Part 22 (1/2)
”It was the most solemn thing I ever heard and the most beautiful,” said Marjorie softly. ”It made me homesick, and yet home doesn't mean anything to me; this is the only one I have known since I was eight years old.”
”Eight years in one place and a school at that!” cried Juno. ”Why, I should have done something desperate long before four had pa.s.sed. Girls, think of being in a school eight years.” Juno's tone implied the horrors of the Bastile.
”If you had no other, what could you do?” Marjorie's question was asked with a smile which was sadder than tears could have been.
Juno shrugged her shoulders, but Polly slipped over to Marjorie's side and with one of Polly's irresistible little mannerisms, laid her arm across her shoulder, as hundreds of times the boys in Bancroft demonstrate their good fellows.h.i.+p for each other. Another girl would probably have kissed her. Polly was not given to kisses. Then she asked:
”Won't your father come East this spring for commencement? You said you hoped he would.
”I've hoped so every spring, but when he writes he says it takes four whole months to reach Was.h.i.+ngton from that awful place in the Klond.y.k.e.
I wish he had never heard of it.”
”I'm so glad you went to Severndale with us. We must never let her be lonely or homesick again, Peggy.”
”Not while Severndale has a spare hammock,” nodded Peggy.
Marjorie was more or less of a mystery to most of the girls, but the greatest of all to Mrs. Vincent to whom she had come the year the school was opened. Mrs. Vincent had more than once said to herself: ”Well, I certainly have four oddities to deal with: _Who_ is Marjorie? She is one of the sweetest, most lovable girls I've ever met, but I don't really know a single thing about her. She has come to me from the home of a perfectly reliable Congregational minister, but even he confesses that he knows nothing beyond the fact that she is the daughter of a man lost to civilization in the remotest regions of the Klond.y.k.e. He says he believes her mother is dead. Heigho! And Juno? What is likely to become of _her_, poor child? What does become of all the children of divorced parents in this land of divorces? Oh, why can't the parents think of the children they have brought into the world but who did not ask to come?
”And Rosalie? What is to become of that little pepper pot with all her loving impulses and self-will? I believe her father has visited her for about one hour in each of the four years she has been here, and I also believe his visits do more harm than good, they seem to enrage the child so. Of course, it is all wounded pride and affection, but who is to correct it? And this year comes Stella, the biggest puzzle of all. Her father? Well, I dare say it is all right, but he sometimes acts more like--” but at this point Mrs. Vincent invariably had paused abruptly and turned her attention to other matters.
”Can't the boys ever get leave to visit their friends?” asked Lily Pearl.
”I think it is perfectly outrageous to keep them stived up in that horrid place year in and year out for four years with only four months to call their own in one-thousand-four-hundred-and-sixty days!”
”Lily's been doing the multiplication table,” cried Rosalie.
”Well, I counted and I think it's awful--simply awful!” lamented Lily.
”I'd give anything to see Charlie Purdy and have another of those ravis.h.i.+ng dances. I can just feel his arms about me yet, and the way he snuggles your head up against him and nestles his face down in your hair--m--m--m! Why, his clothes smell so deliciously of cigarette smoke!
I can smell it yet!”
A howl of laughter greeted this rhapsody from all but Helen, who bridled and protested:
”Oh, you girls may laugh, but you had to walk a chalk line under the eyes of a half dozen chaperones every minute. Lily and I got acquainted with our friends.”
”Well, I hope we did have a chaperone or two,” was Polly's retort. She had vivid memories of some of the scenes upon which she and Ralph had inadvertently blundered during the afternoon informals of Christmas week. The auditorium in the academic building where informals are held, has many secluded nooks. Upon one occasion she had run upon Helen and Paul Ring, the former languis.h.i.+ng in the latter's arms. Perhaps mamma would not have been so ready to intrust her dear little daughter to Foxy Grandpa's protection had she dreamed of the existence of Mamma Ring and dear Paul.
At all this sentimental enthusiasm Stella had looked on indulgently and now laughed outright, ”What silly kids you two are,” she said.
”Well, I don't see that you had such a ravis.h.i.+ng time, anyway,” cried Helen.
”Why, I'm sure Mr. Allyn was as attentive as anyone could be. He was on hand every minute to take me wherever I wanted to go.” Stella's expression was quizzical and made Helen furious.
”Oh, a paid guide could have done as much I don't doubt.”
”Father _is_ a little fussy at times, so perhaps it is just as well. You see I should not have been at Severndale at all if he had not been called to Mexico on business. So I'd better be thankful for what fun I did get. But there goes the first bell. Better get down toward the dining-room, girls,” laughed Stella good-naturedly, and set the example.
A moment later the room was deserted by all but Helen who lingered at the mirror. When the others were on their way down stairs she slipped to Nelly's room and took from her desk a sheet of the monogram paper and an envelope, which Mrs. Harold had given her at Christmas. As she pa.s.sed her own room she hid them in her desk for future use. After dinner when the evening mail was delivered, Helen received a letter bearing the Annapolis postmark. Nelly had one from her father. As she read it her face wore a peculiar expression. The letter stated that her father was coming to Was.h.i.+ngton to consult with Shelby concerning a matter of business connected with Severndale's paddock. As Nelly ceased reading she glanced up from her letter to find Peggy watching her narrowly.
Peggy had also received a letter from Dr. Llewellyn in which he mentioned the fact that Bolivar felt it advisable to run down to Was.h.i.+ngton. In an instant the whole situation flashed across Peggy's quick comprehension.
During the girl's visit at Severndale Jim Bolivar had never come to the house. Nelly had many times slipped away for quiet little talks with her father in their own cottage and had asked him more than once why he did not come up to the big house to see her, and his reply had invariably been:
”Honey, I don't belong there. No, 'tain't no use to argue,--I don't.