Evelyn, as the weeks went on, did not talk as much as she had been
accustomed to do. She did not pour her confidences into her sister's
ears. She never spoke of the new principal. She studied assiduously,
and stood exceedingly well in all her classes. She had never taken so
much pains with her pretty costumes. When her mother sent her a
Christmas present of a Paris gown, she danced with delight. There was
to be a Christmas-tree in the academy chapel, and she planned to wear
it. Although it was a Paris gown it was simple enough, a pretty,
girlish frock of soft white cloth, with touches of red. "I can wear
holly in my hair, and it will be perfectly lovely," Evelyn said. But
she came down with such a severe cold and sore throat at the very
beginning of the holidays that going to Westbridge was out of the
question. Evelyn lamented over the necessity of her staying at home
like a child. She even cried.
"I wouldn't be such a baby," said Aunt Maria. At times Aunt Maria
could not quite forgive Evelyn for being Ida Slome's child,
especially when she showed any weakness. She looked severely now at
poor Evelyn, in her red house-wrapper, weeping in her damp little
handkerchief. "I should think you were about ten," she said.
Evelyn wiped her eyes and sniffed. Her throat was very sore, and her
cold was also in her head. Her pretty lips were disfigured with
fever-sores. Her eyes were inflamed.
"You wouldn't want to go looking the way you do, anyhow," said Aunt
Maria, pitilessly.
After Aunt Maria went out of the room, Maria, who was putting some
finishing-touches to the gown which she herself was to wear to the
Christmas-tree, went over to her sister and knelt down beside her.
"Poor darling," she said. "Don't you want me to stay at home with
you?"
Evelyn pushed her away gently, with a fresh outburst of tears. "No,"
she said. "Don't come so close, Maria, or you will catch it.
Everybody says it is contagious. No, I wouldn't have you stay at home
for anything. I am not a pig, if I am disappointed. But Aunt Maria
need not be so cross."
"Aunt Maria does not mean to be cross, sweetheart," said Maria,
stroking her sister's fluffy, dark head. "Are you sure that you do
not want me to stay home with you, dear?"
"Perfectly sure," replied Evelyn. "I want you to go so you can tell
me about it."
Evelyn had not the slightest idea of jealousy of Maria. While she
admired her, it really never occurred to her, so naive she was in her
admiration of herself, that anybody could think her more attractive
than she was and fall in love with her, to her neglect. She had not
the least conception of what this Christmas-tree meant to her older
sister: the opportunity of seeing Wollaston Lee, of talking with him,
of perhaps some attention on his part. Maria was to return to Amity
on the last trolley from Westbridge. It was quite a walk from the
academy. She dreamed of Wollaston's escorting her to the
trolley-line. She dressed herself with unusual care when the day
came. She had a long, trailing gown of a pale-blue cloth and a blue
knot for her yellow hair. She also had quite a pretentious blue
evening cloak. Christmas afternoon a long box full of pale-yellow
roses arrived. There was a card enclosed which Maria caught up
quickly and concealed without any one seeing her. Wollaston had sent
her the roses. Her heart beat so hard and fast that it seemed the
others must hear it. She bent over the roses. "How perfectly lovely!"
she said.
Aunt Maria took up the box and lifted the flowers out carefully.
"There isn't any card," she said. "I wonder who sent them?" All at
once a surmise seized her that Professor Lane, who was said to be
regaining his health in Colorado, had sent an order to the Westbridge
florist for these flowers. Simultaneously the thought came to Evelyn,
but Eunice, who was in the room, looked bewildered. When Maria
carried the roses out to put them in water, she turned to her
sister-in-law. "Who on earth do you suppose sent them?" she whispered.
Aunt Maria looked at her, and formed Professor Lane's name
noiselessly with her lips, giving her at the same time a knowing nod.
Eunice looked at Evelyn, who also nodded, although with a somewhat
disturbed expression. She still did not feel quite reconciled to the
idea of her sister's loving Professor Lane.
"I didn't know," said Eunice.
"Nobody knows; but we sort of surmise," said Aunt Maria.
"Why, he's old enough to be her father," Eunice said.
"What of that, if he only gets cured of his consumption?" said Aunt
Maria. She herself felt disgusted, but she had a pleasure in
concealing her disgust from her sister-in-law. "Lots of girls would
jump at him," said she.
"I wouldn't have when I was a girl," Eunice remarked, in a mildly
reminiscent manner.
