LUCILE TRIUMPHS
Lucile sped down the steps and into the waiting arms of her assembled
family.
She was hugged and kissed and handed from one to the other in a very
ecstasy of reunion, until Mr. Payton spoke, a trifle huskily.
"Perhaps," said he, "perhaps it would be just as well to thank the young
person who handed our runaway back to us," and he glanced inquiringly in
the direction of the chateau.
"No, no," said Lucile, hurriedly. "You see, it----" She hesitated; then,
throwing secrecy to the winds, she pushed Jessie and Evelyn ahead of her
into the automobile, crying excitedly, "I can't keep it in another
minute; there's no use trying--I can't--I can't----" and, turning from
her astonished friends to her no less astonished father, she said, "Dad,
if you'll only get started for home, I'll tell you all about it----"
"All about what?" Jessie started to interrupt.
"I'm going to tell you, Jessie, dear, but we must get started first," and
she clapped her hands impatiently while Mr. Payton gave the necessary
orders and the chauffeur started the motor.
"Oh, Phil, Phil, do stop staring so!" she cried, hysterically. "I know
you are going to be awfully cut up when you learn that your much-abused
and misunderstood sister was right, after all."
"Lucile," cried Evelyn, in exasperation. "If you don't stop talking in
riddles and get down to plain United States that everybody can
understand----"
"Oh, I will," gasped Lucile. "Did any of you see anything unusual about
that chateau?" she questioned. "Didn't it look--well, rather familiar to
you?"
"There she goes again!" wailed Evelyn, and Jessie added, "We were too
busy looking at you to notice the old house. What's that got to do with
your story, anyway?"
"You'd find out if you would only have a little patience. I've a good
mind not to tell you, anyway," she finished, rather childishly, for, you
see, in spite of the excitement, or, more probably, because of it, Lucile
was very tired and a finicky audience didn't appeal to her. She wanted to
tell her story her own way.
"Go ahead, Lucy; forgive us!" said Jessie, all compunction at once.
"You've made us so excited we can't wait, that's all."
"Yes, we promise not to interrupt again," added Evelyn.
"Oh, go ahead and tell your story, Lucy; cut out the sob stuff!" This
from an unsympathetic brother, who should have withered next minute
beneath the scathing searchlight of scorn turned his way.
Then Lucile told her story, from the minute she left the girls to the
present time. During the recital they forgot more than once their promise
not to interrupt, but Lucile, heart and soul in her story, never noticed
them.
Mr. Payton was as much interested as the young folks, for he had
entertained a sincere liking for the despondent young Frenchman.
When Lucile, flushed and breathless, finished the recital and leaned back
against the cushions, the girls and Phil overwhelmed her with a flood of
questions.
"So that was really the chateau old Charloix told us about. Why didn't
you tell us while we were there, so we could have had a good look at the
place?" Phil objected. "Let's go back, Dad," he added, eagerly. "It
wouldn't take very long and it's a crime not to give the place the once
over now that we have the chance."
"Oh, Phil, we can't go back now," wailed his sister. "I'm a perfect
mess----"
"Of course we can't; there isn't time, anyway," said Jessie, sweeping the
suggestion aside with a _sang-froid_ that aggravated Phil. "The thing I'm
most interested in now is that will and the letters her father left her.
Oh, it's too wonderful!"
"And to think," said Evelyn, with shining eyes, "to think that all the
time we were worrying about you and feeling sure you were lost, you were
having the time of your life! Oh, if I'd only had the nerve to follow
you!"
"Yes, just think of that lost opportunity," wailed Jessie. "Such a chance
will never come again, never. But, Lucile, dear, do tell us what Jeanette
looked like," she begged, for the fiftieth time at least.
Before she could reply, Mr. Payton said, slowly, "It is a very serious, a
very delicate thing, to interfere in the lives of two people, Lucile. In
this instance the end justifies the means, but it might easily have
turned out otherwise. This isn't a lecture, dear," he added, patting the
brown head tenderly, "simply a caution."
"I know," said Lucile, looking up understandingly into her father's kind
eyes, "and I will be more careful in the future, Dad. But oh," she
offered, in extenuation, "when mystery marches right up to you and begs
to be looked into, what can you do? Oh, girls, if you could only have
been there--if you only could!"
"Don't rub it in," cried Evelyn, clapping her hands to her ears. "You
have me fairly jumping with envy now."
