Part 13 (1/2)

Everything irritated her in the strangest way. In all her busy healthful life she had never been nervous before. It was not hard work that had worn upon her. The doctor told them when they were freshmen that no girl ever broke down from work unless worry was added. Gertrude knew perfectly well what torturing little worry was gnawing away in her mind. She kept telling herself that her speech to Sara had been true--it was so--Sara had broken her engagement--and she could not, could not, could not humble herself to apologize. In fact, Sara was the one who ought to offer apologies. And all this time wilful Gertrude refused to acknowledge even to herself that she was juggling with her conscience in the desperate determination to hold herself free from blame in her own esteem. She simply could not beg anybody's pardon, and she was not going to do it, because--well, because she had not been to blame--so there!

On this particular evening, after five solid minutes of silence on the part of her exasperating roommates, she raised her heavy eyes, and let them rest expressionlessly on the two wind-freshened faces, till Bea's roses blossomed to her hair.

”We're not doing anything,” rebelliously, ”you are so boss-y.”

”Moo-oo,” muttered Berta to her plate. ”Bow-wow-wow.” Bea choked over her gla.s.s and fled precipitately, leaving her partner to capture a pitcher of milk ostensibly to drink before going to bed.

Of course they would have regretted missing dessert as well as soup, if Gertrude had not asked permission to carry some of the whipped cream to her room. It was easier to do something unnecessarily generous than to beg Sara's pardon--which was merely plain hard duty. The girls were not in the study when she entered with her offering, but soon Bea dashed in and dropped breathlessly on the couch, with a conspicuous effort to act as if accustomed to arrive without her present double. Gertrude listened unsuspiciously to the flurried explanation that Berta was kept by a--a--a--friend, before she revealed the br.i.m.m.i.n.g trophy from dessert.

Bea clapped her hands. ”Oh, you darling! the very thing! Won't that pup”--an abrupt and convulsive cough subsided brilliantly into, ”that pet of a Berta be pleased! I'll take it to her this instant.”

However, she did not invite Gertrude to accompany her, and upon her return after a prolonged absence, she conducted herself with odd restlessness. In the intervals of suggesting that they put up an engaged sign or read aloud or darn stockings or play patience before going to a certain spread, she stared at the clock. Promptly at eight she escaped from the door, near which she had been lingering for the past quarter-hour, with the carefully distinct announcement that she was going after Berta, and later she might attend the spread.

Five minutes later she was bending over a fluffy little creature nestling on Gertrude's best pillow in one of the part.i.tioned off bathrooms at the end of the corridor.

”He's been pretty good,” said Berta as she surrendered the spoon, ”and he likes the cream, only the bubbles in it keep him awake, I think. Somebody hammered at the door so long that I had to stuff a lot into his mouth every time he started to cry.”

Bea a.s.sumed her station of nurse with businesslike briskness. ”Hurry back to Gertrude, and coax her to go to that spread if you can. She's terribly blue to-night. Be sure to get back here at nine, and I will take my turn at the party so that n.o.body will be too curious about this affair. At ten we shall both be here to decide about the night.”

”Then we can hook the door on the inside, and climb over the part.i.tion.

Won't it be fun! I wonder if I shouldn't better practice doing it now,”

and Berta looked longingly at the black walnut precipice.

”You trot along this instant, and don't let Gertrude suspect anything for the world. Be just as natural as you know how--more than ever before in your life. I reckon I shall put him to sleep in a jiffy.”

”Try it,” called the ex-nurse with laconic scorn, ”I'll allow you the full hour for the experiment.”

It must have been a very full hour indeed, to judge from Bea's feelings as the minutes dawdled past. It seemed to her that instead of flying with their sixty wings, according to the rhyme, each minute trailed its feathers in the dust as it shuffled along. At first, it was amusing to watch for the mouth to open, and then pop in a spoonful of cream. But this soon became monotonous, especially when she learned that no matter how long she sat motionless beside the pillow, the bright little eyes blinked wide awake at her slightest stir to rise.

It was lonesome in that end of the great building. Their suite and Sara's room next to it were the only ones occupied in that neighborhood during the vacation. This bathroom was as much as forty steps distant even from that populated spot, and not a single footfall had sounded in the corridor since Berta had disappeared into the gloom. The light from the outer apartment glimmered dully over the part.i.tion. At intervals in the stillness, a drop of water clinked from the faucet out there. Bea found herself holding her breath to listen for the tinkle of its splash.

Outside the small window, a pale moon was drifting among fluffy clouds.

More than once Bea rose with exquisite caution, and stole to the outer door, only to hear a plaintive whine, while four clumsy paws came pattering after her. Then followed more minutes of soothing him with cream, and watching for the little woolly sides to cease heaving so piteously. Perhaps after all it would have been wiser to have left this troublesome joke with his mother on the farm.

By the time this vague suggestion had wavered into her consciousness, the strain of waiting and listening began to re-act on her temper. Of course, Berta had forgotten all about her watching there alone in the dark. Berta was selfish and thoughtless and heedless. That very afternoon, while they were bringing the puppy to college, she had almost tipped the buggy over into a puddle. Berta had no right to impose upon her like this, and make her do the worst part of the work every time. Why, even when they went calling together, Bea always had to do the knocking and walk in first and manage the conversation and everything. And now Berta was having fun at the spread, and it must be near ten o'clock, for the watchman had already shuffled softly past and turned the gas still lower. And she knew her foot was going to sleep, and she could never feel the same toward Berta Abbott again.

Bea was so sorry for herself that her lip began to quiver over a sobbing breath, when steps came hurrying helter-skelter, the door banged open, and Berta dived in.

”Oh, Bea, I'm dreadfully sorry! I couldn't get away before. They held me--actually--and made me jig for them, and sing that last song I wrote.

The preserved ginger was so delicious that I saved some for you. n.o.body suspects a thing. How is the little dear?”

Bea rose with impressive dignity till the straightening of numb muscles inspired an agonized, ”Ouch!” and a stiff wriggle. It was every bit Berta's fault, and she evidently didn't care a snap. She would show people whether they could walk all over her and never say boo! She would not lose her temper--oh, no! she would not utter a word--not a single one of all the scorching things she could think of. She would just be dignified and self-possessed and teach certain persons that she did not intend to be imposed upon one instant longer. Therefore, Miss Beatrice Leigh flung open the door and stalked away without a backward glance.

”Hulloa!” e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Berta, staring blankly after her, ”what's your rush?”

No answer; merely a somewhat more defiant swing of the slender shoulders vanis.h.i.+ng in the dusk of the deserted corridor.

”What shall we do with the dog? You borrowed him--you're responsible--it's your idea,” following in a puzzled flurry as far as the threshold. ”Shall I lock him in alone? I said all along it was silly.”