"You don't know what you would have done if you hadn't got my
brother," said Aunt Maria.
"I would never have married anybody," Eunice replied, with a fervent,
faithful look. As she spoke, she seemed to see Henry Stillman as he
had been, when a young man and courting her, and she felt as if a
king had passed her field of memory to the exclusion of all others.
"Maybe you wouldn't have," said her sister-in-law, "but nowadays
girls have to take what they can get. Men ain't so anxious to marry.
When a man had to have all his shirts and dickeys made he was
helpless, to say nothing of his pants, but nowadays he can get
everything ready-made, and it doesn't make so much difference to him
whether he gets married or not. He can have a good deal more for
himself, if he's an old bachelor."
"Maybe you are right," said Eunice, "but I know when I was a girl
Maria's age I wouldn't have let an old man like Professor Lane, with
the consumption, too, tie my shoes. Do you suppose he really sent her
the roses?"
"Who else could have sent them?"
"They must have cost an awful sight of money," said Eunice, in an
awed tone. Then she stopped, for Maria re-entered the room with the
roses in a tall vase. She wore some of them pinned to the shoulder of
her blue gown that evening. She knew who had sent them, and it seemed
to her that she did not overestimate the significance of the sending.
When she started for Westbridge that evening she was radiant. She had
the roses carefully pinned in tissue-paper to protect them from the
cold; her long, blue cloak swept about her in graceful folds, she
wore a blue hat with a long, blue feather.
"Why didn't you wear a head tie?" asked Aunt Maria. "Ain't you afraid
you will spoil that hat if you take it off? The feather will get all
mussy."
"I shall put it in a safe place," replied Maria, smiling. She blushed
as she spoke. She knew perfectly well herself why she wore that hat,
because she thought Wollaston might escort her to the trolley, and
she wished to appear at her best in his eyes. Maria no longer
disguised from herself the fact that she loved this man who was her
husband and not her husband. She knew that she was entirely ready to
respond to his advances, should he make any, that she would be
happier than she had ever been in her whole life if the secret which
had been the horror of her life should be revealed. She wondered if
it would not be better to have another wedding. That night she had
not much doubt of Wollaston's love for her. When she entered the car,
and saw besides herself several young girls prinked in their best,
who were also going to the Christmas-tree, she felt a sort of amused
pride, that all their prinking and preening was in vain. She assumed
that all of them had dressed to attract Wollaston. She could not
think of any other man whom any girl could wish to attract. She sat
radiant with her long, blue feather sweeping the soft, yellow puff of
her hair. She gave an affect of smiling at everybody, at all
creation. She really felt for the first time that she could remember
a sense of perfect acquiescence with the universal scheme of things,
therefore she felt perfect content and happiness. She thought how
wonderful it was that poor Gladys Mann, lying in her unmarked grave
this Christmas-time, should have been the means, all unwittingly, of
bringing such bliss to herself. She thought how wonderful that
Evelyn's loss should have been the first link in such a sequence. She
thought of Evelyn with a sort of gratitude, as if she had done
something incalculable for her. She also thought of her as always
with the utmost love and pride and tenderness. She reflected with
pleasure on the gift which she herself had hung on the tree for
Evelyn, and how pleased the child would be. It was a tiny gold brooch
with a pearl in the centre. Evelyn was very fond of ornaments. Maria
did not once imagine of the possibility that Evelyn could have any
dreams herself with regard to Wollaston. She did not in reality think
of Evelyn as old enough to have any dreams at all which need be
considered seriously, and least of all about Wollaston Lee. She
nodded to a young man, younger than herself, who was in Evelyn's
class at the academy, who sat across the aisle, and he returned the
nod eagerly. He was well grown, and handsome, and looked as old as
Maria herself. Presently as the car began to fill up, he crossed the
aisle, and asked if he might sit beside her. Maria made room at once.
She smiled at the young fellow with her smile which belonged in
reality to another man, and he took it for himself. Perhaps nothing
on earth is so misappropriated as smiles and tears. The seat was
quite narrow. It was necessary to sit rather close, in any event, but
presently Maria felt the boy's broad shoulder press unmistakably
against hers. She shrank away with an imperceptible motion. She did
not feel so much angry as amused at the thought that this great boy
should be making love to her, when all her heart was with some one
else, when she could not even give him a pleasant look which belonged
wholly to him. Maria leaned against the window, and gazed out at the
flying shadows. "I am glad it is so pleasant," she said in a
perfectly unconcerned voice.
