THE KINDNESS OF MISS ROLLS
Peter found it not so easy as he had expected to snatch an
opportunity of interesting Ena in Miss Child. His sister was even more
than ordinarily interested in her own affairs, which had reached a
critical stage, and if Peter, having run her to earth in her cabin,
attempted to talk of any one save Ena Rolls or Lord Raygan her eyes
became like shut windows. He could almost see her soul turning its
back and walking away behind the panes of opaque gray glass.
There had been another evening prowl with the young female panther
before the evasive chance was grasped, and the storm-tossed, overdue
_Monarchic_ hoped to dock within eighteen hours.
Things were growing desperate for Peter. He was not, of course, in
love with the "queer, arresting face," but he could not bear to think
of its arriving alone and unprotected in New York. Something must be
done, and he resorted to bribery.
"Look here, Sis," he began, "I've just thought there may be reasons
why Raygan can't make up his mind to visit a bit on our side, now he
and his family are here."
"He hasn't said he won't do it," Ena cut in.
"No, but he hasn't said he will, has he?"
"Not yet. I daren't seem too eager."
"To save my life, I don't see why you _should_ be eager. But as you
are, I've been giving my mind to the subject." (This was subtle of
Peter.) "I've come to the conclusion that the man would like to stay.
I'm sure his sister would. Perhaps you can answer for the mother. The
trouble may be money."
"Perhaps. I've thought of that. But what can we do? We can't go to him
out of a clear sky and offer to lend."
"I might propose to put him on to a good thing."
"Oh, Peter, _would_ you help me like that, in a man's way?"
"I would, if you'd do me a favour, in a woman's way."
"What is it? But whatever it is, I'm sure to!"
They were in Miss Rolls's cabin, the one she had generously taken over
from Lady Raygan and Eileen. Ena was sitting on the seat under the
window; Peter was looking uncomfortable on a camp-chair. It was a
small cabin, boiling over with dresses, though the "Young Moon" had
not yet been added to their number. Peter had never found his sister
in a propitious mood for the gift, and had been keeping the "Moon,"
figuratively, up his sleeve till the right moment came. Now, perhaps
it had come.
Ena had been lying down after luncheon. She had given herself this
little rest because she knew that Raygan was going to play poker in
the smoking-room. She had learned bridge--though cards bored her--just
as she had learned tennis and golf and all sorts of eccentric dances,
in order to be popular, to be in the swim, to do just what the
fashionable people were doing--the people at the top, where she wanted
to arrive.
But she could not play poker! And if she could, it would have been
impossible to go with Lord Raygan into the smoking-room. Luckily no
other girl would be there, so Ena resigned herself to the loss of
valuable time on her last day.
"Why, yes," Peter answered. "I believe you _are_ sure to! It won't be
a hard favour to do, Sis. It's only to let me introduce a girl, a very
nice girl, and then to be kind and help her if she needs it."
Ena laughed. "Is that all? I guess--I mean, I fancy--I can promise
that. Girls don't need much help nowadays Who is she? Have I seen
her?"
"No. You haven't seen her."
"Is she pretty?" Peter had expected that question. Ena, and all the
other girls he knew, invariably asked it. But he did not quite know
what to answer.
"She's awfully attractive," he said. "The sort you'd turn and look
after in a crowd. She hasn't got what you call features, but--you
can't take your eyes off her somehow. She looks--she looks--well, a
tiny bit like a--a--perfectly gloriously fascinating--golliwog."
"A golliwog!"
"Great big, wide-apart eyes, I mean; dark, floating ones, with immense
eyelashes that curl up and stick out when you see her profile. She's
got a short, round face--no, kind of heart-shaped, I guess, and a
little, delicate, turned-up nose, like the Duchess of Marlborough's;
and a lovely mouth--yes, her mouth _is_ lovely, no mistake! She's
nearly always laughing, even when she isn't happy. She's got a long
neck, like a flower stem, and long legs---"
"Good gracious, what a description! For heaven's sake, who is the
girl?"
