A WARNING
It was the morning after the departure of Mrs. Burton and her guests and
three days before the arrival of Ralph. Marshall for his visit at the
farm house on the Aisne.
Having completed her work downstairs, Sally Ashton had hurried up to her
bedroom where at present she was making little nervous preparations as
if intending to go outdoors and anxious not to be observed.
There was no reason why she should feel alarmed. So far as she knew,
every member of her household was occupied with the day's work. From the
schoolroom below she could hear the voices of the children singing a
little French chanson, and now and then one of the older girls either
asking a question or reciting. Alice Ashton and Bettina Graham, Marta
Clark and Yvonne Fleury were engaged with their pupils.
An hour before Peggy and Vera had driven off in the motor with Mary
Gilchrist, since Mary had promised to transport a number of wounded
soldiers from a train to a nearby convalescent hospital, and was
uncertain whether she would find anyone at the railroad station to help.
Therefore she had asked the two girls to accompany her. Peggy also
desired to mail a letter to Ralph Marshall which might reach him before
he started upon his journey.
Always Aunt Patricia was occupied outdoors from breakfast until lunch
time. So in spite of the fact that Sally Ashton showed a degree of
suppressed excitement both in her manner and appearance, there would
seem to have been no apparent excuse. A certain timorousness once wholly
unlike her, lately had appeared in Sally's attitude.
She also had grown thinner and her big golden brown eyes had lost their
sleepy expression and acquired an anxious appeal. The lines about her
full, rather pouting lips were strained and apprehensive.
Having at the moment pulled a small traveling bag down from a shelf
overhead and allowed it to fall on the floor, Sally did not hear the
swift opening and closing of her bedroom door. Therefore, when she had
secured her bag and was straightening up, she gave an exclamation of
surprise on discovering her sister standing within a few feet of her.
Except that she was handsomer, Alice looked very like her mother, the
Esther of the first Camp Fire days, yet she and Sally bore no possible
resemblance to each other either in disposition or appearance.
Alice was tall and slender, with a grave, severe air. She wore her dark
red hair parted and bound about the back of her head in a heavy braid.
She was a little angular. There was a suggestion that unless life dealt
generously with her, granting her the gifts which make for tenderness
and softness in a woman's nature, she might in time have the appearance
one is supposed to associate with an old maid. However, old maids are as
unlike as the rest of the human species.
Certainly at the present moment her expression was austere, although
uneasy and distressed as well.
"What are you doing, Sally?" she inquired, her voice gentle and
solicitous, yet observing that a wave of color had swept over Sally's
face even before she had spoken.
The next moment Sally flung her bag down on the floor again, answering
petulantly:
"What am I doing? Well, really, Alice, I do not see what difference it
makes to you, or why you should slip into our room so quietly that you
frightened me. As a matter of fact, I got down my traveling bag
to--to----" Sally's voice trailed off helplessly for an instant. The
next instant, gathering force, she repeated: "I pulled down my bag
because I wished to store away some odds and ends which I wish to keep
safely."
Then losing her temper in a most suspicious fashion, suddenly Sally
stamped her foot as if she were an angry child and at the same time her
eyes grew unexpectedly dark and lovely.
"That is not what you came into this room to announce to me, Alice. So
please say whatever it is you wish and be through. I am going out for a
little walk before lunch." In any event Sally was no coward!
"Then sit down. You do not look very well and I am afraid you won't like
what I must say," Alice returned. "Understand, it gives me no pleasure;
instead, I am tremendously worried and unhappy. I suppose I should have
talked the situation over with Tante before she went away, but I knew it
would interfere with her trip and so avoided troubling her."
In answer to her sister's suggestion Sally seated herself upon a tall,
old-fashioned wooden chair, so that only her toes were able to reach the
ground. All at once she had felt as if she would be more comfortable
seated. It was not because of Alice's suggestion that she had agreed,
but because of a sudden sensation of weariness, almost of physical
weakness, although this last idea seemed absurd.
Yet somehow Sally appeared so like a tired and rebellious child that her
sister found it difficult to continue their conversation. However, she
must introduce the accusation she had been schooling herself to make
before entering the room.
"Is there anything you would like to talk to me about, Sally? Outside
our daily life and work here at the farm is there anything which has
been interesting you recently and which you have preferred not to
mention to anybody?" Alice inquired gently, her voice shaken by her
effort to hide her concern, while a fine line appeared between her level
brows.
Pretending to be bored rather than affected in any other fashion by her
sister's speech, first Sally shrugged her shoulders. Then making a
pretence of yawning, she placed her fingers lightly over her lips.
"Really, Alice, what on earth is troubling you in connection with me?
Have you had me on your conscience more than usual recently? Can't you
ever get over your unattractive habit of treating me as if I were a
refractory pupil and you an offended schoolmarm? In spite of being born
in New England, there is no reason to affect this pose, as it is
unnecessary and I think most unbecoming."
