CHAPTER XV
Waiting to Find Out
AS the days passed on, the little French girl did not find her difficulties grow less. At the office she continued to hear veiled discussions of the seriousness of the lost letters. No one, of course, except a few persons in the Governor's confidence, knew exactly what information the letters contained, but there was no question of their political importance, for everybody could feel the atmosphere of strain and suspense. Yet for one thing at least Angelique Martins was grateful: no one had in any way associated her with the lost or stolen papers. For whatever Kenneth Helm suspected, or Governor Graham feared, they had both kept their own counsel. Yet this did not mean that they both considered her guiltless.
Time and time again Angel tried to summon courage to speak directly to Kenneth Helm on the subject. She had frequent opportunities, for even if there was danger of notice or interruption at the office, he came very often to the Governor's mansion to see Faith or to dine with the family.
However, she simply did not know what to do or say. To go to Kenneth and ask him why he had accused her seemed to the girl almost like a confession of wrongdoing. For oftentimes it appears preposterous in this world to be forced into denying an act that one could never have even dreamed of committing. How can one suddenly say, "I am not a thief, I am not a liar," when every thought and act of their lives has been pure and good?
Neither could Angel persuade herself to tell Kenneth Helm that she felt just as suspicious of him as he could possibly feel of her. For she had no proof of any kind except her own dislike and distrust and the fact that she had seen him coming out of the Governor's private study on the same night on which he had suggested that she might have previously entered it. For of course the Governor's private secretary had a right to his chief's private papers at almost all times. No, Kenneth would only consider her accusation an expression of feeble revenge and be perhaps more convinced of her guilt in consequence.
Therefore there was nothing to do but wait with the hope that everything would soon be cleared up and the lost letters either found or their thief discovered.
Moreover, Angel was not even to have the satisfaction of talking the matter over with Betty, the one person in the world who could and would have helped her. For she had the Governor's strict command against this and did not dare disobey. Besides, Angel could see that Betty was unlike herself these days and so should not be troubled by any one else's trials. This, of course, was a mistaken point of view, as nothing would so have helped Betty Graham at this time as to have had some one to think about who really needed her. However, neither her friend nor her husband could have realized this.
Nevertheless there was one consolation that the little French girl enjoyed during these days and that was "the secret" which she and Bettina had been cherishing so ardently for weeks. Every spare hour she had from her work she and Bettina had spent together in a big room at the top of the house, which was Bettina's own private play-room, sacred to her uses only.
It was a lovely room with pale gray walls and warm, rose-colored curtains, and all about were pictures of girls and boys who had come straight out of fairyland and had their photographs taken by such wonderful fairy artists as Maxfield Parish and Elizabeth Shippen Greene.
For you see Angelique was absolutely attempting to draw one of these fairy pictures herself, while Bettina was acting as her model.
The picture was not to be a portrait, the artist had scarcely courage to have undertaken that, but it was to represent Bettina's favorite heroine, "Snow White and Rose Red."
All her life, ever since she was a little girl of five or six, Angelique Martins had been drawing and painting whenever she had the least chance or excuse. Of course it was this same artistic gift that had showed in her clever fingers and sense of color through all the work which she had done in the Camp Fire Club. But of her actual talent as an artist Angelique had always been extremely shy. You see, she cared for art so much that she did not consider that she had any real talent. But even confessing that she had the least little ability, of course it would take years of study and goodness knows how much money before she could have hoped to amount to anything.
Nevertheless there was nothing to forbid the little lame French girl's amusing herself with her fancy whenever she had the chance. And ever since she could remember, Angel had been drawing pictures for Bettina. It had been their favorite amusement as soon as Tina passed beyond her babyhood, which was sooner than most children.
Naturally Angel had drawn hundreds of pictures with Bettina as her model before, but never one half so ambitious as this. However, this last one represented about the sixth effort, and it was a great question even now whether this was to be the final one. For "Snow White and Rose Red" was not merely a play picture, one that had been painted merely for amusement; it had a most serious intention behind it.
Weeks before in a magazine which the two friends had been looking over together they had come across an advertisement. A prize of two hundred dollars was offered for the best picture illustrating any fairy story. Moreover, no well-known artist was to be allowed to enter the competition; the drawings were all to be made by amateurs under twenty-five years of age.
The first suggestion that Angel should take part in this wonderful contest had come, of course, from Bettina as soon as the older girl had read her the amazing announcement, for Tina's faith in her friend was without limit. Then just as naturally Angel first laughed at her suggestion and afterwards decided to try just for fun to see what she could do; and here at last was most furiously in earnest, although still undecided whether to send her picture to the competition or to throw it away.
