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ELSIE MARLEY
by
JOSLYN GRAY
Author of "Kathleen's Probation"
Illustrated
[Frontispiece: Elsie . . . repeated the performance in a manner that
was only the more captivating.]
New York
Charles Scribner's Sons
Copyright, 1918, by
Charles Scribner's Sons
TO
MARY BULLIONS GRAY ANDERSON
ILLUSTRATIONS
Elsie . . . repeated the performance in a manner that was only the more
captivating . . . . . . _Frontispiece_
"Well, I mustn't stay here and keep you from 'redding' up your kitchen,
as you call it"
"You and I will do better with checks, Elsie, though Aunt Milly will
have none of them," he remarked
"Well, Elsie, we know the whole story now"
ELSIE MARLEY, HONEY
CHAPTER I
Mrs. Bennet, her travelling companion from San Francisco, having proved
to be talkative and uninteresting, Elsie Marley was more than content
to find herself alone after the change had been made and her train
pulled out of Chicago. It was characteristic of the girl that she did
not even look out of the window to see the last of Mrs. Bennet, who,
having waited on the platform until the train started and waved her
handkerchief in vain, betook herself indignantly to her carriage.
Quite unaware of any remissness on her part, Elsie settled herself
comfortably--Mrs. Bennet had disposed of her luggage--folded her hands
in her lap, and gazed idly out the window opposite.
A pale, colorless girl, the simplicity of her dress was in almost too
great contrast with its elegance--a contrived simplicity that left no
room for any trace of careless youth or girlishness. Slender and
rather delicate-looking, she had brown eyes, regular features, and
soft, light-brown hair waving loosely about her face and hanging in two
long, demure curls from a shell clasp at her neck. But her eyes were
of rather a shallow brown, her brows and lashes still lighter; her
features were almost too regular, and her skin, though soft and clear,
was quite colorless. Even so, she might have been pretty, perhaps
lovely, had she possessed any animation. But the girl's face and even
her eyes were as nearly expressionless as human features may be. She
was like a superior sort of doll with white cheeks in lieu of red.
After a little she opened a small leather satchel, took out a letter,
and perused it attentively. It was the last she had received from her
guardian and only living relative, Cousin Julia Pritchard, and, as she
was to see her soon, it behooved her to prepare herself so far as she
might for that occasion. For Elsie Marley realized, though dimly, that
she was to encounter a personality unlike any with which she had come
in contact in all her sheltered, luxurious life.
"My dear Elsie," the letter ran, "I find myself very much pleased at
the thought of having you with me. The heart of a woman of fifty
cannot but rejoice in anticipation of the company of a young girl with
the ideals, the vigor, and buoyancy of sixteen. And since we are both
alone in the world, you representing all my kith and kin as I believe
myself to represent all yours, it is only fitting that we should be
together instead of being separated by the breadth of our great
American continent.
"You will, I am sure, like this great, busy, restless, humming city,
though the only home I have to offer you, I am truly sorry to say, is
in a boarding-house, comfortable though it is. Remembering Aunt
Ellen's beautiful home in California, which I visited fifteen years
ago, I fear the change may be difficult, though, for a young person,
not too painfully so, I trust. A boarding-house is the only home I
have myself known for thirty years, and this particular one is
excellent and full of interesting people, though the youngest among
them are middle-aged.
"I am, I repeat, happy to say that I can give you a home here and
clothe you suitably. That will release your income, which can be put
to any use which we may decide upon after consultation together. Your
lawyer tells me that you are through school, and neither you nor he
speak of any desire on your part to go to college. I suppose, however,
like most young girls, you will wish to take up some study or
occupation to fit yourself to become self-supporting or to be useful to
the world in some definite manner. I heartily sympathize with such an
aim, having worked since my eighteenth year myself, and shall be
cordially interested in helping you either to plan or to carry out a
future for yourself."
