"TWO'S COMPANY"
Lucile was happy even before she awoke that morning. The sense of
something delightful in store pervaded even her dreams. For a long time
she lingered in that delightful interim between waking and sleeping, when
the spirit seems to detach itself and fly on wings of golden sunshine
through a dewy, scented universe. In her confused imagining she was
resting on a rose-colored cloud, while all around her other clouds of
varying tints swam and swirled, taking different shapes as they passed
her by.
"How pretty!" she murmured, and woke with a start to find Jessie
regarding her sleepily.
"What on earth were you muttering about, Lucy?" cried the latter,
fretfully. "I guess you must have been having a bad dream."
"No, it wasn't; it was beautiful," she contradicted, putting her hands
behind her head and gazing up at the ceiling. "I wish you hadn't waked me
up; I was having an awfully good time."
"Well, I wasn't," said Jessie, so sourly that Lucile chuckled.
"You know, Jessie," she said, "the only time you are ever cross is when
you are sleepy--and that's most all the time," she added, wickedly.
"What?" said the accused, sitting up in bed and seizing Lucile by the
arm. "Unsay those words or I will have your life!"
"Now, you know you don't need it half as much as I do," reasoned Lucile.
"You have one of your own." Whereupon Jessie laughed, and peace was
almost restored when there came a knock at the door.
The girls started and looked at each other in questioning bewilderment.
"Now what have you been doing?" whispered Lucile. "I knew one of these
days you would have the law upon us."
"Up to your old tricks again, I suppose," Jessie countered. "But you'd
better answer them, Lucy."
"Why don't you?" said Lucile; but, receiving no answer, called out in a
small voice, as the rap was repeated, "Who is it?"
"Aren't you girls ever going to get up?" whispered a gruff voice, which
they, nevertheless, recognized as belonging to Phil. "It's almost eight
o'clock and you said you'd be down by half-past seven. We've been waiting
for half an hour."
"All right; we'll be down right away, Phil," said Lucile, jumping out of
bed and beginning to dress hastily. "I had no idea it was so late."
"You know you won't have time for a walk before breakfast, even if you
are down in half an hour--which I doubt," said Phil, pessimistically.
"Jack and I are going for our walk, anyway."
"Run along," sang Jessie, cheerfully, "and don't hurry back."
"You just wait till I get you, Jet," he threatened--Jet being a recent
nickname to which he had clung despite Jessie's vehement protestations
that the name would fit a Southern mammy a good deal better than it did
her, for the simple reason that a darky was jet, but she wasn't nor ever
would be.
"All right; only see that you pay enough," she assented. "I'm
mercenary."
"I have always suspected something in your life, woman," he hissed
through the keyhole. "Farewell!" And they heard his retreating footsteps
on the stairs.
The girls laughed merrily, just as Evelyn, fully dressed, emerged from
the next room--they always drew lots to see who slept together--looking
very sweet and dainty in her spotless white.
"Hurry up, you old slow-pokes," she greeted them, gaily. "I've been up
for ever so long. It's a wonderful day."
"Oh, Evelyn, dear, you look darling in that dress! I've never seen it
before!" cried Lucile, enthusiastically. "Turn around in the back. Isn't
it cute, Jessie? Goodness! You make me ashamed of myself!" And she began
dressing with renewed vigor.
"Will you get dressed for me, too, Evelyn?" begged Jessie. "With so much
energy flying around loose, I ought to catch some of it, but I don't. Oh,
for another hour's sleep!"
"You don't have to get up," said Evelyn, sitting down on the edge of the
bed. "You can sleep till noon if you want to, while Lucy and I have a
look at the Capitol and dine at some nice little cafe----"
"Say not another word," commanded Jessie, bouncing out of bed and winding
her long braids about her head. "I'd like to see anybody leave me behind.
Lucy, do get out of my way--I have to have the mirror some of the time!"
Lucile laughed. "All right; I'll fix my hair in Evelyn's room, now she's
through, and let you have the whole place to yourself," she said, and
gathering up hairpins and ribbons, she ran into the other room to finish
up.