"Oh, I know it must sound queer; but she's the most fascinating thing
you ever saw, and any man would say so. She's a Miss Child---"
"There's no Miss Child on the passenger list."
"Maybe not; because she's one of Nadine's models, and I bought you a
gorgeous dress off her. I've been--saving it for a surprise. It's
called the 'New'--no, the 'Young Moon.'"
Ena forgot for a moment that she badly needed help from her brother
and began sharply to catechize him. "_When_ did you buy me a dress?
The day Lord Raygan offered to go back to that room and choose me one
and I said no, I didn't want a dress?"
"Yes. That was the day. I couldn't let her try it on in vain."
"Oh, you bought it to please _her_--the girl like a golliwog?"
"She isn't like a golliwog, really. That's not fair. And I bought the
dress to please you, of course. It's mighty pretty. I've got it in my
room."
"I wonder what your steward thinks? Well, I'll thank you when I see
it. But what an idea, to introduce one of those girls to _me_! Lord
Raygan said they were all bleached and painted, except the one who
wasn't pretty."
"That's my one. But I think she is pretty, and better than pretty. Her
eyes--and her smile---"
"Never mind her eyes and her smile. I _can't_ be introduced to a
model, Petro. I _won't_ know a dressmaker."
"Mother was one. And father's mother was a washer---"
"Be still, for the love of heaven! If any one should hear!"
"I'm not ashamed of---"
"Well, I _am_! Oh, Petro, don't be horrid, just when I really need you
to be nice. And you can be nice--very nice. Don't let's even think
about the family past. It's awful! It's a blot! But it can't be
helped. We must try to live it down. And we can, with our money. We
can and we must. A great chance has come to us. All the more because
of--of what you reminded me--we must be careful of the sort of people
we mix ourselves up with--"
"This girl is a lady."
Then Ena lost her temper. "They all are," she snapped. "I suppose
she's a clergyman's daughter and her parents are dead."
"Her mother is," Peter admitted.
"She _would_ be! What does the girl want help for? Doesn't Nadine pay
her wages?"
"She only engaged with Nadine to work out her passage."
"Oh! They say girls from all over the world are bearing down on poor
little old New York since Owen Johnson wrote 'The Salamander.'"
"Jove, Ena, I never knew before you had anything of the cat in you!"
This, and a flash in the eyes which were bluer than hers, brought Miss
Rolls to her bearings. She remembered the reason for going softly with
Peter. Luckily she had done no great mischief yet.
"Can't you take a joke, Petro?" she teased him, laughing "I'm not a
cat, or a pig, either. But you do scare me a little. You don't _like_
this girl, do you?"
"Of course I like her."
"You know what I mean by 'like.' And I hope I know what _you_ mean.
You always yearn over every creature who hasn't as much money as we
have and needs ours. _Sure_ it's no more than that this time? It would
be--just the limit, the outside edge and down the other side, if you
fell in love with a dressmaker's model. It would be like--like
reverting to type. We must climb, not--_root_."
Peter laughed--nervously, his sister feared. "What a girl you are! You
needn't fash yourself about my feelings for Miss Child. All I want is
to help her to get on."
"Oh! To help her get on? Well, then, you may introduce her to me, if
it can be done without taking up too much time. You know, Petro, it's
my last day on board, and I have my feelings as much as you. How can
we manage it? Can you bring her here?"
"I can't 'bring' her anywhere," Peter retorted rather gruffly. "She
isn't a servant looking for a place. I've told you she's a lady."
"Oh, all right. What do you suggest?"
"She hasn't much time to herself. Since the weather improved, business
is brisker. But after her dinner she gets in a walk down on B deck,
where nobody else goes. I could take you there about half-past eight."