There were only a few days more before the time limit expired. Therefore, would it be possible for her to undertake an entirely new picture here at the very last?
With these uncertainties weighing on her mind Angel was sitting in front of a small easel with a box of pastels on a table near by. Closer to the big nursery window Bettina was curled up in a white armchair, one foot tucked up under her in a favorite attitude and in her lap were half a dozen red roses.
She was tired, for she had been quiet an unusually long time while Angel made slight changes in her work and then stopped to consider the whole thing disparagingly. But somehow her weariness made Bettina's pose even more charming.
Her long yellow-brown hair hung over her shoulders down into her very lap, her eyes were wide open and yet were plainly not looking at any particular object. For Tina was making up stories to amuse herself while Angel worked. It was only in this way that she could manage to keep still for so long a time as Angel needed.
But this was the picture that Bettina herself made; what of her friend's drawing of her? Naturally it was not so graceful or pretty as the little girl herself.
Nevertheless, by some happy chance Angel had caught Bettina's attitude almost exactly. Then too she had drawn a little girl who did not look exactly like other children. There was a suggestion of poetry, almost of mystery, about her fairy tale girl, in the wide open blue-gray eyes, dreaming as Tina's so often were, and in the half uncurled lips.
Of course the lines of the drawing were not so firm and clear as an experienced artist would have made them, yet glancing at the little picture, you felt something that made you wish to look at it again.
However, Angel sighed so that Bettina came out of her dream story and stretched herself in the big chair.
"What is the matter?" she inquired. "May I get up and walk about the room now?"
The older girl nodded. "Thank you, dear. This is the last time I am going to trouble you to sit for this picture. I have just decided that I can't do any better by trying it over again, yet I don't know whether I shall send it to the competition after all."
The next moment Angel was startled by something that sounded almost like a sob from Tina. Since the little girl was so seldom cross, she was surprised and a little frightened.
"I am sorry you are so tired. Why didn't you tell me?" Angelique demanded.
Bettina had crossed the nursery and was standing close beside her picture.
"It isn't that, it is only that I do want you to send it so much," Bettina answered. "You see, I think it is the best picture anybody ever painted and we have both worked so hard and it has been such a nice secret," she said huskily.
Angel put her arm about her. "Of course I'll send it, dear, if you feel that way," she conceded. "But you must not even dream that I shall get the prize and you must promise not to be disappointed if we never hear of the picture again."
Bettina agreed and then there followed a most unexpected knocking at the locked nursery door. The two conspirators stared at each other in consternation.
"Who is it, please?" Bettina demanded. "You know Angel and I are having our secret together and we can't let any one come in."
Betty's voice replied: "Yes, I know; but I thought maybe the secret was over and you would like me to come and play too. I am feeling pretty lonesome."
"Oh," Tina returned, and then she and Angel whispered together. Finally the little girl came over toward the closed door.
"I wish you would not be lonesome just now, mother," she murmured, "just when we are most dreadfully busy. If you will only go away for a little while and then come back, why, Angel and I will love to play with you."
"I am afraid I won't be here after a while," Betty answered and then walked slowly away. It was absurd for her to feel wounded by such a trifle, and yet recently it had looked as though Bettina preferred Angelique's company to hers. What a useless person she was growing to be! Well, at least she and Meg were going to a Suffrage meeting that afternoon! She had not intended going, but the baby was asleep and Anthony would not be home for hours. Perhaps after the talk ended she might drive by and get Anthony to return with her. She had not thought him looking very well that morning.
CHAPTER XVI
A Talk That Was Not an Explanation
THE Suffrage meeting was fairly interesting, but then both Meg and Betty had been believers in equal rights for men and women ever since their Camp Fire days and there were few new arguments to be heard on the subject.
When they came out from the crowded hall, however, it was still too early to call for Anthony. There could be no hope of getting hold of him before half-past five o'clock. So it was Meg Emmet's suggestion that she and Betty stop by and see her father for a few moments. Professor Everett had a slight cold and his daughter was a little uneasy about him.
They found the old gentleman in his library sipping hot tea and re-reading a letter from his son, Horace, whom Betty could not ever think of by any more serious name than "Bumps." She always saw a vision of the small boy dragging around at his sister Meg's heels and tumbling over every object in their way. However, "Bumps" had grown up to be a very clever fellow and had a better record at college than his brother John ever had. The young man was to graduate in law at Cornell in the coming spring. The present letter was to say, however, that he expected to spend Christmas in Concord with his father. He had been doing some tutoring at Cornell and had earned the money for his trip himself.
