Part 20 (2/2)
”She probably envies your finger-nails, and the trunk, doubtless, was upset in travelling. Besides, I don't think she's malignant. Like most underbred persons, she is curious, and she has cultivated the trait until it has become a disease.”
”But there's no knowing what she might do if she took a dislike to me.
She's not bad-hearted at all, but she could be spiteful, and I can't and won't stand her any longer. I reckon I'd like to go to Europe, anyhow. I feel as if every one was guessing my secret. Over there you say they don't mind those things, and I'd enjoy being in that kind of a place.”
”Go, by all means. I'll write at once and inquire about a chaperon--”
”Oh, I don't want to go just yet. September will do. I reckon these mountains are about as cool at this time of the year as anywhere, and they make me feel strong.” She added abruptly: ”Does Sally suspect?”
Betty nodded. ”Yes, she surprised the truth out of me. I am more sorry--”
Harriet had gripped her arm with both hands. Her face was ghastly. ”She knows? She knows?” she gasped. ”Then she will tell him. Oh! Why was I ever born?”
Betty made her sit down and took her head in her arms. Harriet was weeping with more pa.s.sion than she ever had seen her display.
”You believe me always, don't you?” she said. ”For Miss Trumbull I cannot answer, but for Sally I can--positively. She never would do a mean and ign.o.ble thing.”
”She loves him!”
That is the more reason for not telling him. Cannot you understand high-mindedness?”
”Oh, yes. You are high-minded, and _he_--that is the reason I should die if he found out; for he hates, he loathes deceit. Oh, I've grown to hate this country. I love you, but I'd like to forget that it was ever on the map. I wish I was coal black and had been born in Africa.”
”Why don't you go there and live, set up a sort of court?” asked Betty, seized with an inspiration.
”And live among n.i.g.g.e.rs? I despise and abhor n.i.g.g.e.rs! If one put his dirty black paw on me, I'd 'most kill him!”
Betty turned away her head to conceal a smile; but Harriet, who was wholly without humour, continued:
”Betty, honey, I want you to promise me that if I ever do anything to disappoint you, you'll forgive me. I love you so I couldn't bear to have you despise me.”
”What have you been doing?” asked Betty, anxiously.
”Nothing, honey,” replied Harriet, promptly. ”I mean if I did.”
”Don't do anything that requires forgiveness. It makes life so much simpler not to. And remember the promise you made me.”
”Oh, I don't reckon I'll ever forget that.”
IX
Senator North started for Was.h.i.+ngton that afternoon. Betty did not see him again. He did not write, but she hardly expected that he would. He had remarked once that two-thirds of all the trouble in the world came out of letters, and Betty, with Miss Trumbull in mind, was inclined to agree with him. He would not return for a fortnight.
On Friday, very late, Senator Burleigh arrived. He was on the Finance Committee, but had written that he should break his chains for this brief holiday if he never had another. He had sent her two boxes of flowers since her return, and had written her a large number of brief, emphatic, but impersonal letters during her sojourn in California.
He looked big and breezy and triumphant as he entered the living-room, and he sprinkled magnetism like a huge watering-pot. Betty knew by this time that all men successful in American politics had this qualification, and had come in contact with it so often since her introduction to the Senate that it had ceased to have any effect on her except when emanating from one man.
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