"Very well. That's the program." Ena spoke with regained cheerfulness,
because no one need witness an introduction effected on B deck, and
because a sentence of Peter's had been like a bull's-eye lantern
directing a ray along the right track. "I'll be _ever_ so nice to Miss
Child to-night--and afterward, too, in New York, if you can bring
anything off with Lord Raygan about the visit. Are you playing poker
with him this afternoon?"
"Yes. Some chaps wanted---"
"I know. He told me. But he didn't mention you. Afterward, will you
work right up to the 'good thing' you can put him on to? He'll be in
just the mood--if he loses. And he says he always does lose."
"Yes. I'll let him see that he might do well for himself by staying.
Gee! Think of a fellow needing a bribe to spend a couple of weeks in
God's country!"
"He doesn't know yet that it is God's country. We must show him. Oh,
Peter, won't the Van Raaltens and the Arlingtons fall over themselves
with rage if the Earl of Raygan and his mother and sister stop with us
for a fortnight!"
"Stop with us for a fortnight!" mimicked Peter, scornful yet
affectionate now. "You get more British every day in your accent and
conversation, my kid."
"Well, I try hard enough! I _do_ like their way of speaking. They make
our voices sound grating and our expressions crude."
"_Our_ ways for mine!"
"You can have them. Now run away, Petro. I'll see the 'Young Moon'
later. I need a nap. Lay awake last night worrying!"
But when he had gone she lay awake planning. This golliwog was
undoubtedly dangerous. The absorbed look in Peter's eyes when he
described her singular attractions contradicted the statement that his
feelings were Platonic.
He "only wanted to help!" Pooh! Still Ena was glad he had said that,
because it had given her a brilliant idea. It was also rather a cruel
idea, but all is fair in love and war: and this might be both.
Of course, if the girl were coming to New York to be a Salamander,
the weapon would be useless. Ena must find another. She could not be
sure until she had met Miss Child; but she told herself that no
glorified golliwog, however sly, could fool _her_ for five minutes!
She would soon know whether Peter were right or wrong about this
daughter of a clergyman whose mother was dead.
Poor Petro, he was such a fool about people--such a dear, nice, but
sometimes inconvenient fool! Just mother's disposition over again,
with a touch of father's cleverness splashed in here and there where
you'd least expect it--but _never_ in the place where it would be most
useful.
As Ena reflected thus, she was vaguely pleased with herself after the
fashion of an earnest student who suddenly finds himself actually
thinking in French. Before she Went to Mme. Yarde's Finishing School
for Young Ladies, she had been so accustomed to saying pa and ma that
it had been very difficult to overcome the habit. Even now, once in a
while, she--but, thank heaven, not _once_ since meeting Lord Raygan;
she was sure of that. He had said, "You talk quite like our girls."
And all the rest of the day she had been happy; for sometimes, in a
good-natured sort of way, he made fun of what he absurdly called "the
American accent."
Ena shut her eyes and composed herself to lie down without ruffling
her hair. But she could not sleep. She made pictures of Lord Raygan
and his mother and Lady Eileen visiting at their house on Long Island.
Would they think it more "swell" of the Rollses to be living in the
country than in New York? She hoped so, and almost believed they
would, for she understood from novels and what she had learned in
London, that the "smart people" only "ran into town for the theatre
and that sort of thing" in winter. Now it was October--almost winter.
And in the automobile it was only an hour and twenty-five minutes from
Sea Gull Manor (Ena had named the new place herself) to New York.
Besides, in the country the visitors wouldn't so easily find out that
the family hadn't got "into" things--the things that mattered. Of
course they could see what the family _was_. They could see that
anywhere, alas! But poor father and mother were better against a
country background. And foreigners might attribute some quaint tricks
of manner and speech to their being Americans, just as she and Peter
hadn't known how awful the cockney accent was until they had been told
by English people.
Oh, it was lovely over there! Nobody snubbed her. She would give
anything to live on that side all her life, married to a man of title,
and go home occasionally, to pay back the proud cats who had
scratched. Meanwhile, it would be a step on the golden ladder to
flaunt Lord Raygan and his mother and Eileen as guests. Then, if Rags
could swallow the family and propose (as sometimes she thought he
contemplated doing), how wonderful it would be! Her ideal
accomplished!
