Slowly, very slowly, Theodora was turning about in front of her mirror
to inspect her new suit. It was her nearest approach to that glory of
modern womankind, the tailor-made gown, and Theodora's face was
expressive of unmitigated approval. The dark green cloth suited her
complexion to perfection, the jacket was edged with fur, and the dark
green hat, rolled sharply upwards, framed her eager young face in a soft
setting of velvet and feathers. Theodora looked her best, and, like a
true daughter of Eve, she was perfectly aware of the fact. With the aid
of a hand-glass, she studied her right side, her left side, her back,
petulantly brushed away the heavy masses of her short hair, made sure
that Archie's pin showed its gleam at her throat; then she descended the
stairs in search of admiration.
She found Archie in the parlor, the symmetry of his face somewhat marred
by the patch of plaster on his right temple.
"How do you like it, Uncle Arch?" she demanded, clasping her hands and
revolving before him like a teetotum.
"It's good. You look warm and comfortable, and not a bit floppy," he
answered. "When do you go?"
"Friday. I'd much rather wait till Tuesday, and see you off; but beggars
mustn't be choosers, and it was lovely of Mrs. Farrington to ask me."
"You'll have a great time with them," Archie returned, privately
reflecting that Mrs. Farrington had no cause to be ashamed of her
charge. For the past three days, he had been devoting most of his spare
time to gentle Hope, yet he confessed to a hearty admiration for
off-hand, boyish Theodora, who had done so much to make his stay a
pleasant one. "Going to write to me, Ted?" he added persuasively.
"I don't know. What for?"
"To tell me the gossip, of course. When a fellow is away in camp, it's
good to get letters from friends at home." Archie's tone was charged
with the sentimentality of his years. He was sorry to turn his back upon
civilization once more, sorry to lose touch with his adopted nieces;
and, above all, most humanly sorry to find that Theodora was taking his
approaching departure in such a philosophical spirit.
"Oh, I'd just as soon write, if you want me to," she answered, while she
settled her collar and gave a feminine tweak to her sleeves; "only I
don't see the use of it. Mamma will be sure to write, and there's no use
wasting stamps in telling you the news twice over."
Assuredly Theodora was not inclined to sentiment, and Archie strolled
away to Hope, in search of appreciation, just as Phebe bounced into the
room. At sight of Theodora's new gown, she halted abruptly.
"I suppose you think you look pretty well," she said crushingly.
"Well, yes, I do," Theodora replied, with feigned indifference, for she
always shrank from Phebe's criticism. "How do you like it?"
Phebe walked around her and inspected her from top to toe with provoking
deliberation.
"It wouldn't be so bad," she remarked at length. "The coat isn't quite
right in the back, somehow; and isn't your hat a little mite one-sided?"
"Oh, Babe, I wish anything ever suited you," Theodora broke out
impatiently. "You always find something wrong somewhere."
But Phebe rebuked her.
"Now, don't get cross, Teddy. Mrs. Farrington won't think you're a good
companion for Billy, if you are as cross as that."
"Companion?"
"Yes. Of course she wouldn't have taken you to New York, if she hadn't
wanted somebody to take care of Billy when she was busy."
Phebe had a genius for aiming her shafts which was far in advance of her
years. Theodora winced; then she turned to her little sister with a sort
of fierceness.
"Who said so?" she demanded.
"I say so," Phebe returned calmly, as she settled herself on the sofa;
"and so does Isabel St. John."
Theodora's exasperation reached a climax.
"If you two children don't stop talking over my affairs, I'll tell
papa," she said in impotent rage, for the McAlister code of honor
scorned brute force, and she dared not give her young sister the shaking
she so richly deserved.
"Tattle-tale!" Phebe replied in brief derision.
Theodora fled to her room, for she felt that she was no match for her
composed young adversary. Hope found her, an hour later, sitting in a
heap on the side of her bed.
"Don't mind, dear," she said gently. "I knew Babe had been saying
something hateful; but it's only her way. Mrs. Farrington wants you to
have a good time, and I'm so glad you are going. Three weeks in New York
will be good for you, and you will see ever so much. Just think how
lonely we are going to be without you and Archie!" Her voice broke a
little.
Theodora kissed her impulsively.
"Truly, are you going to miss me so much, Hope? I'll stay at home, if
you will. I really shouldn't mind."
"Of course we shall miss you, Ted, you and Archie both. Hu and I are
going to be forlorn and dull enough; but that's no reason you are to
stay here, and lose such a chance. Archie has asked me to write to him,"
she added a little inconsequently.
Not even Phebe's cutting remarks could blunt the edge of Theodora's
happiness, three days later, as she went gliding into the vast babel of
the Grand Central Station. It had been her first real journey; it was
her first sight of New York, that Mecca of all true and loyal Americans,
and she gave a little gasp of sheer delight while she followed Mrs.
