulling back a little at her leading hand.

”Hush, dear; we have enough, only you had better leave it to the waiters, you know.”

”Everybody has taken it that I have pa.s.sed it to,” said Eddy. ”I have given that gentleman over there four plates heaped up.”

”Oh, hush, Eddy dear!” whispered Charlotte, in an agony.

By this time they were in the hall, and Eddy, still full of grievances, was picking up the scattered roses. ”I suppose there won't be enough salad for my friend and his mother when they come,”

said he, further.

”Who are your friend and his mother, darling?”

”Mr. Anderson and his mother,” declared Eddy, promptly. ”He is the best man in this town, and so is his mother.”

”Mr. Anderson, dear?”

”Yes. You know who I mean. You ought to know. He always lets us have all we want out of his store. He and his mother are the nicest people in this town except us.”

Charlotte looked at her little brother and her face flushed softly.

”But, dear,” she whispered, ”they did not have any invitations to the reception.”

”Yes, they did,” declared Eddy, triumphantly.