Here Elsie broke off. Cousin Julia was certainly absurd! She had
always been regarded, indeed, by the California Pritchards as a
singular, eccentric person, rather wanting in refinement and careless
of social amenities--one from whom they were quite content to be
separated by the "breadth of our great American continent." She had
taken after her mother, who came from Nebraska--or some such place--and
the family had considered it a pity that she should have been and
remained Pritchard by name, particularly since Elsie herself, Pritchard
of Pritchards, had to go by the name Marley.
Still the girl's smooth brow did not contract. In any event, she said
to herself, after Cousin Julia had seen her, it wasn't likely that she
would suggest that she go out and earn her living. And as for her
future, which the letter mentioned--why, her future was of course far
ahead. Elsie had rather taken it for granted that she should marry
when the proper time came, as girls did in books, as her grandmother
and mother had done, and as Aunt Ellen would have done had she not been
so frail. Once it had even occurred to her that it would be rather
appropriate if she should marry some one named Pritchard, though she
realized that to be only a remote possibility. In any event, she
didn't know why going to New York should necessarily make any essential
difference in her future, and she was thankful that she hadn't to
consider it for some years yet. Meantime, the boarding-house
confronted her.
Very likely, however, she could endure even that. She knew it would be
comfortable, so far as that went, and she needn't mingle with the other
people. She could have a piano and continue her lessons, and she might
study vocal music. She could buy books and attend concerts and perhaps
even the theatre and opera. She could go alone in a carriage to
matinée performances, and quite likely there would be some reduced
gentlewoman living at the boarding-house who might be glad of the
chance to accompany her as chaperon in the evenings.
For Elsie took it for granted that Cousin Julia wouldn't care for the
sort of things she was accustomed to any more than she herself would be
interested to go about with her. Somehow the girl felt that Miss
Pritchard would be devoted to vaudeville and even moving pictures--she
might even refer to the latter as "movies"! Of course, that was the
worst of the whole situation--Cousin Julia herself! For, no matter how
singular or even coarse she might be, Elsie had to live with her and to
put up with a certain amount of her society.
That would be very difficult; still, even now, the girl seemed to see
wide spaces between. Except for Sundays and evenings when neither of
them went out, she wouldn't have to see a great deal of the older
woman. She might have to dine with her every night, but, as she worked
in a business office, she probably wouldn't be home to lunch, and of
course Elsie would have her breakfast in her room. Sunday might be
long and boring, but, whatever Cousin Julia's ideas might be, Elsie
would always insist upon going to service, and that would occupy a part
of the day.
An hour had passed since Mrs. Bennet had left Elsie Marley. As she
returned the letter to the satchel she became aware that the train was
at a standstill and not before a station. Indeed, there was not a
building in sight: only a dreary waste of sunburnt prairie-grass
extended flatly to the glare of the burning horizon. She looked about
wonderingly, vaguely aware that they must already have waited some time.
Her gaze included the rear of the car and emboldened a young girl who
had been watching her longingly a great part of the way from San
Francisco, to act upon her desire. Immediately she donned a coquettish
little red hat and linen top-coat, and made her way to the other girl's
seat.
"Don't you want to come out and walk a little?" she asked in a
singularly sweet, eager voice. "There's a hot-box, or some such thing,
and they say it'll be an hour more before we get away. It might seem
good to stretch our legs on the prairie yonder?"
Elsie Marley didn't care at all to go. Indeed, she didn't wish to make
the acquaintance of this conspicuous-looking girl with her dark hair
cut square about her ears who had travelled alone all the way from San
Francisco and seemed to know every one in the car. If she should give
her any encouragement, no doubt she would hang about her all the rest
of the way. She excused herself coldly.
"Oh, please do, please come for just a wee turn," urged the other,
smiling and displaying a pair of marvellous dimples. And Elsie Marley
surprised herself by yielding. Possibly she was too indolent to hold
out; perhaps she felt something in the stranger that wouldn't take no
for an answer, and didn't care to struggle against it. Again, she may
have felt, dimly and against her will, something of the real charm of
the other. However that was, she yielded listlessly, put on her neat
sailor hat reluctantly, drew on the jacket of her severe and elegant
dark-blue suit, and followed the stranger slowly from the car.