"Yes, so am I," the boy replied, but his voice shook with emotion.
Maria thought again how ridiculous it was. Then suddenly she
reflected that this might not be on her account but Evelyn's. She
thought that the boy might be trying to ingratiate himself with her
on her sister's account. She felt at once indignation and a sense of
pity. She was sure that Evelyn had never thought of him. She glanced
at the boy's handsome, manly face, which, although manly, wore still
an expression of ingenuousness like a child's. She reflected that if
Evelyn were to marry when she were older, that perhaps this was a
good husband for her. The boy came of one of the best families in
Amity. She turned towards him smiling.
"Evelyn was very much disappointed that she could not come to-night,"
she said.
The boy brightened visibly at her tone.
"She has a very severe cold," Maria added.
"I am sorry," said the boy. Then he said in a low tone whose boldness
and ardor were unmistakable, that it did not make any difference to
him who was there as long as she was. Maria could scarcely believe
her ears. She gave the boy a keen, incredulous glance, but he was not
daunted. "I mean it," he said.
"Nonsense," said Maria. She looked out of the window again. She told
herself that it was annoying but too idiotic to concern herself with.
She made up her mind that when they changed trolleys she would try to
find a seat with some one else. But when they changed she found the
boy again beside her. She was quite angry then, and made no effort to
disguise it. She sat quite still, gazing out of the window, shrugged
against it as closely as she was able to sit, and said nothing.
However, her face resumed its happy smile when she thought again of
Wollaston, and the boy thought the smile meant for him. He leaned
over her tenderly.
"I wish I could have a picture of you as you look to-night," he said.
"Well, I am afraid that you will have to do without it," Maria said
shortly. Still the boy remained insensible to rebuff.
"What are you carrying, Miss Edgham?" he asked, looking at her roses
enveloped in tissue paper.
"Some roses which a friend sent me," Maria replied.
Then the boy colored and paled a little. He jumped at once to the
conclusion that the friend was a man. "I suppose you are going to
wear them," he said pitifully.
"Yes, I am," replied Maria.
The boy in his turn sat as far away as possible in his corner of the
seat, and gazed ahead with a gloomy air.
When they reached the academy grounds he quite deserted Maria, who
walked to the chapel with one of the other teachers, who entered at
the same time. She was a young lady who lived in Westbridge. Maria
caught the pale glimmer of an evening gown under her long, red cloak
trimmed with white fur, and reflected that possibly she also had
adorned herself especially for Wollaston's benefit, and again she
felt that unworthy sense of pride and amusement. The girl herself
echoed her thoughts, for she said soon after Maria had greeted her:
"I saw Mr. Lee and his mother starting."
"Did you?" returned Maria.
"Don't you think he is very handsome?" asked the girl in a
sentimental tone which irritated.
"No," said Maria sharply, although she lied. "I don't think he is
handsome at all. He looks intelligent and sensible, but as for
handsome--"
"Oh, don't you think so?" cried the other. Then she caught herself
short, for Wollaston Lee, with his mother on his arm, came up. They
said good-evening, and all four passed in.
The platform of the chapel was occupied by a great Christmas-tree.
The chapel itself was trimmed with evergreens and holly. The moment
Maria entered, after she had removed her hat in a room which was
utilized as a dressing-room, and pinned her roses on her shoulder,
she became sensible of a peculiar intoxication as of some new
happiness and festivity, of a cup of joy which she had hitherto not
tasted. The spicy odor of the evergreens, even the odor of
oyster-stew from a room beyond where supper was to be served, that,
and cake, and the sweetness of her own roses, raised her to a sense
of elation which she had never before had. She sat with the other
teachers well towards the front. Wollaston was with his mother on the
right. Maria saw with a feeling of relief the people with whom the
Lees had formerly boarded presently enter and sit with them. She
thought that Wollaston would be free to walk to the trolley with her
if he so wished. She felt surer and surer that he did so wish. Once
she caught him looking at her, and when she answered his smile she
felt her own lips stiff, and realized how her heart pounded against
her side. She experienced something like a great pain which was still
a great joy. Suddenly everything seemed unreal to her. When the
presents were distributed, it was still so unreal that she did not
feel as pleased as she would have done with the number for poor
little Evelyn at home. She hardly knew what she received herself.