No golliwog on earth should be allowed to defeat this end. For the
addition of a model, dressmaking golliwog to the family would be the
final obstacle. Lord Raygan was now undecided. He was perhaps waiting
to see how the rest of the Rollses shaped up. If he could stand them
as relations, all would be well. All _must_ be well!
That night Win wore for her walk a long blue coat in place of the
mackintosh. It was shabby, but becoming; and her dark hair was tucked
into a close-fitting cap of the same blue as the cloak. She knew what
was due to happen at half-past eight, and though grateful to Mr. Balm
of Gilead, dreaded the result of his kindness.
Miss Rolls would be the first American girl she had ever met; but she
knew how an English girl would feel about being introduced to a vague
waif picked up by a brother in a dressmaker's showroom on shipboard.
It would have been ungracious to refuse the offered introduction so
well meant, but the fifth dryad was not looking forward to it with
pleasurable sensations.
When she saw the brother and sister coming toward her, however, the
smile on Miss Rolls's face was encouraging. It was dimly like Peter's
smile, and there was a certain family resemblance about the faces:
both dark, with eager eyes that seemed light in contrast with
dead-black hair, but the eagerness of Miss Rolls's look was different
from the eagerness of her brother's. His was slightly wistful in its
search for something he did not yet know. Hers was dissatisfied,
searching for something she wanted and had not got.
He was a lean young man, not very tall, but with rather the air of an
ex-college athlete. She was a plump, short girl, somewhat square in
build, but distinctly handsome, showing beautiful teeth in her cordial
smile. If the smile had been less cordial Miss Child might have
conceived the catty idea that the magnificent ruby-velvet hooded
evening cloak had been put on to impress the humble new acquaintance.
However, it would have been mean to suspect a sister of Mr. Balm of
Gilead of such a snobbish trick. And there _was_ the smile.
"Miss Child, I'm very pleased to meet you," said the handsome girl
warmly, just as her brother had hopefully prophesied. "Peter's told me
quite a lot about you. I think you're awfully brave."
"Perhaps one doesn't deserve much credit for courage in doing a thing
one wants to do," answered Winifred, her slim, ringless hand
responding to the kind pressure of the plump one wearing too many
rings. (They were all rubies to-night. Miss Rolls had read about a
wonderful Russian woman before whom men went down like ninepins and
who always matched her dresses with her jewels.)
Yes, Ena thought, Peter was right; the creature was a lady. She had a
soft, throaty voice, like a blackbird when it talks to itself, and oh,
a _creamy_ accent! Miss Rolls would have given anything to extract it,
like pith, from the long white stem in which it seemed to live. She
would have been willing to pay well for it, and for Miss Child's
length of limb, so necessary to show off the latest fashions. She saw
and appreciated the odd, golliwog charm of wide-apart eyes under high
arch of brow. And the full, laughing mouth, with the short upper lip,
was beautiful, like the mouths of marvellous girls on magazine covers.
The creature looked brave and rather sweet, and Miss Rolls was quite
sorry for her; but the thing had to be done.
"Petro, you go away and let us have a talk," said Petro's kind sister
gayly. "Two is company; three's none."
And Petro went, thinking Ena the grandest sort of a pal. He had done
his best for her already. Raygan and the two ladies had graciously
agreed to stay for a fortnight at least in the country upon which
Providence had thrust them. Peter had Marconied home, and home would
certainly Marconi back an invitation to Sea Gull Manor. As he had said
to Ena, he had pressed the button; she must do the rest. But he felt
now as if he would enjoy doing a great deal more for her than he had
yet done.
"And just what do you want to do in New York, Miss Child?" inquired
Miss Rolls, as they began slowly to pace the otherwise deserted deck.