"What are you going to wear this morning, Lucy?" asked Evelyn, from the
doorway, where she could see both girls at once.
"The little flowered one, I guess," said Lucile, struggling with her
hair. "I haven't worn it yet and Dad raves about it."
"I wish you would wear the blue one," Evelyn suggested. "I think it's the
prettiest thing you have."
"But I've worn it so much," Lucile objected. "I don't want to be known by
my dress."
With apparent irrelevance, Jessie called out from the other room, "Jack
loves blue."
Instead of looking confused, as she knew was expected of her, Lucile
answered, readily. "I'll wear it then, of course. Phil likes blue, too."
Evelyn and Jessie exchanged glances and the latter laughed
aggravatingly.
"Evelyn, what have you done with my tan shoes?" cried Jessie, searching
wildly under the bed. "I'm sure I put them in their place, and they're
nowhere to be seen," and she sat back on her heels to glare menacingly
about her.
"Here they are," called Lucile from the other room. "You left them here
last night. Hurry up! I'm all ready now."
They were pictures of youthful loveliness as they began to descend the
stairs--Evelyn, in her snowy white, looking for all the world like a
plump and mischievous little cherub, and Jessie in the palest pink, which
set off and enhanced her fairness. But it was to Lucile that all eyes
instinctively clung. The soft curls framing the lovely, eager face; the
color that came and went with each varying emotion; the instinctive grace
with which she carried her proud little head, won her admiration wherever
she went.
All this, and more, Jack was thinking as he watched the trio descend. He
and Phil were occupying a strategic position, from which they could see
but not be seen; in fact, they had left the front door slightly ajar with
that very end in view.
"It seems very strange," Lucile was saying as they reached the foot of
the stairs, "that we haven't heard any breakfast bell. If it's as late as
the boys say it is, everybody ought to be up."
Then she flung open the door and came upon the boys, seated on the
railing of the veranda, apparently engrossed in conversation. The girls
gasped with amazement at sight of the boys, and the boys gasped with very
genuine admiration at sight of the girls.
"Wh-what----" began Lucile, bewildered. "I thought you and Phil were
going for a walk."
"So we are," said Jack, easily. "We were only waiting for you."
"Phil," Lucile turned accusingly to her brother, "this is some trick you
are trying to play on us. Why isn't there any breakfast and why aren't
there any people. Come on, 'fess up!"
Jessie threw up her hands wearily. "We ought to know enough to suspect
him by this time," she sighed. "But I guess we'll never get over being
taken in."
"By the position of the sun," quoth Evelyn, "it ought to be about six
thirty."
"Just about," Lucile corroborated. "No wonder we were sleepy."
All this time the boys had been regarding the victims of their deception
with an assumption of innocence, made ineffective by the suppressed
laughter in their eyes.
"Now I guess we're even for all the insults you've heaped upon my
unoffending head in days gone by, Jet," Phil gibed. "Routing you up at
six o'clock evens up for a lifetime."
"You needn't take so much credit to yourself, brother, dear," Lucile
countered. "We were going to get up, anyway, weren't we, girls," to which
the girls agreed shamelessly.
"It's a compliment, anyway," said Jessie, philosophically. "They were so
eager for our society that they even had to resort to tricks."
"Right you are," laughed Jack. "Now that we have some time, let's make
good use of it. Come on; we'll hike," and, taking Lucile's arm, he
started down the drive.
"Where to?" called Phil.
"Makes no difference to me where we go," Jack flung back, recklessly.
"Let the girls decide."
"Make Lucile take the lead," Jessie suggested. "Maybe she can unearth
some more mysteries."
"No, she won't; she's through," said Phil, decidedly. "If there are any
more clues floating around loose, it's going to be her brother that will
find them. I want that distinctly understood."
Meanwhile, Lucile and Jack had swung off into a narrow and much more
difficult road than the one they were on, and Phil shouted a
remonstrance.
"Why not stick to the road we know about?" he shouted, and they stopped
and looked back. "That looks like a pretty stiff climb."
"We know as much about this as we do the other," Jack shouted back, "and
this is lots prettier. Come on; if it gets too steep, we can always go
back."