Plainly Professor Everett was much pleased by this news. He had always been a devoted father to all his three motherless children, but Horace was his "Benjamin."
Moreover, they were still talking of "Bumps" when unexpectedly John Everett made his appearance. He was looking rather fagged, but explained that there was nothing going on at his office and so he had quit for the day.
Nevertheless tea had a reviving effect upon him, as it had upon both Meg and Betty, so that Betty was surprised to discover that it was twenty minutes past five o'clock when her visit seemed scarcely to have begun.
It was quite dark, however, as it was toward the middle of December when the days are short, so that John Everett insisted upon accompanying his sister and friend, even though they were in Betty's carriage.
Meg's home was nearer. They drove there first and later John went on to the Capitol, where Betty sent in to inquire if the Governor were free to return home with her.
There was a little time to wait before the answer came, so that in the meanwhile Betty and John continued talking.
It was Betty who asked the first important question.
"I do hope, John, that your new business is succeeding," she said carelessly, although of course she felt a friendly interest in John's success and in that of Meg's husband.
However, John Everett hesitated a moment before replying.
"Oh, our success depends on your Governor and so perhaps on you," he answered in a half joking tone. "I don't know whether you happen to have heard anything about it, but we are trying to get a bill through the Legislature this season which will give us the chance to build the new roads in the state of New Hampshire for the next few years. But we don't know just yet how the Governor feels about it, whether he is going to oppose our bill or work with us. He has a big lot of influence."
"Oh," Betty replied vaguely. She sincerely hoped that John Everett was not going to try persuade her to ask her husband to assist him for the second time. Surely if he did she would refuse. For in the first place she did not wish to confess that she believed herself to have no real influence with her husband and in the second she wouldn't try to interfere in anything so important as a bill to be gotten through the Legislature unless she knew everything about it. Formerly she had taken an intense interest in all the political affairs that interested her husband, yet recently Anthony had not been discussing matters with her very often. Moreover, she had a sudden feeling that she did not wish to be mixed up again with John Everett's concerns.
So fortunately before Betty had a chance to reply Anthony came down the length of stone steps to his wife's carriage.
He seemed pleased at seeing her, but not very enthusiastic over her companion.
However, John Everett said good-bye and left at once.
They had only fairly started on the road toward home when Anthony said suddenly:
"I do wish, Betty, that you would not be seen so often with John Everett. Oh, I know you don't realize it, but it seems to me that you are very often with him. I know he is Meg's brother and that you are devoted friends, but I tell you I don't like the fellow. The more I know him, the less I like him. So I simply won't have my wife in his society."
Betty caught her breath and her cheeks flushed hotly in the darkness. How unkind Anthony was to her these days! Could it be possible that he did not love her any more? He certainly could not be jealous of John Everett; that idea was too absurd to be considered. For she never had cared for any one in her life except her husband and he must know it. However, she had no intention of being bullied.
"Don't be silly, Anthony," Betty replied petulantly. "I don't see very much of John Everett. Besides, if I did what difference would it make? Of course, if you know anything actually against him you would tell me?"
"So you no longer wish to do things just because I wish them? I'm sorry, Betty," Anthony returned. Then they drove the rest of the way home in silence, both behaving like sullen children in spite of the fact that they were entirely grown-up people, the Governor of the state and his clever and charming wife.
For the truth was that Anthony Graham was jealous of John Everett and yet was ashamed to speak of it. He would never have dreamt of such a feeling if only he and Betty had not been estranged for the past few weeks. Besides, he was missing the opportunity to spend as much time with her as he formerly had before his election to office. Surely Betty must understand that. How could he help hating to have another fellow drinking tea with her on any number of afternoons when he was slaving at his office – especially a man like John Everett?
Oh, of course Anthony realized that this was rather a dog-in-the-manger attitude on his part and that he ought to laugh over it with his wife.
Moreover, if he had, Betty would have understood and forgiven him. She might even have been a little pleased, since she believed that Anthony did not miss the loss of her society half so much as she had the loss of his. If he had even told her the special reason he had for disliking John Everett doubtless she would have been convinced, in spite of her natural loyalty to her old friends.
But Anthony did not even do this. He had an idea that he was saving Betty trouble by not telling her of the loss of the papers by which he could prove that the bill which ex-Governor Peyton, Jack Emmet and John Everett were trying to get through the Legislature was an effort to cheat the state.
Yet in consequence Betty cried herself into a headache and was therefore unable to come down to dinner, while Anthony decided that she would not come simply because she was too angry with him.
