CONSIDERING VARIOUS THINGS
In the whirl of events it is not to be supposed that Ann forgot home
affairs. Sometimes, when lights were out and she composed herself for
the night, she had a sudden pang of homesickness. Once some noise
wakened her in the middle of the night and she blushed in the darkness
to think of how prudishly she had talked to Maurice on one occasion.
“What must he think of me!” she thought. Yet there was an impulsiveness
about Maurice that warranted caution. She did like him very, very much,
and had appreciated the real affection with which he had received
her into the family circle. As she lay awake, unable to fall asleep
again for some time, she fancied them all there at her grandmother’s
home. How was her mother enjoying it? It was not likely that she would
let Ann know details, if they were annoying. How were Grandmother’s
business affairs coming on? Would Aunt Sue and Uncle Tyson really take
advantage of her confidence? Grandmother was pretty wide awake about
things now.
Then she pictured her father in Montana,--so far, far away! It was
hard on him to have Mother gone. She wondered if she would ever hear
again from the old Indian, Never-Run, and her hand stole under her
pillow to a small silk bag which her mother had made her. In this,
unless she forgot it, she put the curious bracelet Never-Run had given
her, together with certain precious mementos, the pretty jewelry that
she had received from her grandmother at different times, and often
what cash she had on hand. It was convenient for burglars, but also
handy to swing on her arm during fire drill, which might or might not
be the real thing. Her little ruby and diamond ring she usually wore,
as well as her wrist watch. “It must be nearly morning,” she thought
at last, after tossing for what seemed hours; but she had forgotten
to put her flashlight under her pillow and was afraid to waken Marta
by getting up. Finally she began to doze, and after a wild dream in
which she and Maurice were dashing along a narrow mountain road, with
Clifford on “Clipper” after them and calling to them to stop, she fell
sound asleep.
* * * * *
The Beta Alpha Taus were pretty well satisfied with the results of
their “rushing” season. There were a few disappointments, to be sure,
for other sororities were after some of the same girls. But they added
a small number of desirable and attractive Forest Hill girls, including
the new junior that liked Ann. Alice said, with some satisfaction,
that they “had enough” and their share. The Owls, too, employed their
activities in securing new members. Ann said that they scarcely had
time to work at what they were supposed to come to school for, until
sorority and society matters were settled. Fortunately, that was always
done early; then the girls settled down to work with a better grace.
Ann and Marta congratulated themselves on their own good opportunity;
for while their suite was often full of girls and gradually was
becoming a central meeting place for Owls and Bats, according to
Eleanor, who was herself an Owl, their study hours were quiet. They
spread out their belongings all over the suite, till Marta said she
hardly knew how they would “condense,” in case Miss Tudor sent some one
to share it with them. But the weeks flew on to the middle of the term
and they had not been disturbed.
Meanwhile, Madeline and Suzanne had effected a truce, spoke to each
other and were able to meet in functions of the Sigma Epsilons without
indulging in any side flings of unpleasantness. Genevieve, also,
was able to acknowledge Eleanor’s presence by cool bows. This state
of things had been brought about through sister Sigs, who told both
Madeline and Genevieve that it would not do, and urged Suzanne and
Eleanor to apologize. This Ann learned through Aline and Eleanor. It
helped the situation marvelously, said Aline, that Miss Tudor had
removed the temporary suite-mate whom Genevieve and Madeline did not
like, and filled the suite by placing there two new girls, a “wee bit”
flashy in appearance, but more sensible than Genevieve or Madeline.
One of the girls was the daughter of a millionaire, by report, and
Genevieve, with superior airs, let it be understood that the personnel
of the suite was perfectly satisfactory and much superior to what it
would have been had Eleanor and Suzanne remained. This, of course, was
not put in so many words, merely implied. But it reached Eleanor, who
shrugged her shoulders and passed it on to Suzanne, always delighted
to have the least of confidences from Eleanor. The new girls with
Genevieve and Madeline were taken into the same sorority, though late
in the term.
