Part 39 (2/2)

At night she slept very well, and if she did not think of Burleigh, neither would she think of Senator North.

She did not open a newspaper. What the country did now had no interest for her; it was marching to its drums, and nothing could stop it. And she would have her fill of politics for the rest of her natural life.

As Mrs. Madison always was content with a novel, she made no complaint at the absence of newspapers, particularly as the fighting had not begun. Moreover, Betty took her to the theatre every evening, a dissipation which her invalidism endured without a protest.

It was on Wednesday afternoon that Betty, returning to her rooms, met Sally Carter in a corridor of the hotel. The two girls kissed as if no war had come between them, and Miss Carter announced that she was going to Cuba to nurse the American soldier.

”I almost feel conscience-stricken,” she remarked, ”now that we actually are in for it. I don't think I believed it ever really could happen. It was more like a great drama that was about to take place somewhere on the horizon. But if the American boys have to be shot, I'm going to be there to do what I can.”

They entered the parlor of Mrs. Madison's suite, and that good lady, who had read until her eyes ached, welcomed Sally with effusion and demanded news of Was.h.i.+ngton.

”We haven't seen a paper or a soul,” she said. ”We have our meals up here, and I feel as if I were a Catholic in retreat. It's been a relief in a way, especially after the _salon_, but I should like to know if Was.h.i.+ngton has burned down, or anything.”

”Was.h.i.+ngton is still there and still excited,” said Miss Carter, dropping into a chair and taking off her hat, which she ran the pin through and flung on the floor. ”How it keeps it up is beyond the comprehension of one poor set of nerves. I am now dead to all emotion and longing for work. I'm even sorry I painted my best French handkerchiefs red, white, and blue. If you haven't seen the papers I suppose you don't know that Mrs. North is dead. She died suddenly of paralysis on the twenty-second. The strength she got in the Adirondacks soon began to leave her by degrees; the doctor--who is mine, you know--told me the other day that it meant nothing but a temporary improvement at any time; but he had hoped that she would live for several years yet. Betty, what on earth do you find so interesting in Fifth Avenue? I hate it, with its sixty different architectures.”

”But it looks so beautiful with all the flags,” said Betty, ”and the one opposite is really magnificent.”

It was a half-hour before Sally ceased from chattering and went in search of her father. Betty had managed to control both her face and her knees, and listened as politely as a person may who longs to strangle the intruder and achieve solitude. The moment Sally had gone Betty went straight to her room, avoiding her mother's eyes, which turned themselves intently upon her.

She did not reappear for dinner, as her mother was made cheerful by the society of the Carters; but as Sally pa.s.sed her room on her way to bed, she called her in, and the two girls had a few moments' conversation.

XVIII

”Molly,” said Betty, the next morning, ”I should like to go up to the Adirondacks alone for a few weeks. Would you mind staying here with the Colonel and Sally for another ten days and then returning with them?

Sally says she will move into my room and that she and the Colonel will take you to the theatre and do everything they can to make you happy.

You know the Colonel delights to be with you.”

”I understand, of course, that you are going,” said Mrs. Madison. ”I shall not be bored, if that is what you mean. I hope you will telegraph at once, so that the house will be warmed at least a day before you arrive. I suppose you have got to a point in your affairs where you must have solitude, but I wish you had not, and I wish you would go where it is warmer.”

”Oh, I shall be comfortable enough.” She added in a moment, ”Don't think I do not appreciate your consideration, for I do.”

Then she sat down at the desk and wrote a note to Burleigh. It was a brief epistle, but she was a long while writing it. Her previous notes had been dashed off in ten minutes, and usually related to the play of the previous evening. His replies had been a curious mingling of half-offended pride and a pa.s.sion which was only restrained by the fear that the lady was not yet ready for it.

Finally Betty concocted the missive to the satisfaction of her mind's diplomatic condition. She had not yet brought herself to begin any of her notes to him formally. ”Dear Robert” was as yet unnatural, and ”Dear Mr. Burleigh” absurd; so she ignored the convention.

”I suddenly have made up my mind to go to the Adirondacks for a month, _quite alone,_” she wrote. ”When one is going to take a tremendous step, one needs solitude that one may do a great deal of hard thinking.

I don't wonder that some Catholic women go into retreat. At all events, Was.h.i.+ngton, 'the world,' even my mother, even you, who always are so kind and considerate, seem impossible to me at present; and if I am to live with some one else for the rest of my life, I must have one uninterrupted month of solitary myself. Doubtless that will do me till the end of my time! So would you mind if I asked you not even to write to me? I have enjoyed your notes so much, but I want to feel absolutely alone. Don't think this is petty egoism. It goes far deeper than that!

If we ever are to understand each other I am sure I need not explain myself further.

B. M.”

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