Sally's manner was a little too self-assured, but otherwise she appeared
as enigmatic as an accomplished actress. Gazing at her earnestly, there
was nothing in her expression at present to suggest any emotion save a
natural annoyance at being catechized.
But Alice was not deceived.
"Please don't assume such an air of offended virtue, Sally. You are far
too fond of employing it when anyone reproaches you," Alice continued,
but really too sincerely disturbed to feel angered by her sister's
behavior. "Evidently you do not wish to confide in me, so I suppose
there is no use wasting either your time or mine. For the past two
weeks--I don't know the exact length of time, although you are aware of
it, Sally--you have been disappearing from the farm almost every day. At
first I did not notice. You seem to have been careful that neither Aunt
Patricia, nor Tante, nor I should know. And you have been clever. But
you could not escape everybody's observation and the other Camp Fire
girls have seen you and been puzzled and at last worried to guess what
you could be doing. You need not ask who the girls were; I shall not
tell you. But finally several of them felt compelled to speak to me and
to suggest that I ask your confidence. Oh, don't pretend you think you
have been spied upon and badly treated. You know, Sally, that unless the
girls cared for you they would not have troubled? But we have lived
almost as one family and our interests are bound together. Do tell me
what you have been doing, dear? What has taken you away from home so
many times alone? I have been watching you myself recently. When I came
into our room only a few minutes ago you were preparing to slip away."
Sally was biting her lips and had lost her childish look.
"This is not a criminal court, Alice; neither are you the public
prosecutor. As a matter of fact, I refuse to answer your questions or to
gratify either your curiosity or the curiosity of the Camp Fire girls.
What I have been doing has harmed no one; at least I do not think it
has, and I have not always been alone. Old Jean has been with me much of
the time and has helped in every way. But by the time Tante returns I
think I shall be free to tell her everything. Can't you trust me until
then?"
Sally's voice and manner had suddenly changed from bravado to pleading,
but Alice was too angry and too frightened to be influenced. Moreover,
she was suffering from a frequent elderly sister attitude. She felt
herself called upon not only to examine Sally in regard to her
proceedings but to condemn her without any real evidence.
"Very well, Sally, unless you decide to confide in me immediately I
shall be obliged to speak to Aunt Patricia."
At the conclusion of this speech Alice beheld in her sister's face the
expression of sheer unrelenting obstinacy in which Sally was an adept.
It was a contradiction to her pretty softness, her indolent manner and
even to the elusive dimple which recently had vanished.
"I also warn you, Sally, that I intend to watch you and find out your
proceedings for myself. In truth, I am frightened about you. If only
Tante were here she could influence you, but Aunt Patricia will only
become bitterly angry. I confess I don't know what she will say or do
when she learns that I have no choice but to tell her."
If Alice Ashton had one characteristic which predominated over all
others, it was a fine sense of honor, a high ideal of personal
integrity.
As a matter of fact, she had never demanded the same standards from
Sally she had asked of herself. It was a family custom to regard her
younger sister as a person chiefly to be gratified and adored. Yet it
had never occurred to Alice that Sally could fail in any essential thing
such as straightforwardness and sincerity.
"I don't like to speak to you, Sally, or even to suggest the idea, but I
am afraid a few of the girls may be criticizing what you are doing in a
fashion you can scarcely imagine. They do not speak before me, but I can
hardly fail to guess what they are thinking from their manner. Sally,
can't you realize that we are in a foreign country where the language,
the customs, the ideas are not like ours? Even if what you are doing
might not be considered wrong at home, can't you see that here in France
you may be misunderstood? Please confide in me dear. You promised----"
But Sally's soft shoulders stiffened in resistance.
"Evidently you do not trust me yourself, Alice, and naturally your
opinion is more important to me than anyone's else. Yet when one has
lived with the same people a long time one does expect a certain amount
of faith and understanding. I am sorry, for I cannot tell you what you
wish to know at present. I may be able to in a very few days, if you
will be good enough to wait and not speak to Aunt Patricia. It is hardly
worth while to make a difficulty between us! Personally I am glad Tante
_is_ away; at least, I am glad she is away today, since it would
have been more difficult to refuse my confidence to her than to any one
else. But I shall regret it if I am able to make my confession before
her return. She at least would have tried to believe I have not intended
to do anything wrong. Now please leave me alone, Alice. You were right,
I am going out on an important errand. You need not worry over my going
alone this time, because old Jean has promised to go with me as soon as
he is free and I shall wait for him."
Then, although Alice lingered for several moments longer, when Sally
would neither speak to her, nor look at her, she slowly left the room.
Afterwards when Alice had disappeared Sally's pretence of courage
vanished and she sat with her hands clasped tightly together while the
tears ran down her face.
All very well to pretend to Alice that she was convinced she had been
doing no wrong. But was this true? In the end would she not have to pay
dearly in the continuing condemnation and distrust of her friends? When
her confession was finally made, would they even then understand and
forgive her?