In spite of Ann’s best efforts, she could not get in any extra practice
hours, as she had intended. The literary work, which she was too proud
to neglect, took up the greater part of her time. Outside of her
regular practice period, however, there were occasions on which she
accompanied the girls, either Eleanor or Lora, or found a few minutes
in between to practice on some solo for a society meeting. Her teacher
said that she was advancing, which was encouraging, but it did not
satisfy Ann’s ambition. She almost envied Marta, who was making the
music course her particular object; but she knew that her parents
would not hear to her dropping out of the regular course.
“The trouble with me, Marta,” she said, “is that I am too divided up. I
can’t pursue one thing, like you.”
“Don’t worry, Ann. You will have a fine foundation for ’most anything
later on and your fingers are gifted. I’ve got to get something as
quickly as possible, for I’m going to make most of my income when I get
out of college. So I propose to make it doing what I like best.”
Mr. Sterling wrote to his daughter occasionally, from Montana, where he
was, as usual, busily employed with ranch affairs and other matters.
But it was from her mother that Ann learned the most about her father’s
doings.
Maurice wrote one gay letter toward the beginning of the term, with
no reference to anything discussed between them. He signed himself,
however, “Yours, in spite of discouragements.”
Clifford Hart wrote several interesting letters, chiefly about school
matters, though he urged her to take good care of herself and not to
forget her Montana friends or the good old days. From Kendall Gordon,
who took such a fancy to Ann during the summer, she received more
than one carefully written message, more formal than those from Cliff
and Maurice, yet expressing considerable interest in Ann and her
surroundings. Ann was grown up, she thought sometimes. She heard from
Inga and Hilda, her two partly Swedish girl friends. Greta was too busy
to write, she supposed. Inga was going to school again. Poor Inga, so
gifted, so tied! Grandmother had expressed an interest in Inga. Ann
wondered if Grandmother could not have done something for Inga. But
home and duty came first, she supposed. Perhaps some day Inga would
have an opportunity to develop that wonderful voice.
One afternoon her thoughts had been turned upon home affairs, as she
lay resting upon their couch in the central study. Marta was away
practicing. Ann had just returned from her last class after a full day.
There was plenty of time to get ready for dinner and she was too lazy
to study before that. Stretched out, she almost dozed off, when Eleanor
tapped and came in.
“For once!” exclaimed Eleanor. “For once, I do not find you
studying--are you sick?”
Ann laughed and rubbed her eyes. “Not a bit of it! ‘Sick’ because I
was not studying? I didn’t know that I had such a terrible reputation
as that. But I have had to dig in a good deal between times of society
rushing, banquets, feasts, and one thing or another. How do you like
being president of the sophomore class?”
“It is not a very hard duty,--but I am surprised over it.”
“Reward of merit,” laughed Ann.
“I think that you had a hand in it, in spite of what I said to you.”
“Maybe I did; but, of course, if we could have elected a Bat,----” Ann
lifted her brows and left it there.
“I didn’t work for it, Ann.”
“I know you didn’t, but some of the rest of us did. We had had a Bat
the freshman year, and it was only fair, besides, we wanted a girl like
you, and so it happened. Honestly, Eleanor, I wouldn’t have believed
the first of last year that you and I would ever be friends like this;
would you?”
“No, Ann, but we are never going to stop being friends, I hope.”
“Not a bit of it. You’ll come out to Montana next summer, won’t you?”
“I will if I can. Couldn’t you and Suzanne come to our place this year
some time, say the spring vacation?”
“It would be lovely, Eleanor, but I suppose that our plans are too
indefinite to make any definite ones for me.”
“By the way, what I came in for was to bring you a letter from your
mother, I suppose. The mail was just being put in our boxes as I came
away and Marta gave me this for you. She said that she was going off
somewhere, I’ve forgotten where, with Ethel Johns, and would not be
back till just before dinner.” Eleanor opened one of two books which
she had been carrying and took out the letter, which she handed to Ann.