"No, I guess we'll stick to this one," Phil decided. "It looks like too
much work where you are," and the trio walked on.
Lucile started to follow, but Jack laid a restraining hand on her arm.
"We don't have to follow them," he pleaded. "It's so long since I've seen
you, and I haven't been able to talk to you yet."
Lucile hesitated; then, "Well, just for a short distance," she conceded.
"And then we can meet them on the way back."
"Thanks," he said; then added, "I thought you weren't very glad to see me
yesterday. You know, I was strongly tempted to take the next steamer
across the Atlantic. Haven't you thought of me at all?"
It was rather a hard question to ask, and Lucile blushed when she
remembered how often she had thought of him and his letters.
"Of course," she said; "and I wrote to you----"
"Just twice," he finished. "I came very near sending you a box of writing
paper--thought there must be a scarcity of it over here."
Lucile laughed her gay little laugh. "That would have been a surprise,"
she chuckled; then, more seriously, "But you know, there are so many
people to write to, and it was awfully hard----"
"Oh, yes, I know all about it," he broke in. "Terribly busy; couldn't
find time, and all that, but if you think very much of somebody, writing
isn't a duty; it's a pleasure."
"But I didn't say," Lucile began; then, desperately, "Oh, please, can't
we talk of something else?"
"Certainly," he agreed, and Lucile sensed the hurt in his voice. "We'll
talk of anything you please. What plans have you made for the day?"
"Why, Dad said he would take us to Paris," said Lucile, instantly sorry
for her little speech, yet afraid to say so. "We simply can't wait to get
there! Of course you are going with us?"
"If I may. I came over with my uncle, you know, and left him in Paris to
transact some important business while I hunted you up. It's a good
little place--the inn, I mean--and I'm glad your father asked me to stay
for the night. It's a charming spot and quite close enough to the city."
"That's what Dad thought. Then, after we have lunch at some swell little
restaurant--you know----"
"Yes, I know," he agreed, laughingly. "Colored lights, and music,
orchestra, and that," and he waved his hand expressively.
"Uh-huh; and after all that, he's going to drop us at the Louvre--oh, how
naturally I speak of it now, and it used to seem like something on a
different planet--while he tries to look up M. Charloix--he gave Dad his
card on shipboard, luckily."
"And then?" he prompted, laughing eyes fixed on the lovely, animated face
at his shoulder.
"Well, then," she continued eagerly, "then comes the very best of all.
We're going somewhere for dinner, then the theater, then dinner again,
oh-h----"
"Just one glorious day of gladness," he laughed; then, noticing her
quickened breath, "We mustn't tire you too much this morning when you
have such a long day before you. Suppose we rest a while."
"And here is the very place," she agreed, indicating a great, flat rock,
shaded by a huge, spreading tree. "Oh, isn't the view wonderful from
here? I hadn't noticed it before."
"You said it," Jack agreed, stretching his lazy length on the grass at
her feet. "The hill has formed a sort of shallow precipice and the lake
sure does look great down there."
For a few moments they were silent, drinking in the beauty prodigal
Nature lavished all about them. Furtively Lucile examined this cavalier
of hers. Straight of feature, bronzed from living in the open, eyes so
full of fun you had to laugh in sympathy--oh, he was handsome; there was
no doubt of that. And his hair, black and wavy and soft--Lucile was sure
it was soft----
"I wish you would tell me what you are thinking about," he said, looking
up with a quizzical little smile. "You were quiet so long----"
"That is unusual," she laughed, trying not to look confused. "Perhaps we
had better be starting back," she added; "the others will be looking for
us."
"Just as you say," he answered for the second time that morning; then, as
he helped her to her feet, "I wish we could have this day together; it's
been great to be alone with you even for this short time. But I forgot
that that subject was unwelcome----"
"Oh, please," she begged, laying an impulsive little hand on his arm.
"I--I didn't mean to be cross."
He caught the little peace-making hand in both his own, laughing down
into the prettiest eyes he had ever seen.
"That's the best thing I have heard to-day," he exulted.