Part 8 (1/2)
Once she noticed a hasty twist of the k.n.o.b as if Bea had s.n.a.t.c.hed at it from the other side under the p.r.i.c.k of the comments floating over the transom. As she walked slowly away the smile faded before a shadowing recollection. She was wondering if her own manner had truly been so unpardonable on that autumn morning when Robbie had carried her a baked apple with cream on it and plum bread besides. It had certainly been irritating to be interrupted in the middle of that rondel for the sake of which she had skipped Sunday breakfast. She had not forgotten how amazed and disappointed Robbie had looked with the saucer in one hand, the plate in the other, while the door swung impatiently back to its place. But then, the poem was sufficient excuse for that discourtesy, Berta a.s.sured herself in anxiety to justify her behavior. If she had waited to be polite, the thought and the rhymes would doubtless have scattered beyond recall. n.o.body could condemn her for slamming the door and hurrying again to her desk. She had saved the rondel, and it had been printed in the Monthly. That was worth some sacrifice, even of manners to dear old Robbie. She always understood and forgave such small transgressions of the laws of friends.h.i.+p. Only it certainly looked different when somebody else did it.
An hour or so later while Berta was bending devotedly over her notes in the history alcove of the library, she was vaguely aware of a newcomer sauntering carelessly behind her chair. A heavy book clattered to the floor, and somebody's elbow in stooping to pick it up nudged her arm. Her pen went scratching in a mad zigzag across the neat page and deposited a big tear of red ink where it suddenly stopped.
”Oh, I'm sorry,” exclaimed Bea repentantly, for she was indeed the culprit; ”it's horrid to be heedless on purpose. I didn't know it would really do any harm.”
Berta glanced up quickly from her blotter. So Bea considered a reckless disregard for books and persons also a quality of genius. Berta felt a slow blush creeping up to her brow at the candid memory of her tendency to b.u.mp into things and brush against people when in a dreamy mood--and to pa.s.s on without even a beg pardon.
”You're evidently new to the business, my cautious and calculating young friend,” she whispered, ”you should have ignored the resultant calamity.
Ah--why, child!” she stared in surprise, ”your collar is pinned crooked and your turnover is flying loose at one end, and your hair is coming down. You look scandalous.”
Bea looked triumphant also. ”It's an artistic disarray,” she explained.
”It's hard work because I've slipped into the habit of being prim and precise, and I had to bend a pin intentionally. Four girls already have warned me about my hair falling down. It worries me a lot and yet it doesn't give the same effect as yours. Does yours feel loose and straggly?”
Berta's hand flew to her head. ”You sinner! Mine is just as usual.”
”Yes, I know it,” a.s.sented Bea innocently, ”it's a negligee style. I'm being a geni----”
”Go away!” Berta s.n.a.t.c.hed up her bottle of red ink. ”Fly, villain, depart, withdraw, retreat, abscond, decamp,--in short, go away!”
Bea went, holding her neck stiffly on one side to balance the sensation of unsteadiness above her ears. Berta watched her with a wavering expression that veered from wrathful amus.e.m.e.nt to uneasy reflectiveness.
Was it really true that she dressed so untidily as this little scamp made out? Perhaps she did slight details once in a while, but though not scrupulously dainty like Lila, still she tried to be neat enough on the whole. Could it be possible that the other girls criticised her so severely as this?
The suspicion bothered her so effectually that she left the library five minutes early and hurried to her room for a few renovating touches before luncheon. Her hair caused her such extraordinary pains that she was late in reaching the table. She found that Bea had usurped her place at the head, but forgot to object in the confusion of being greeted with: ”Heigho, Berta, what's happened?” ”You're spick and span enough for a party.” ”Are you going to town this afternoon?”
”Young ladies!” Berta ignored the warm color that she felt rising slowly under her dark skin, ”I am astonished at your manners. Don't you know that you should never refer to an individual's personal appearance? I read that in a book on etiquette. You may allude to my money, to my brains, to the beauty of my soul, but you must not remark upon my looks.
I don't understand the principle of the thing, unless it is that compliments on the other three articles fail to injure the character, whereas flattery with regard to my pulchritude----”
Bea's hand shot into the air and waved frantically.
”Please, teacher, what is that funny word?”
”Go to the Latin lexicon, thou ignoramus.”
”I can't,” said Bea, ”you borrowed mine and never brought it back. It's being a----”
”But aren't you going anywhere?” asked Robbie Belle who had been filling Berta's plate and pouring her milk during the discourse.
Bea sent a bewitching smile straight into Berta's eyes. ”I'm 'most sure she is going to give me a swimming lesson at half past four. Then if it is still raining this evening, we can all swim over to the chapel for the concert. Please, Berta.”
”All right,” acquiesced Berta carelessly. ”I will do it because I am so n.o.ble and you are a literary person, though how in this world of incomprehensibilities you managed to get elected to that editorial board pa.s.ses my powers of apperception. Robbie, will you be so kind as to reach me that saltcellar?”
”You ought to say, 'Salt!' at the beginning, and then while you are putting in the rest of the words, she can be handing it over,” advised Bea; ”ah, what was the thought I was about to think?”
She paused in dispensing the main dish and rolled up her eyes vacantly for a moment before she dropped the spoon without a glance at the cloth to see if it left a stain and rising walked dreamily out of the dining-room.
The other girls stared. Robbie looked alarmed till Gertrude caught the likeness and explained: ”It's 'sincerest flattery' for you, Berta.
Imitation, you understand. When an idea strikes you, you drop everything and wander away while Robbie or Bea picks up the spoon and goes on ladling out the stuff in the dish at your place. What a monkey!”
”No, a missionary,” corrected Berta, her eyes and mouth contradicting each other as usual. This time her eyes tried to hide a troubled spark in their depths while her mouth twitched over the joke of it all. ”She is posing as an awful example.”