"I have wild hopes of getting newspaper work of some sort through one
letter of introduction I have," answered Win, "or into a choir as
contralto from the other. If not--oh, well, every one says America's
the country for women."
"Yes, it is. We have splendid fun," Ena assured her. "The men are so
kind to us."
"I think they must be," Win agreed. "Mr. Rolls has been very kind. Are
all the rest like him?"
"I--suppose they have different ways of being kind--some of them. Some
may be _safer_ than others. I hardly know how to put it!"
"I think I understand."
"I--wonder if you do. Oh, Miss Child, I _wish_ I dared speak to you
frankly!"
When people begin thus there is invariably something disagreeable to
follow; but Winifred Child braced herself and said calmly: "Please
do."
"It's very difficult. I'm quite afraid of you."
"It's I who ought to be afraid of you."
"Don't be! I wish I could make you trust me. Can I?"
"Why not?"
"I'm throwing things at you so suddenly. But what else can I _do_? We
haven't much time. My brother'll come back and join us. And--it's
about him I want to speak. He's so--interested in you."
"That's very nice of him." Winifred's voice was as cold and bright as
a very small icicle.
"It ought to be! _But_--well, he's a dear brother and a splendid
fellow in many ways. I hate to say anything against him. Yet I'd hate
still more to have you--disappointed. His one fault is--he's rather
foolish about women, especially those not exactly in his own set. Do
you see what I mean? It's so hard for me! He said to-day he was going
to try to help you. That frightened me a little. I felt I must give
you this tiny warning, for Peter has such a _trustworthy_ air, hasn't
he?"
"Yes, indeed he has," answered Win, loyal still to Mr. Balm of Gilead,
_alias_ Peter Pan. But the night had grown colder.
"I'm his sister. I can't help feeling responsible for him. And, in a
way, I feel responsible for you, too, as it's through him I've met
you--and you'll be a stranger in our country. That's why I shouldn't
have _dared_ let this chance pass without speaking. Yet I keep
rambling on without the courage to say much."
"It isn't necessary to dot all the i's and cross the t's," returned
Winifred, trying not to let her voice be sharp or her tone bitter, for
she had to believe that this girl was sincere. A sister would not
blacken the character of a brother for the mere pleasure of hearing
herself talk!
"You do take this as I mean it, don't you?"
"I think so."
"Thank you _so_ much. It's very sweet and generous of you not to be
angry with me and think me a busybody meddling in other people's
business. But it _is_ my business to see that my brother doesn't hurt
a girl who trusts him--a stranger in a strange land. All I want you to
promise is that instead of letting _him_ help you, when he offers to,
as he's sure to do--if he hasn't already--you'll let _me_ do it."
"I'm hoping not to need help, except from the friends of my friend who
has given me introductions," Win justified her pride of womanhood.
"I don't suppose you will need anything else. You look as if you could
get along _anywhere_. But if you do need a push, promise you won't
accept favours from my brother, or let him come into your life at all.
It's entirely for your own sake I ask."
"I understand that, Miss Rolls. What other reason could there be?"
"There couldn't be any other. Do promise. I'm so frightened for you."
"I shall certainly accept no help from Mr. Rolls."
"That's good! It relieves my mind. And swear you won't let him dream
that I've said anything or interfered with his plans."
"His plans!"
"Well--when a man with Peter's _one_ fault offers to help a girl get
on in New York--Please don't be offended"
"I am not. Of course it goes without saying that I won't let him know
I've had a warning from you."
"He'd never speak to me again if you even gave him a hint."
"Don't be afraid. I won't; not the faintest. Why, we're landing
to-morrow morning early! There won't be a chance to say more than
'Good-bye.'"
"There's to-night, after I go in. He'll be back---"
"I'm going in, too. I shall go when you go."
"Perhaps it would be better. Oh, you don't know what a weight is off
my mind!"
"I'm glad it is gone."
"And you'll write to _me,_ won't you, and let me know how you get
along? Write just what you need. I'll be delighted---"
"If I need anything--thank you."
