St. Thomas, and Charlotte Amalia, the little town for which I was
named, looked so lovely when we landed early this morning that I felt
a positive thrill of pride.
This halfway house of the sea, this gateway of the Caribbean, as it
has been picturesquely called, seemed, as Dolly and I climbed the
hills and the stone stairways, to materialize into a birthplace
instead of a vague dream. A year ago, with the _Dannebrog_, the
scarlet, white-crossed banner of Denmark, floating over the red Danish
fortress on the water-front, I might have felt an alien, but the Stars
and Stripes made me feel at home and I could only remember that my
father and mother met and loved each other in this little Paradise,
and that when I was born there they were the two happiest people under
the sun. If they could have seen their daughter saluting the American
flag so near the very spot in which she first saw the light, they
would have been comforted, I am sure, instead of repining that they
had both been taken away when she most needed their love and
protection.
Such a view from Diana's deck as we crept into the wonderful harbor! A
background of towering green hills and a dazzling blue of velvet sky
and crystal sea, like that of Algiers, greeted our enchanted gaze!
Like some of the coast towns of Italy, Charlotte Amalia is gay with
color, and its white, red-roofed villas nestle among their luxuriant
gardens and tropical foliage, standing out in a perfect riot of orange
and yellow, blue and red.
Never, save in Venice, have I seen such a gorgeous array of color in a
landscape.
Five hours we had in St. Thomas while the Diana put off hundreds of
barrels of cement; but what with the gayly painted boats and their
dark-skinned crews, the naked brown boys diving and swimming for
pennies and dimes in the harbor, a walk to Bluebeard's Tower and
Blackbeard's Castle, we were well amused. Particularly so was
Dorothea, who disappeared from my side for a half-hour while I chatted
with the captain, rejoining me in the tiny palm-bordered park near the
landing.
She was glowing with happiness.
"What do you think, Charlotte?" she exclaimed. "I have a letter from
Duke. Not written after we sailed, of course, for it couldn't have
reached me. He bearded mother in her fortress the morning we left
Washington. She was out, or said she was, but sent a note saying that
I had gone on a journey and would be absent for a month. He went
directly to the Winthrops for news and they told him I was with you
and that if he wrote at once by special delivery he could reach the
ship before it left New York dock. He sent the letter to the captain
and asked him to give it to me at St. Thomas for a surprise. The
captain is such a nice man, though a good deal of a tease! Mr.
Winthrop was delighted to hear you were not alone. Poor Miss Winthrop
has influenza and they both wish they had taken this trip. It seems
they are thinking of it just a little."
"The Winthrops coming on this voyage," I exclaimed. "Impossible! They
hadn't an idea of it."
"Mightn't he want to interview the governor and look at the island?"
"He hasn't time. I chose this journey instead of another so that I
could interview the governor and look at the islands myself."
"Well, I dare say there's nothing in it. Duke didn't speak of it as
anything settled, and he may have misunderstood, his mind being on me.
May I read you the letter--I mean parts of it?"
"I shouldn't expect to hear all of it," I replied dryly.
"Yet the bits I leave out are the ones that show him as he is," she
said, looking off into the grove of palms. "Duke is so conscientious
that until we succeed in melting mother--that would be a good title
for a story, 'Melting Mother'!--and until she sanctions an engagement
he won't let himself go, even on paper. So I get only a lovely sort of
'seepage' that breaks through in spite of him!"
"Skip the seepage," I said unsympathetically, "and give the news."
She re-read the first paragraphs to herself with a good deal of
dimpling and with eyes that suffused with feeling now and then, and
turning the page began to read aloud:
Knowing that you were on the high seas far away from me, though
safe with your charming Miss Clifford (Duke admires you
extravagantly, Charlotte!), I concluded to burn my ships and
have a straightforward talk with your mother, although you have
repeatedly warned me that this was not the best method of
approach and that only patience would win my cause. I sent up my
card at the New Willard, and doubtless she would have refused to
receive me, but, going from the office to one of the reception
rooms to await her, I found her seated there with your
Philadelphia aunt and another lady. There had evidently been
confidences, so they scented trouble and took to their heels
when I had been introduced to them somewhat informally as a
friend of Dorothea's, my name not being mentioned.
I asked your mother, when we were left alone, if she had any
objection to me other than my uneuphonious and suggestive
surname.
She replied guardedly, no, or at least nothing in particular,
though she might say without conceit that Dorothea might aspire
to anybody, even the highest.
I cordially agreed, saying that if the male sex had any eye for
beauty, charm or loveliness of character, Dorothea might marry
not only anybody but everybody.
She said she thought persiflage was out of taste when the
happiness of a mother's whole life was in question.
I begged pardon, but said it was necessary for me to whistle to
keep my courage up, for the happiness of _my_ whole life was in
question.
She said that was beside the point and her daughter's happiness
must also be considered.
I remarked that her daughter, to my infinite surprise and
gratitude, assured me that her happiness lay in the same
direction as my own.
She vouchsafed the information that Dorothea was a romantic
fool.