So can people in this world manage to misunderstand each other, even after they have been married a number of years and are very deeply and truly in love with each other.
CHAPTER XVII
Christmas
STILL unreconciled, Anthony and Betty went together to spend their Christmas with Mrs. Ashton in Woodford in the old Ashton homestead. They took with them both Bettina and Tony and the nurse and Faith Barton. However, Faith was of course to stay with her foster parents, Doctor and Mrs. Barton.
Only Angel refused to accompany the little party. She claimed not to be feeling well, to have some business that she must attend to, and indeed made so many excuses that Betty, seeing that she really did wish to be left behind, gave up arguing the matter with her. Moreover, Meg promised to look after Angel and see that she had her Christmas dinner with them, so that she would not be particularly lonely.
It was in Angel's mind that perhaps during the family's absence something might occur which would relieve her from all suspicion in the Governor's sight. Yet if she thought that this would come about through Kenneth Helm she was mistaken, for Kenneth departed for Woodford on Christmas eve to spend the following day with Faith and her parents.
Besides seeing her mother and giving her children the pleasure of a country Christmas Betty was chiefly looking forward to being with Polly. Somehow she felt that Polly would be sure to cheer her up and make her feel young again. They could take long walks through the woods and discover whether little Sunrise Cabin was still habitable. Billy and Mollie had always looked after it, carefully attending to whatever repairs were necessary, so doubtless it was as good as new.
Nevertheless it was extremely difficult after her arrival for Betty and Polly to find time for the intimate hours that they both longed to have together, for there were so many other people about – old friends and relatives.
Nan Graham came from Syracuse, where she had charge of the department of domestic science in the High School, in order to be with her brother Anthony, whom she had not seen since his election.
Edith Norton with her husband and four children still lived in Woodford and claimed the intimacy of their Camp Fire days. Then, of course, there was Herr Krippen and Mrs. Krippen and Betty's small stepbrother to be considered, besides Mr. and Mrs. Wharton, Eleanor and Frank.
But perhaps the most important and unexpected member of the Christmas gathering was the distinguished and eccentric Doctor Sylvia Wharton. Certainly it was Sylvia who kept Betty and Polly from being alone with each other during her own brief visit.
The morning of the day before Christmas Mollie got a letter from Sylvia, who had charge of a hospital in Philadelphia, saying that much as she regretted it she would be unable to spend Christmas with them.
During the late afternoon Polly, who had escaped from the noise and confusion going on inside Mollie's big house, was taking a walk up and down the bare wind-swept orchard to the left of the house. The ground was covered with hard white snow and the air stung with a kind of delicious cold freshness.
It was a part of Polly's regular duty to stay out of doors for a certain number of hours each day, so she now stopped her walk for a moment and glanced ahead at some almost blue-black pine trees silhouetted against the twilight sky.
Suddenly she became conscious of what sounded like a masculine step behind her, and before she could turn around felt her two arms firmly grasped by a pair of capable hands and herself swung slowly about.
She faced a figure not so tall as her own, but broader, stronger and far more sturdy. The blue eyes looked at her through a pair of spectacles, the flaxen hair was parted in the middle and without the least sign of a crinkle drawn straight back on either side. The mouth was firm, but curiously kind. And just now it actually showed signs of trembling.
"Why, Sylvia Wharton!" Polly said and straightway hid her face in the fur of her stepsister's long coat. Immediately she had a feeling of dependence on Sylvia's judgment and affection just as she had for so long a time, although she was several years the older.
"Don't try to hide your face from me, Polly O'Neill. I want to see how you are looking before you get back into the house and do your best to deceive me. I can feel already that you are thin as a rail," Dr. Sylvia murmured severely. "You see if I don't straighten you out before you go back to that wretched work again!"
"It was good of you to come, Sylvia; I was so disappointed over your letter this morning. Only I am not your patient, dear; I am quite all right. It is 'Bobbin,' my poor little girl, I want you to look after and find somebody to help," Polly returned with unaccustomed meekness. "Really she is interesting and unusual. Both Mollie and Billy Webster think so; it isn't only my foolishness. I suppose you thought my bringing her east with me was rather mad, didn't you, Sylvia?"
Sylvia smiled the slow smile that had always beautified her plain face. "No, not mad, only Polly!" she answered dryly. "But of course I'll look the little girl over for you, and then I'll find the best person to see her and you can send her to me in Philadelphia. Only don't think you are going to escape by that method yourself."
On Christmas Eve all the grown-up members of the Christmas party dined with Mrs. Ashton and Betty in the town of Woodford, since Mollie was to have the tree and Christmas dinner for them and the children on the farm the next day.