They were the usual useless and undesirable tokens from her class,
and others more desirable from the other lady teachers. Wollaston
Lee's name was often called. Again Maria experienced that unworthy
sensation of malicious glee that all this was lavished upon him when
he was in reality hers and beyond the reach of any of these smiling
girls with eyes of covert wistfulness upon the handsome young
principal.
After the festivities were over, Maria adjusted her hat in the
dressing-room and fastened her long, blue cloak. She wrapped her
roses again in the tissue-paper. They were very precious to her. The
teacher whom she had met on entering the academy was fastening her
cloak, and she gazed at Maria with a sort of envious admiration.
"You look like a princess, all in blue, Miss Edgham," said she. Her
words were sweet, but her voice rang false.
"Thank you," said Maria, and went out swiftly. She feared lest the
other teacher attach herself to her, and the other teacher lived on
the road towards the trolley. When Maria went out of the academy,
that which she had almost feared to hope for happened. Wollaston
stepped beside her, and she heard him ask if he might walk with her
to the trolley.
Maria took his arm.
"Mother is with the Gleasons," said Wollaston. His voice trembled.
Just then the boy who had sat with Maria on the car coming over
walked with a defiant stride to her other side.
"Good-evening, Mr. Lee," he said, lifting his hat. "Good-evening,
Miss Edgham," as if that was the first time that evening he had seen
her. Then he walked on with her and Wollaston, and nothing was to be
done but accept the situation. The young fellow was fairly
belligerent with jealous rage. He had lost his young head over his
teacher, and was doing something for which he would scorn himself
later on.
Wollaston pressed Maria's hand closely under his arm, and she felt
her very soul thrill, but they all talked of the tree and the
festivities of the evening, with an apparent disregard of the
terrible undercurrent of human emotions which had them all in its
grasp. Wollaston carried Maria's presents and Evelyn's. When they
reached the trolley-line, and he gave them to her, she managed to
whisper a thank you for his beautiful roses, and he pressed her hand
and said good-night. The boy asked with a mixture of humility and
defiance if he could not carry her parcels (he himself had nothing
but three neckties and a great silk muffler, which he did not value
highly, as he was well stocked already, and he had thrust them into
his pockets). "No, thank you," said Maria, "I prefer to carry them
myself." She was curt, but she was so lit up with rapture that she
could not help smiling at him as she spoke, and he again sat in the
same car-seat. She hardly spoke a word all the way to Amity, but he
walked to her door with her, alighting from the car at the same time
she did, although he lived half a mile farther on.
"You will have to walk a half mile," Maria observed, when he handed
her off and let the car go on.
"I like to walk," the boy said, fervently.
Maria had her latch-key. She opened the door hurriedly and ran in.
She was half afraid that this irrepressible young man might offer to
kiss her. "Good-night," she said, and almost slammed the door in his
face.
Aunt Maria had left a light burning low on the hall table. Maria took
it and went up-stairs. She gathered up the skirt of her gown into a
bag to hold the presents, hers and Evelyn's.
When she entered her own room and set the lamp on the dresser, she
was aware of a little, nestling movement in the bed, and Evelyn's
dark head and lovely face raised itself from the pillow.
"I came in here," said Evelyn, "because I wanted to see you after you
came home. Do you mind?"
"No, darling, of course I don't mind," replied Maria.
She displayed Evelyn's presents, and the girl examined them eagerly.
Maria thought she seemed disappointed even with her own gift of the
brooch which she had expected would so delight her.
"Is that all?" Evelyn said.
"All?" laughed Maria. "Why, you little, greedy thing, what do you
expect?"
To her astonishment Evelyn began suddenly to cry. She sobbed as if
her heart would break, and would not tell her sister why she was so
grieved. Finally, Maria having undressed and got into bed, her sister
clung closely to her, still sobbing.
"Evelyn, darling, what is it?" whispered Maria.
"You'll laugh at me."
"No, I won't, honest, precious."
"Honest?"
"Yes, honest, dear."
"Were those all the presents I had?"
"Yes, of course, I brought you all you had, dear."
Evelyn murmured something inarticulate against Maria's breast.
"What is it, dear, sister didn't hear?"
"I hung a book on the tree for him," choked Evelyn, "and I thought
maybe--I thought--"
"Thought what?"
"I thought maybe he would--"
"Who would?"
"I thought maybe Mr. Lee would give me something," sobbed Evelyn.
Maria lay still.
Evelyn nestled closer. "Oh," she whispered, "I love him so! I can't
help it. I can't. I love him so, sister!"