“Thanks, Eleanor,--but you are not going, are you? I’m in no hurry to
read the letter.”
“I can’t stay this time. Take another nap. I’m afraid I wakened you.”
After Eleanor left, Ann raised the curtain a little and stretched out
again, tearing open the end of the letter. It was a good fat one, such
as she loved to get from her mother.
“Dearest Daughter,” she read. “Forgive me for making you wait a little
longer than usual for your letter from me. There have been so many
things going on, and you know that Mother wants me with her a great
deal. We are making up for lost time. I think that Mother has rather
overdone the having company for me. She is tired and Sue gloats a
little over the fact, I think,--not that I would accuse her of wanting
Mother to be ill, but it proves, you see, that her pretended concern
about Mother’s health is right.”
Ann was surprised at her mother’s plain speaking, but since the
denouement in regard to many things at Grandmother’s, her mother had
broken over her long reserve with Ann. Rapidly Ann read on.
“We have about finished entertaining the ‘country-side,’ village and
town, I think, and I am glad. To be sure, we shall be entertained in
turn and have already received many invitations. But Mother need not
go unless she desires. Sue goes right along with me and so far as I can
see, has accepted the situation. She seems to have recovered from her
chagrin at the failure of her plans and matters move as usual. I told
you, I think, that Mother lets her continue to direct the household.
“There are some arguments between her and Mother, who is then tired,
indeed. Sue is disappointed at not being able to persuade Mother to the
trip abroad and is putting obstacles in the way of the Florida trip.
Why this should be so I can not see; for she would enjoy the trip.
Mother tells me privately that if there is much more of it, she will
simply arrange to go with your father and me, and let the rest do what
they please and entirely at their own expense. In that case, my dear,
you will not be too much disappointed, I hope, if you do not accompany
us, after our Christmas all together at your grandmother’s. Oh,
yes,--Sue wants to take the whole party, maids and all, to one of the
most expensive hotels at Palm Beach. Mother thinks that the business
this year scarcely warrants that expense and prefers a more quiet spot,
perhaps an apartment, though she is willing to take a house somewhere,
close this one except for one or two servants, and take the whole
outfit down. Privately, I think that this would entail as much expense
as the other. But I am out of the way of many things that once I would
have felt were natural enough.
“I tell you this that you may understand the situation. What Mother
decides I do not much care, just so she is not worn out with argument,
which is worse than entertaining. I see clearly why Mother let so much
slip into your Aunt Sue’s hands. It was easier than the continual
fretting. Your Uncle Tyson looks worried, except in the presence of
Mother. Maurice has made a flying trip home and back to school again.
I do not know what brought him, perhaps nothing special, but he had
several conversations with his father which were rather argumentative,
I thought, not being able to get beyond the sound of their voices as we
sat in the drawing room.
“Do not think from all this that I am leading a worried existence
myself. As was the case with you last year, I am trying to grasp the
situation the best I can, in the hope of being able to protect Mother
from any unhappiness. I have enjoyed meeting my old friends, and the
most of the time passes pleasantly. The Bentleys are over often, and
from Maurice I understand that he and Ronald are intimate, which is a
good thing for Maurice, I judge. Maurice is very much of a gentleman
with his ‘long-lost aunt,’ as he calls me. I like the boy very much and
hope that he will finish his senior year with some honors, though I
fear me that he is not much of a student.
“Madge and Roy talk of you a good deal. I see them every day for a
time. Mother, indeed, asked me to take a little interest there, if I
could without offending or interfering with Sue. The governess has
little control and is far from being a good person to be in charge.”
This was all of the letter which pertained to the LeRoy family. With a
little Montana news and private messages for Ann, the letter closed.
“Hum,” said Ann. “I wonder if I’d better tell Suzanne that Florida may
be only a bright dream for us. No,--I’d better not bring Suzanne’s
possible complaints into it.”