Farrington from the car and turned to wait for Patrick and Billy. She
watched it all with open-eyed content, the uniformed porters, the throng
of hungry-looking cabmen, the comfortable carriage, and the broad,
crowded streets through which they drove to reach the hotel. The hotel
itself completed her satisfaction. Mrs. Farrington liked luxury, both
for herself and for the sake of her invalid son, and Theodora could not
wonder enough at the greatness and glitter of it all, the halls and
parlors, the huge dining-room and their own cosy suite of rooms near by.
Strange to say, after the first night, she was quite at her ease, and
settled into her luxurious surroundings with an apparent unconsciousness
which was as gratifying to Mrs. Farrington as it was amusing.
It was all old ground to Mrs. Farrington and Billy; but they enjoyed
exploring the city with their eager young guest, who revelled in it with
all the enthusiasm of her years. Wherever a carriage could go, wherever
the faithful Patrick could help his young master, there they went, until
Theodora, with the aid of her well-studied map, knew the city from the
Battery to the fastnesses of Harlem. It seemed to the young girl that
the ordinary laws of time and space had been suspended, and that she was
living in a gilded fairyland which would continue till the end of days.
There was even one wonderful evening when Theodora, in a fresh, light
gown which had mysteriously appeared from one of Mrs. Farrington's
trunks, and Billy, in a brand-new suit and immaculate tie, went with
Mrs. Farrington to hear Calvé and the De Reszkés sing _Carmen_. After
that, the rest was rather of the nature of an anticlimax, and Theodora
spent the next day in a grove of paper, transporting Marianne and Violet
to the Metropolitan Opera House in a blaze of diamonds and yards of
white silk gowns.
On the following morning, she was still deep in this pleasant task. The
rain was sweeping against the windows; yet, in imagination, Violet was
cantering through one of the bridle paths in the Park, with Gerald at
her side, when Mrs. Farrington came into the room.
"May I interrupt you, Teddy?" she asked, with the gentle courtesy which
made Theodora feel so grown-up and elegant.
Theodora threw aside her pen.
"What is it?" she asked with alacrity.
"Nothing very pleasant, for I shall have to send you out in this storm.
I've just taken Will down to Joe Everard's to spend the morning, and I
promised to call for him, this noon. When I came back, I found a note
from Mrs. Keith, asking me to come to lunch, to meet one of our
California cousins. Do you feel as if you could go down in the carriage
and come back with Will? I hate to have him alone, in case anything
happens."
Theodora laughed contentedly.
"What an idea! Of course I'll go. I always love to drive, you know.
Where's the place?"
"Away down town, near Washington Square. You'd better go right down
Fifth Avenue. I'll dress, then, and go to Mrs. Keith's; and then send
the carriage back for you, if you'll be ready."
Theodora went back to her writing, and the moments slid away only too
rapidly. Whatever was the result of her labors, she enjoyed them keenly.
All through the winter, though Phebe scolded and Allyn teased and the
world about her went awry, she had been able to forget it all in the
adventures of her imaginary friends, the tale of whose doings had come
to be bulky and dog's-eared from frequent readings. She was still busy
over her work, when Patrick came to the door.
"The carriage is here, Miss Theodora."
She quickly put on her hat and coat. Patrick banged the carriage door
behind her and mounted the box beside the driver, and they drove away.
It was the first time she had driven out in solitary splendor, and
Theodora felt very dignified and luxurious as she leaned back on the
cushions and idly watched the passing show which had grown so familiar
to her during the past two weeks. When they came to the lower end of the
Avenue, she sat up in quick attention, for she was passing window after
window full of books spread out in enticing array, and above the
doorways she read on the gilded signs the names which she had learned to
know were on the titlepages of the books within. At the sight, there
came into her mind a sudden recollection of her well-worn manuscript at
home, and of the tales she had read of young writers who had made their
way into the publisher's presence.
With an impulsive movement, she tapped sharply on the window.
"Stop, please," she said. "On this side."
Obediently the driver drew up opposite the doorway of a firm of
international fame, and Theodora, secure in the consciousness of her new
gown and the unwonted luxury of the carriage and Patrick, entered the
store. It was a dreary day of a dull season, and with comparatively
little trouble she found herself in a quiet office on the third floor of
the building. Its occupant, a tall, thin man with iron-gray hair, looked
up at her approach, and a slight expression of wonder came into his eyes
as they rested on his girlish visitor.
"What can I do for you?" he asked courteously.
Theodora was breathing a little quickly, and the bright color came and
went in her cheeks. All unconsciously, she was looking her very best.
"I came to ask you about publishing a book."
"Mm. Is it one you have written?"
"Yes."