Part 30 (1/2)
”Never you mind.” Mrs. Selwyn gave him a pat on the back. ”Tom, let us talk about those nice people,” as they filed slowly out with the crowd.
Not a word did Tom lisp about the invitation to supper, but tucked his mother's arm loyally within his own. ”Sorry I forgot to engage a table!” he exclaimed, as they entered the restaurant.
”Why, there is Tom!” exclaimed Jasper, craning his neck as his party were about to sit down. ”Father, Tom Selwyn is here with his mother, and they can't find places, I almost know, and we might have two more chairs easily at our table,” he hurried it all out.
”What is all this about?” demanded old Mr. King; ”whom are you talking about, pray tell, Jasper?”
So Jasper ran around to his father's chair and explained. The end of it all was, that he soon hurried off, being introduced to Tom's mother, to whom he presented his father's compliments, and would she do him the favour to join their party? And in ten minutes, every one felt well acquainted with the English matron, and entirely forgot that she was an earl's daughter. And Tom acquitted himself well, and got on famously with old Mr. King.
But he didn't dare talk to Polly, but edged away whenever there was the least chance of matters falling out so that he would have to.
And then it came out that the Selwyns thought of going to Munich and down to Lucerne.
”And the Bernese Alps,” put in Jasper, across the table. ”How is that, Tom, for an outing? Can't you do it?” For it transpired that Mrs.
Selwyn had left the other children, two girls and two smaller boys, with their grandfather, on the English estate. They all called this place home since the father was in a business in Australia that required many long visits, and Tom's mother had decided that he should have a bit of a vacation with her, so they had packed up and off, taking in the Wagner festival first, and here they were. ”Yes,” after she considered a bit, ”we can do that. Join the party and then over to Lucerne, and perhaps take in the Bernese Alps.”
Only supposing that Polly's letter hadn't gone to the little old earl, Jasper kept saying over and over to himself. Just for one minute, suppose it!
And in the midst of it all, the horn sounded; the intermission was over, chairs were pushed back hastily, and all flocked off. No one must be late, and there must be no noisy or bustling entrances into the opera house.
And if Polly Pepper sat entranced through the rest of the matchless performance, Tom Selwyn--three seats back and off to the left--was just as quietly happy. But he wasn't thinking so much of ”Parsifal” as might have been possible. ”It's no end fine of the little mother to say 'yes,'” he kept running over and over to himself, with a satisfied glance at the quiet face under the plain, English bonnet.
”It's funny we don't see f.a.n.n.y Vanderburgh anywhere,” said Polly, as they went through the corridor and up the hotel stairs that night.
”She and her mother probably came home earlier,” said Mrs. Fisher; ”you know we were delayed, waiting for our carriages. You will see her in the morning, Polly.”
But in the morning, it was ten o'clock before Mr. King's party gathered for breakfast, for Grandpapa always counselled sleeping late when out the night before. And when Polly did slip into her chair, there was a little note lying on her plate.
”f.a.n.n.y Vanderburgh has gone,” she said, and turned quite pale.
It was too true. Mrs. Vanderburgh had sold her two tickets to the ”Flying Dutchman,” to be presented that evening, and departed from Bayreuth.
”It's no use, Polly,” f.a.n.n.y's note ran, ”trying to make me have a good time. Mamma says we are to go back to Paris; and go we must. You've been lovely, and I thank you ever so much, and good-by.”
Mother Fisher found Polly, a half-hour later, curled up in a corner of the old sofa in her room, her face pressed into the cus.h.i.+on.
”Why, Polly,” exclaimed her mother, seeing the shaking shoulders, and, bending over her, she smoothed the brown hair gently, ”this isn't right, child--”
Polly sprang up suddenly and threw her arms around her mother's neck.
Her face was wet with tears, and she sobbed out, ”Oh, if I'd done more for her, Mamsie, or been pleasant to Mrs. Vanderburgh, she might have stayed.”
”You haven't any call to worry, Polly, child,” said Mother Fisher, firmly. ”You did all that could be done--and remember one thing, it's very wrong to trouble others as you certainly will if you give way to your feelings in this manner.”
”Mamsie,” exclaimed Polly, suddenly wiping away the trail of tears from her cheek, ”I won't cry a single bit more. You can trust me, Mamsie, I truly won't.”
”Trust you,” said Mother Fisher, with a proud look in her black eyes, ”I can trust you ever and always, Polly; and now run to Mr. King and let him see a bright face, for he's worrying about you, Polly.”
XIX