It was an amusing change from the past to find that Anthony Graham and Sylvia Wharton were really the lions of the evening. How different it had been in the old days when Anthony was only an awkward, shabby, obscure boy and Sylvia the plainest and most unprepossessing of the Sunrise Hill Camp Fire girls!
Polly and Betty too, in spite of her wounded feelings, were both immensely pleased and amused by it.
Of course Sylvia would rather have died than have mentioned the fact, but quite by accident Anthony had read the previous day of Sylvia's election as President of the American Medical Society, the highest honor that had ever been paid a woman in the medical profession in the United States.
Hearing the story at the dinner table, Sylvia was of course confused by the admiration and applause it excited, for she was still as shy and reserved about her own accomplishments as she had ever been as a young girl.
Moreover, it was Polly who recalled having once predicted that Sylvia Wharton would become the most distinguished of the Camp Fire girls and who made a little speech in her honor, much to the confusion and disgust of Sylvia.
Then Billy Webster offered their congratulations to Anthony, who was almost equally modest about his own attainments and insisted that his election as Governor was due to a happy accident and not to any possible ability of his own.
The Christmas day following was even more crowded with people and excitement. Actually Mollie and Billy were to have thirty guests to dine at the farm at two o'clock and the Christmas tree for the children was to be given immediately after.
Notwithstanding, Sylvia arranged to spend an hour alone with Polly and Bobbin in a room at the top of the house where there could be no interruption.
She appeared to be deeply interested in Bobbin. She made Polly talk and then saw how easily Bobbin seemed to be able to understand. Then she asked questions herself which now and then the little girl was able to comprehend.
Polly explained that perchance Bobbin understood her better than other people, because of her training as an actress, which of course required her to enunciate more distinctly. However, Dr. Wharton made no reply and after a time Bobbin was sent away to watch the children at play.
Then Polly sat quietly in a big armchair, while Sylvia strode up and down the room with her hands clasped behind her. They were both silent for quite five minutes.
Afterwards Sylvia spoke first.
"I am by no means sure your little girl is entirely deaf, Polly," she remarked abruptly. "But I am not an expert in the matter and I don't want to trust my own judgment. I believe she hears indistinctly perhaps and so has never learned to talk. Yet it would not surprise me if a sudden shock of some kind might make her hear, and after that she would learn to talk easily enough. But I'll discuss her case and we can see about it later. Now you are to let me look you over."
Of course Polly shrugged her shoulders and objected, insisting that she was entirely well and that it was absurd to waste Sylvia's time.
Nevertheless, as usual, Dr. Wharton had her way and at the end of a half hour's examination Polly appeared pale and exhausted, while Sylvia looked more satisfied.
"You are not to go back on the stage again this winter, Miss O'Neill," she announced decisively. "But you really are in better health than I expected to find you. If you only would behave with a little more sense!"
Polly sighed, waving her accuser away.
"Do go and let me rest now, please," she commanded. "You know I have promised to recite for the children for an hour or so after dinner. And I do wish my friends and family would stop asking me to behave with better sense. How can I if I haven't got it? Everybody ought to be sorry for me."
Smiling, Sylvia departed. It was like old times to hear Polly talking in her old aggrieved fashion when she knew herself to be really in the wrong. But then Sylvia decided that she would probably always love Polly more than any one else in the world, even if they saw each other so seldom. For she never expected to marry herself and doubted now whether Polly ever would. There had been a scare years before about a Richard Hunt, but as Polly never mentioned his name now she must by this time have forgotten him.
The Christmas dinner and tree were a great success. After Polly had made the children shriek with pleasure by playing a dozen characters from Mother Goose, and the older people cry by reciting several exquisite Christmas poems by Whitcomb Riley and Eugene Field, the guests then sang Camp Fire songs until darkness descended.
It was a pity, however, that Esther and Dick and their children were in Boston and unable to come home for the holidays, for Esther's beautiful voice was sadly needed in the music.
But at six o'clock Sylvia was forced to leave for Philadelphia, and so the other guests decided that it was time that the weary children should be taken home.
However, for one minute Polly and Betty did manage to slip over into a corner and in that moment made an engagement to spend the whole of the next afternoon together. Moreover, in order to get away from every one else they planned to take a long walk to Sunrise Cabin.
Nevertheless that same night each of the two friends lay awake for several hours, firmly resolving not to tell the other the trouble that lay nearest their hearts. For they both decided that they should have gotten beyond their old girlhood confidences and that there were certain things women should keep to themselves.