Part 18 (1/2)
”No! She didn't say that?”
”Yes, she did, and meant it. I'll write, too, of course. You'll be deluged with letters and picture post-cards. You ought to be satisfied with so much attention.”
”Letters are all right--we won't say anything about the post-cards--and I hope you'll both keep your promises. But when I think of all these summer evenings without you----”
He heaved a gusty sigh which Georgiana had no reason to doubt was genuine. How much heavier would be his spirits, if he were told that Miles Channing was to be of the party, she had full consciousness. She was aware of the futility of attempting to keep this unwelcome news from him longer than the day of her departure, but she had not thus far ventured to mention it.
”I shall miss these evenings myself,” she said soberly. ”After all, Jimps, I expect there'll be n.o.body gladder to get back home than I. I shall see this old garden in my dreams.” Then quickly, as another deep-drawn breath warned her that sentimental ground was dangerous, she cried: ”Oh, but, Jimps! I haven't told you of the last and nicest thing that wonderful girl has done for me. She insisted on my bringing home the dearest little traveling suit of some kind of lovely summer serge that doesn't spot and doesn't muss and is altogether adorable. She insists it's not becoming to her, and it really isn't; but I almost know she planned not to have it becoming so she could give it away to me. And a perfect beauty of a little hat--and a big, loose coat, to wear on the steamer, that looks absolutely new, but she vows it isn't, and that she's tired of it. Was ever anybody so lucky as I?”
”It certainly does take clothes to stir up a girl,” was Stuart's cynical comment. ”Talk of separation and they pretend to be as sad over it as you are; but let 'em think about the clothes they're going to wear and their spirits leap up like soda water.”
”Poor old Jimps! Doesn't he know the sustaining qualities of pretty clothes? Too bad! But really it's lucky I have something to sustain me, it's such a pull to make myself go. I didn't suppose I'd ever leave Father Davy this way while he is so feeble, but he's the most urgent of all to send me off, and I know I really can bring him back wonderful pleasure.”
Thus the talks ran during the few days which elapsed before Georgiana's departure. Every spare hour was full with preparation, from the packing of the trim little steamer trunk which arrived by express, a gift from Uncle Thomas, to the careful mending and putting in perfect order of every article Father Davy would be likely to wear during the whole period of his daughter's absence. Georgiana's thoughts as she worked were a curious mixture of happy antic.i.p.ation and actual dread.
”If only I could go as Jeannette is going,” she said to herself, ”without a care in the world except to plan how she will fill the summer, and to make sure her maid puts in plenty of silk stockings to last till she can buy some more in Paris. When I went to college it was with the fear that I ought not to accept father's sacrifice, even though Aunt Harriet was with him then, and he was far, far stronger than he is now. I've never done anything in my life without a guilty feeling that I ought not to be doing it. Why can't I do now as they all bid me--drop my cares and take my fun, like any other girl? I will--I must. It's only fair!”
The excitement of antic.i.p.ation grew upon her as the busy hours slipped away; the regrets and anxieties diminished. With every day came fresh and delightfully interesting contributions to her outfitting from Jeannette or Aunt Olivia--a handsome little handbag of silk and silver to match the traveling suit; a snug toilet case of soft blue leather, holding everything mortal woman could want on train or s.h.i.+p; a great woolly steamer rug to use on s.h.i.+pboard. Georgiana could only catch her breath at such kindness, and dash off hasty notes of spirited thanks, and protests against any more of the same sort. But in spite of her pride it was impossible to resist accepting these and other gifts, they seemed prompted by such genuine affection.
The day came; the trunk was closed and strapped. Mr. Jefferson had done the strapping, coming upon the prospective traveler in the upper hall, where she was trying in vain to bring leather thong and buckle into the proper relations.
”Haven't I yet proved my right to the t.i.tle of man in the house?” he inquired, as he did the trick with the masculine ease which is ever a source of envy to those whose hands are weaker.
”Indeed you have; but I shall never get over feeling that I have to do everything for myself.”
”It will be some one's privilege to teach you better some time,” was his rejoinder. ”Meanwhile, those of us who are near at hand are only too happy to act as deputies.”
Between her ”three men,” as Jeannette had called them, Georgiana was allowed to do little for herself at the last. She was to meet her cousins as the train went through their city, but Stuart had invited himself to accompany her to that point, thus giving himself a chance, as he said, to clinch that bargain with Jeannette concerning the promised letters and post-cards.
Therefore Georgiana's farewells were not to be all said at once, for which she was thankful. It was quite enough to take leave of Father Davy, who was looking, it seemed to his daughter's eyes, on that sultry June morning, a shade paler and weaker than usual.
”It's the sudden summer heat, dear,” he said with the brightest of smiles, as with her arms about him she questioned him; ”nothing more.
There, there, my little girl; don't let your fancy get the better of you. I'm very well indeed, and shall soon be used to the summer weather.
Go--and G.o.d be with you, dearest!”
”It doesn't matter about His going with me if He'll only stay with you,”
murmured Georgiana, vainly struggling with herself, that she might take a bright and tearless farewell of this dear being.
”He will go with you and He will stay with me,” said Mr. Warne cheerfully, ”so be at rest. Here--I've written you a steamer letter.
Read it when the good s.h.i.+p sails, and think of me as rejoicing in your happiness.”
It was over at last, and she was off. At the gate she had turned to Mr.
Jefferson, who was carrying her handbag to the village stage, from which Stuart had leaped to run up to the porch and say a word of cheer to Mr.
Warne, sitting in a big chair.
”I can't tell you what a comfort it is, Mr. Jefferson,” she said as she gave him her hand, ”to know that you are here. I haven't worked with you for six weeks not to understand that it is no mere author of a scientific treatise who is staying with my father.”