Part 9 (1/2)
”I am very well, thank you. I hope you are feeling well, too, Miss Susanna.”
Marjorie took the small, st.u.r.dy hand Miss Susanna extended in both her own. The mistress of Hamilton Arms looked so very tiny in the great room. Marjorie experienced a wave of sudden tenderness for her.
”Yes; I am well, by the grace of G.o.d and my own good sense,” returned her hostess in her brisk, almost hard tones. ”You are prompt to the hour, child. I like that. I hate to be kept waiting. I have my tea at precisely five o'clock. It is years since I had a guest to tea. Sit down there.” She indicated a straight chair with an ornamental leather back and seat. ”Jonas will bring the tea table in directly, and serve the tea. Take off your hat and lay it on the library table. I wish to see you without it.”
She had not more than finished speaking, when the snowy-haired servitor wheeled in a good-sized rosewood tea-table. He drew it up to where Marjorie sat, and brought another chair for the mistress of Hamilton Arms similar to the one on which the guest was sitting. Withdrawing from the room, he left youth and age to take tea together.
”Who would have thought that I should ever pour tea for one of my particular aversions,” Miss Susanna commented with grim humor. ”Do you take sugar and cream, child?”
”Two lumps of sugar and no cream.” Marjorie held out her hand for the delicate Sevres cup.
”Help yourself to the m.u.f.fins and jam. It is red raspberry. I put it up myself. Now eat as though you were hungry. I am always ravenous for my tea. I do not have dinner until eight and I am outdoors so much I grow very hungry as five o'clock approaches.”
”I am awfully hungry,” Marjorie confessed. ”I love five o'clock tea. We have it at home in summer but not in winter. We girls at Hamilton hardly ever have it, because we have dinner shortly after six.”
”At what campus house are you?” was the abrupt question.
”Wayland Hall. I like it best of all, though Silverton Hall is a fine house.”
”Wayland Hall,” the old lady repeated. ”It was his favorite house.”
”You are speaking of Mr. Brooke Hamilton?” Marjorie inquired with breathless interest. ”Miss Remson said it was his favorite house. He was so wonderful. 'We shall ne'er see his like again,'” she quoted, her brown eyes eloquent.
Miss Susanna stared at her in silence, as though trying to determine the worth of Marjorie's unexpected remarks.
”He _was_ wonderful,” she said at last. ”I am amazed at your appreciation of him. You _are_ an amazing young person, I must say. How much do you know concerning my great uncle that you should have arrived at your truly high opinion of him?”
”I know very little about him except that he loved Hamilton and planned it n.o.bly.” Marjorie's clear eyes looked straight into her vis-a-vis's sharp dark ones. ”I have asked questions. I have treasured every sc.r.a.p of information about him that I have heard since I came to Hamilton College. No one seems to know much of him except in a general way.”
”That is true. Well, the fault lies with the college.” The reply hinted of hostility. ”Perhaps I will tell you more of him some day. Not now; I am not in the humor. I must get used to having you here first. I try to forget that you are from the college. I told you I did not like girls. I may call you an exception, child. I realized that after you had left me, the day you helped me to the cottage with the chrysanthemums. I was cheered by your company. I am pleased with your admiration for him. He was worthy of it.”
As on the day of her initial meeting with Brooke Hamilton's great niece, Marjorie was again at a loss as to what to say next. She wished to say how greatly she revered the memory of the founder of Hamilton College.
In the face of Miss Susanna's declaration that she did not wish to talk of him, she could not frame a reply that conveyed her reverence.
”Try these cakes. They are from an old recipe the Hamiltons have used for four generations. Ellen, my cook, made these. I seldom do any baking now. I used to when younger. I spend most of my time out of doors in good weather. Let me have your cup.”
Her hostess tendered a plate of delicate little cakes not unlike macaroons. Marjorie helped herself to the cakes and forebore asking questions about Brooke Hamilton. Miss Susanna had partially promised to tell her of him some day. She could do no more than possess her soul in patience.
”What do you do in winter, Miss Hamilton, when you can't be out?” she questioned interestedly. ”Do you live at Hamilton Arms the year round?”
”Yes; I have not been away from here for a number of years. In winter I read and embroider. I do plain sewing for the poor of Hamilton. Jonas takes baskets of clothing and necessities to needy families in the town of Hamilton. 'The poor ye have always with ye,' you know.”
”I know,” Marjorie affirmed, her lovely face growing momently sad.
”Captain, I mean, my mother, does a good deal of such work in Sanford. I have helped her a little. During our last year at high school a number of us organized a club. We called ourselves the Lookouts and we rented a house and started a day nursery for the mill children. The house was in their district.”
”And how long did you keep it up?” was the somewhat skeptical inquiry.
”Oh, it is running along beautifully yet.” Marjorie laughed as she made answer.