Part 4 (1/2)
”Everywhere, my dear. All the fas.h.i.+onable resorts of Europe are familiar to us. We should be delighted to take you under our wing. Now, if there is any room in your motor for two--”
The girls exchanged horrified glances.
”What place do you consider the most beautiful you ever saw?” here interrupted Mary with quick tact.
”Porto Fino in Italy, dear. Queen Margharita calls it 'il Paradiso.'”
Even scenery must have an aristocratic sanction before it could be considered beautiful by Mrs. Jones.
”But, dear, as I was remarking, if your motor will hold--”
”Kechew! Kechew!” Nancy was seized with a sneezing fit.
”It's time for shuffleboard,” cried Billie. ”I do wonder where the others are.”
It was a brilliant spring day and all the pa.s.sengers were on deck. Miss Helen was taking a stroll with some friends. Mr. Kalisch could be seen in the distance reading a book. The other pa.s.sengers were stretched in their steamer chairs or talking in groups.
”Who said shuffleboard?” called a cheerful voice, and Feargus O'Connor, his face as ruddy as the harvest moon, emerged from a pa.s.sage-way nearby.
Victor Pulaski, a young Russian, followed, with several others of the younger pa.s.sengers.
”We are all here except Marie-Jeanne,” observed Billie, determined to draw the forlorn young girl into their pleasures.
”My daughter is not well. She is in her stateroom,” put in Mrs. Jones.
The deck was marked and the game soon in full swing. Mary Price slipped away and went down to the Jones' stateroom, which was one of the less expensive kind somewhere in the depths of the s.h.i.+p. There were no second cabin pa.s.sengers on board.
Mary tapped timidly on the door, which was flung open almost instantly by Marie-Jeanne herself. There was a flush on her cheeks and she looked almost pretty for the first time since Mary had known her.
”Oh,” she exclaimed, ”I thought you were the stewardess. Does mother want me?”
”Oh, no,” answered Mary. ”I came down to see how you were. Your mother said you were not well.”
Marie-Jeanne's face flushed angrily.
”I am quite--” she began, and interrupted herself with a hopeless little gesture. ”It was sweet of you to come down. I'm not used to such attentions. You see, I'm doing housework,-was.h.i.+ng clothes this morning.”
Mary slipped her arm around the other's waist.
”I believe you are happier when you are working, Marie-Jeanne,” she said.
”I am, indeed. I would rather live in two rooms and cook in one of them, than stay at the best _pension_ in all Europe. Oh, Mary, have you got a home?”
”Yes,” replied Mary. ”My mother and I have to work to keep it, but we have one.”
”Oh, how I love to work,” cried Marie-Jeanne.
She then proceeded to take six handkerchiefs from an improvised clothes line hung across the stateroom. She sprinkled them with a little water, rolled them in a neat pile, and with quite a professional manner, tested a little iron heating on an alcohol stove.
”Would you like to see me iron?” she demanded. ”I do the family wash in this way. It saves lots of money, and, well,-it quiets me.”