"Do you think you could find Henri Charloix for Jeanette, Dad?" said
Lucile, turning eagerly to her father and ignoring the interruption. "You
see, there's nothing to stand between them now."
"I think so," said Mr. Payton, his eyes kindling with an interest almost
as great as his daughter's. "I'll spare no trouble to bring those poor
harassed young people together. It's an outrage the way the French hand
their children about like so much merchandise. I'll do my best little
girl, now that you have started the ball rolling," he promised.
Lucile squeezed his hand gratefully, and Jessie suddenly broke out with,
"Now I know why Phil hasn't seemed to take much interest in the
proceedings, and why he has been studying the sky with such
concentration ever since Lucile has been talking."
"Why?" cried both girls, in a single breath.
"Simply because"--she paused for dramatic effect, then flung her bomb
with force at the intended victim--"he's jealous!" she hissed.
"Oh, is that so?" said Phil, drawing his gaze reluctantly from the far
horizon and letting it rest dreamily on his accuser. "May I be allowed to
ask what intricate and devious chain of reasoning leads you to make so
unheard-of a charge?"
"Oh, nonsense!" exclaimed Jessie, disrespectfully. "You know you're
jealous, so why deny it? Seems to me I remember"--it was her turn to let
her gaze wander sky-ward--"if I mistake not, that a short time ago a
certain young gentleman--I mention no names, but look where I'm
looking"--she threw him a mischievous glance, which he was by no means
loath to intercept--"did, upon occasion, laugh and scoff----"
"Same thing," Phil interrupted.
"At his sister," Jessie continued, undaunted, "when she ventured to
prophesy that which has really taken place."
"Yes. 'Paris is a very large place, you know,'" mocked Lucile.
"Take it all back, take it all back!" cried Phil, overwhelmed. "I'll
admit you're the greatest sleuth outside of Sherlock, Lucy. Hands up and
spare my life!"
The girls laughed with the joy of the victorious and Evelyn was about to
speak, when Phil called out suddenly:
"Jack Turnbull, by all that's lucky! What brought you here?" And he
fairly flung himself out of the stopping machine.
They had come upon the inn suddenly over the rise in the ground and
there, standing against the pillar and nonchalantly surveying the scenery
was--Lucile had to rub her eyes to be sure of unimpaired vision.
Then, the machine coming to a full stop, the two girls stepped out, while
Lucile followed more slowly in their wake, conscious suddenly of
dust-stained clothing and rumpled hair. "And I wanted to look my best,"
she wailed, in truly feminine despair.
She had not much time for lamentation, for, through the handshakings of
Phil and the ecstatic demonstrations of his cousin, Jack's handsome eyes
sought and found hers.
"It's a long way to come just to see you," he cried, gripping her hands
tightly. "But it's sure worth it," he added, boyishly.
Lucile never had longed so for a mirror. She knew her hair was all awry,
that her dress was wrinkled and covered with dust, and that her eyes must
look funny from crying over Jeanette, and----
"I'm very glad to--to see you," she stammered. "If you will--excuse me
just--a minute--I'll change this awful rig--and--and----" She flashed him
an uncertain little smile and was gone through the broad doorway, leaving
him to gaze after her, mystified and troubled.
"It's all right, Jack!" consoled Phil, with the superior knowledge of one
who has a sister toward one who hasn't, and therefore knoweth not the
ways of woman. "It's her clothes; but wait till she gets all dolled up;
there will be a change. To talk of something else, how did you happen to
strike the old inn?" and Jack, somewhat enlightened, entered upon the
subject with a will, while the two girls followed in the wake of the
deserter.
They found Lucile standing before the mirror, surveying herself
dejectedly.
"What did you want to run away for?" charged Jessie. "Jack felt hurt, I
know, even though Phil did try to explain."
"Just look at me," Lucile began, miserably.
"Well, look at you," repeated Evelyn. "What's the matter with you? Your
eyes aren't red any more--the wind took that away--and your hair always
looks better when it's rumpled----"
"And as for your dress," Jessie took it up, "do you think Jack would
notice what you had on? He wasn't looking at that----"
"Well, how did I know I was beautiful with red eyes and wild hair and a
dress that looks as if it were new in the seventeenth century?" cried
Lucile, brought to bay.
"We'd have told you if you'd asked us," said Jesse, fondly.
Lucile threw an arm about each of the girls and drew them before the
mirror--two fair heads with a dark one in between.
"You're great comforts, both of you. But, girls, I did think I was such
a--mess!" she chuckled, happily.