"My address is Sea Gull Manor, Old Chesterton, Long Island. Shall I
write it down?"
"No, please don't trouble. I can always remember addresses. You're
really very good--to take an interest. And--and I know it must have
been hard for you to--to feel you had to speak."
It was also hard, desperately hard, for Win to pay this tribute to
Miss Rolls's unselfish interest in her moral welfare. She tried to be
grateful, to feel that her late friend's sister had been brave and
fine and unconventional thus to defend a strange girl against one so
near. But despite reason's wise counsel, her heart was hot within her.
She felt like a heathen assured by an earnest missionary that her god
was a myth.
She disliked kind Miss Rolls intensely, and would have loved to let
loose upon her somewhat obtuse head the sarcasm of which at that
moment she felt herself a past mistress. She wanted to be rich and
important and have Miss Rolls, poor and suppliant, at her mercy.
Horrified, she saw by the searchlight of her own anger dark depths of
cruelty and revenge in her own nature. She longed to rush to Peter and
tell him everything, and believe in him again, for it was hard to lose
a friend--an ideal ewe-lamb of a friend. She wished she might wake up
in her overcrowded stateroom and find that this hateful conversation
had been a dream.
But she could not do any of these brutal, silly, or impossible things.
She was not dreaming. All was true. Miss Rolls had meant well, and Mr.
Balm of Gilead did not exist. He was only Peter Rolls, a rich, selfish
fellow who thought girls who had to work fair game. His sister must
know his true inwardness. Probably she had learned through unpleasant
hushed-up experiences, through seeing skeletons unfleshed by Peter
stalk into the family cupboard.
"You ungrateful beast, behave yourself!" Miss Child boxed the ears of
her sulky ego and shook it.
The throaty quiver in the blackbird voice of the dangerous golliwog
went vibrating through Miss Rolls's conscience in a really painful
way. She felt as if she had had a shock of electricity. But, thank
goodness, the worst was over, and now that she had grasped safety (for
instinct said that the girl would not betray), she could afford to be
generous.
She reminded herself that she had acted entirely in self-defence, not
through malice, and she had not told a single lie about Peter. She had
but said--in words--that some men were safer than others, which every
one knew to be true; that Peter was rather foolish about women (so he
was--ridiculously soft, not modern in his ideas at all!), and that it
would be better for the girl to accept help from her--Ena--than from a
young man. It was very good advice, and nothing Peter ought to be
angry about, even if he should ever hear--which, pray heaven, he might
not! As Ena reminded herself how wise and tactful she had been, a
faint glow stole into the chilly zone round her heart, just as you can
heat a cold foot by concentrating yourself on telling it that it is
warm.
"I want to be your _friend_," she went on sweetly. "Perhaps you aren't
very rich? As girl to girl, let me offer you a little, little
present--or a loan--a hundred dollars. I've got it with me---"
"Oh, thank you many times, but I couldn't possibly!" cried Win. "I
don't need it. I have lots of money."
"I'm glad--though I should have liked the pleasure," said Ena. And she
genuinely would, because the act of giving would have pumped warmth
into the cold place without waiting for time to change the
temperature.
"There's one thing you must let me do, anyhow," she persisted. "That
dress--the 'Blue Moon,' isn't it?--that you tried on and my brother
bought for me, I want you to accept it. Oh, don't say no! It's miles
too long for me" (she couldn't have brought herself to confess that it
was hopelessly small for waist and hips), "and I never enjoy altered
dresses--the style's lost. So you'll not be robbing me. If you won't
have it, I shall believe it's a sign that you're offended at my
interference."
Winifred thought for an instant and drew a long breath. "Then I must
take the dress," she said. "It's more than good of you, of course. I
shan't be in the kind of world where I can wear it, but---"
"Keep it to remember this evening--I mean, to remember me," Miss Rolls
hastily amended.
"I will," said Win simply. But there was no danger that she would ever
forget Miss Rolls--or her kindness.