Part 20 (1/2)
It's only for a few days, you know.”
Vivian was restraining herself from hospitable offers by remembering that her room was also Susie's, and Miss Orella well knew that to give up hers meant sleeping on a hard, short sofa in that all-too-public parlor. She was hastily planning in her mind to take Susie in with her and persuade Mrs. Pettigrew to harbor Vivian, somewhat deterred by memories of the old lady's expression as she departed, when Mr.
d.y.k.eman appeared at the door, suitcase in hand.
”I promised Hale I'd keep house for those fatherless boys, you know,”
he said. ”In the meantime, you're quite welcome to use my room, Miss Elder.” And he departed, her blessing going with him.
More light refreshments were now in order. Mrs. St. Cloud protesting that she wanted nothing, but finding much to praise in the delicacies set before her. Several of the other boarders drifted in, always glad of an extra bite before going to bed. Susie and Mr. Saunders returned from a walk, Morton reappeared, and Jeanne, peering sharply in, resentful of this new drain upon her pantry shelves, saw a fair, sweet-faced woman, seated at ease, eating daintily, while Miss Elder and Vivian waited upon her, and the men all gathered admiringly about.
Jeanne Jeaune wagged her head. ”Ah, ha, Madame!” she muttered softly, ”Such as you I have met before!” Theophile she had long since sent to bed, remaining up herself to keep an eye on the continued disturbance in the front of the house. Vivian and Susie brought the dishes out, and would have washed them or left them till morning for the maids.
”Truly, no,” said Jeanne Jeaune; ”go you to your beds; I will attend to these.”
One by one she heard them go upstairs, distant movement and soft dissuasion as two gentlemen insisted on bearing Mrs. St. Cloud's trunk into her room, receding voices and closing doors. There was no sound in the dining-room now, but still she waited; the night was not yet quiet.
Miss Elder and Susie, Vivian also, hovered about, trying to make this new guest comfortable, in spite of her graceful protests that they must not concern themselves in the least about her, that she wanted nothing--absolutely nothing. At last they left her, and still later, after some brief exchange of surprised comment and warm appreciation of Mr. d.y.k.eman's thoughtfulness, the family retired. Vivian, when her long hair was smoothly braided for the night, felt an imperative need for water.
”Don't you want some, Susie? I'll bring you a gla.s.s.” But Susie only huddled the bedclothes about her pretty shoulders and said:
”Don't bring me _anything_, until to-morrow morning!”
So her room-mate stole out softly in her wrapper, remembering that a pitcher of cool water still stood on one of the tables. The windows to the street let in a flood of light from a big street lamp, and she found her way easily, but was a bit startled for a moment to find a man still sitting there, his head upon his arms.
”Why, Morton,” she said; ”is that you? What are you sitting up for?
It's awfully late. I'm just after some water.” She poured a gla.s.sful.
”Don't you want some?”
”No, thank you,” he said. ”Yes, I will. Give me some, please.”
The girl gave him a gla.s.s, drank from her own and set it down, turning to go, but he reached out and caught a flowing sleeve of her kimono.
”Don't go, Vivian! Do sit down and talk to a fellow. I've been trying to see you for days and days.”
”Why, Morton Elder, how absurd! You have certainly seen me every day, and we've talked hours this very evening. This is no time for conversation, surely.”
”The best time in the world,” he a.s.sured her. ”All the other times there are people about--dozens--hundreds--swarms! I want to talk to just you.”
There were certainly no dozens or hundreds about now, but as certainly there was one, noting with keen and disapproving interest this midnight tete-a-tete. It did not last very long, and was harmless and impersonal enough while it lasted.
Vivian sat for a few moments, listening patiently while the young man talked of his discouragements, his hopes, his wishes to succeed in life, to be worthy of her; but when the personal note sounded, when he tried to take her hand in the semi-darkness, then her New England conscience sounded also, and she rose to her feet and left him.
”We'll talk about that another time,” she said. ”Now do be quiet and do not wake people up.”
He stole upstairs, dutifully, and she crept softly back to her room and got into bed, without eliciting more than a mild grunt from sleepy Susie. Silence reigned at last in the house. Not for long, however.
At about half past twelve Dr. Bellair was roused from a well-earned sleep by a light, insistent tap upon her door. She listened, believing it to be a wind-stirred twig; but no, it was a finger tap--quiet--repeated. She opened the door upon Jeanne in her stocking feet.
”Your pardon, Mrs. Doctor,” said the visitor, ”but it is of importance.