Part 23 (1/2)
”Miss Drayton,” replied Marion, with the slightest possible change of manner,--”Rachel Drayton.”
”Rachel Drayton. That's rather an uncommon name. I don't think I ever heard of a real bona fide Rachel before; handsome, isn't she?”
”No, not exactly; perhaps she would be if she were well.”
”She's uncommon-looking,” continued Mr. Berkley, as he helped himself to another slice of toast; ”didn't you notice her, Margaret?--tall, with jet-black hair and eyes. Rachel is just the name for her.”
”I noticed her; in fact, Florence introduced her, but I was attracted towards her first by the unusually sad expression of her face. I never saw it so noticeable in one so young; and I suppose she is young, though she looks much older than you or Florence.”
”She is only seventeen,” replied Marion, busily engaged in giving Charley sips of her coffee.
”Oh, well,” said Mr. Berkley in his hearty way, ”we'll soon get rid of that sad look; we'll have her in with Flo, and I guess after she's seen Warren once or twice she'll learn how to laugh. What do you think, Marion?”
”It won't be any use for you to invite her, papa. She wouldn't come; she's in deep mourning,--she lost her father just before she came to school.”
”Poor child!” said Mrs. Berkley, whose heart always warmed towards any one in trouble; ”poor child! Where does her mother live?”
”She has no mother either; she died when Rachel was a baby. In fact, she has no relations at all except an uncle, who has been abroad for ten years, and will not be at home until school closes next spring.”
”Well, I do pity the poor thing!” said Mr. Berkley, who, although death had never robbed him of his own dear ones, felt the deepest sympathy for all those who had been so stricken. ”I think it is one of the saddest cases I ever knew. I suppose Flo--bless her heart!--could sympathize with her even more than the rest of you, having lost her mother too.”
”She and Rachel are great friends,” replied Marion, wis.h.i.+ng the subject would ever be changed.
”Is she well provided for?” asked Mr. Berkley.
”She is immensely wealthy,” replied Marion; ”will have two or three millions in her own right, when she is twenty-one.”
”Whew!” exclaimed Mr. Berkley; ”pretty well provided for, I should think. Well, I'm glad of it; she has had trouble enough already, without having to worry about money matters. Marion, have another chop?”
”No, I thank you, papa, I've had quite enough,” replied Marion, rousing herself, and speaking with her usual energy, the absence of which had not escaped her mother's ear. ”How soon will Fred be home? I'm crazy to see him.”
”In about an hour, I expect,” replied Mrs. Berkley; ”he is quite as anxious to see you as you are to see him.”
”I tell you what, Mab,” said Mr. Berkley, ”Fred is a pretty important member of society since he got into college; you ought to hear him talk about 'the men of our cla.s.s;' it makes me feel old.”
”Oh! he'll get over that,” laughed Marion. ”I suppose he feels particularly grand, because he's younger than most of his cla.s.s.”
”Yes, I dare say,” said Mrs. Berkley, with a little motherly anxiety in her voice. ”I wish he had waited a year; it would have been much better for him.”
”Oh, nonsense!” answered Mr. Berkley, as he pushed his chair back from the table; ”the sooner he sows his 'wild oats' the better; besides, he's sound enough, never fear. But I forgot, Marion; I'm getting to be almost too old a beau for you; so I told Fred to bring some one home from college to pa.s.s the vacation. He has invited a Mr. Thornton; he took a great fancy to Fred, though _he is_ a junior; so you can't turn up your nose at him.”
”I don't want to turn up my nose at him; but junior or not, he will not be my escort. I'll hand him over to mamma; but wherever I go, you'll have to take me, do you understand?”
”Oh, yes, I understand perfectly. That all sounds very pretty, no doubt; but you wait till you see Arthur Thornton. Such _heavenly_ eyes!”
exclaimed Mr. Berkley, disengaging himself from Marion, and clasping his hands in the most enthusiastic manner, ”and such a _magnificent_ figure!
and such a _stunning_ mustache, and such--such a--such a surprising appet.i.te!”
”Now, papa,” said Marion, laughing at her father's romantic gestures, and the very unromantic conclusion of his sentence, ”you know I never rave so over young men; it's so silly!”
”Now, mamma, just hear her,” said Mr. Berkley, turning to his wife; ”she never raves over young men; oh, no! Wasn't little Bob Jones the _loveliest_ dancer she ever saw? and didn't Walter Hargate sing the 'rainy day' so as to make one weep _oceans_ of tears? and wasn't Jack Richards' profile 'enough to make one _wild_'? and wasn't--”