"GREAT LUCK!"
"Father Davy, are you sure, _sure_?" begged his daughter.
"Sure that I want you to go, daughter? Very sure. What sort of father
should I be if I were willing to deny you this great pleasure merely to
insure my own comfort? And I shall be comfortable. Why should I not be,
with the good Mrs. Perkins to look after me, and our fine friend Mr.
Jefferson to bear me company in the evenings, as often as he can? And
with James Stuart, who is like a son--and with your letters arriving
with every foreign mail? Dismiss these fears, my dear, and take your
happy chance to see something of the Old World. Many a delightful
evening will we have together next winter, you and I, over the
photographs you will bring back, while you discourse to me of your
adventures."
Thus Mr. David Warne in his most reassuring manner, while his daughter
studied his delicate, pallid face, her heart smiting her for being
willing to leave him to the loneliness she knew, in spite of all his
protests, he would suffer in her absence. And yet opportunities like
this one did not occur everyday, might not come again in her lifetime.
And everybody was conspiring to make it possible for her.
"It goes without saying," Mr. Jefferson had told her at once, "that all
other engagements should be cancelled in the face of such an invitation
as this. We will all look after your father for you. And as far as your
work with me is concerned, don't give it another thought. I shall make
rather slower progress without you, of course, but when you return we
will take great strides and complete it well within the limit I have
set. So go by all means, and good luck!"
As for James McKenzie Stuart, his words of persuasion seemed to be
tempered by various other emotions than those of unselfish desire for
Georgiana's pleasure.
"Of course it's great, and there's no doubt that you must go," he said.
He was sitting upon the rear porch of the manse, looking off toward
Georgiana's garden, on the second evening after her return from the
hurried drive to the Croftons'. "I'll do all I can for your father, of
course. But don't ask me to console the book-writer."
Georgiana laughed merrily. "He'll not need any consolation, Jimps. Nor
you either. Jeannette told me to tell you that she'd write to you once a
fortnight--if you'd answer."
"No! She didn't say that?"
"Yes, she did, and meant it. I'll write, too, of course. You'll be
deluged with letters and picture post-cards. You ought to be satisfied
with so much attention."
"Letters are all right--we won't say anything about the post-cards--and
I hope you'll both keep your promises. But when I think of all these
summer evenings without you----"
He heaved a gusty sigh which Georgiana had no reason to doubt was
genuine. How much heavier would be his spirits, if he were told that
Miles Channing was to be of the party, she had full consciousness. She
was aware of the futility of attempting to keep this unwelcome news from
him longer than the day of her departure, but she had not thus far
ventured to mention it.
"I shall miss these evenings myself," she said soberly. "After all,
Jimps, I expect there'll be nobody gladder to get back home than I. I
shall see this old garden in my dreams." Then quickly, as another
deep-drawn breath warned her that sentimental ground was dangerous, she
cried: "Oh, but, Jimps! I haven't told you of the last and nicest thing
that wonderful girl has done for me. She insisted on my bringing home
the dearest little traveling suit of some kind of lovely summer serge
that doesn't spot and doesn't muss and is altogether adorable. She
insists it's not becoming to her, and it really isn't; but I almost know
she planned not to have it becoming so she could give it away to me. And
a perfect beauty of a little hat--and a big, loose coat, to wear on the
steamer, that looks absolutely new, but she vows it isn't, and that
she's tired of it. Was ever anybody so lucky as I?"
"It certainly does take clothes to stir up a girl," was Stuart's cynical
comment. "Talk of separation and they pretend to be as sad over it as
you are; but let 'em think about the clothes they're going to wear and
their spirits leap up like soda water."
"Poor old Jimps! Doesn't he know the sustaining qualities of pretty
clothes? Too bad! But really it's lucky I have something to sustain me,
it's such a pull to make myself go. I didn't suppose I'd ever leave
Father Davy this way while he is so feeble, but he's the most urgent of
all to send me off, and I know I really can bring him back wonderful
pleasure."
Thus the talks ran during the few days which elapsed before Georgiana's
departure. Every spare hour was full with preparation, from the packing
of the trim little steamer trunk which arrived by express, a gift from
Uncle Thomas, to the careful mending and putting in perfect order of
every article Father Davy would be likely to wear during the whole
period of his daughter's absence. Georgiana's thoughts as she worked
were a curious mixture of happy anticipation and actual dread.
"If only I could go as Jeannette is going," she said to herself,
"without a care in the world except to plan how she will fill the
summer, and to make sure her maid puts in plenty of silk stockings to
last till she can buy some more in Paris. When I went to college it was
with the fear that I ought not to accept father's sacrifice, even though
Aunt Harriet was with him then, and he was far, far stronger than he is
now. I've never done anything in my life without a guilty feeling that I
ought not to be doing it. Why can't I do now as they all bid me--drop my
cares and take my fun, like any other girl? I will--I must. It's only
fair!"
The excitement of anticipation grew upon her as the busy hours slipped
away; the regrets and anxieties diminished. With every day came fresh
and delightfully interesting contributions to her outfitting from
Jeannette or Aunt Olivia--a handsome little handbag of silk and silver
to match the traveling suit; a snug toilet case of soft blue leather,
holding everything mortal woman could want on train or ship; a great
woolly steamer rug to use on shipboard. Georgiana could only catch her
breath at such kindness, and dash off hasty notes of spirited thanks,
and protests against any more of the same sort. But in spite of her
pride it was impossible to resist accepting these and other gifts, they
seemed prompted by such genuine affection.
The day came; the trunk was closed and strapped. Mr. Jefferson had done
the strapping, coming upon the prospective traveler in the upper hall,
where she was trying in vain to bring leather thong and buckle into the
proper relations.
"Haven't I yet proved my right to the title of man in the house?" he
inquired, as he did the trick with the masculine ease which is ever a
source of envy to those whose hands are weaker.
"Indeed you have; but I shall never get over feeling that I have to do
everything for myself."
"It will be some one's privilege to teach you better some time," was his
rejoinder. "Meanwhile, those of us who are near at hand are only too
happy to act as deputies."
Between her "three men," as Jeannette had called them, Georgiana was
allowed to do little for herself at the last. She was to meet her
cousins as the train went through their city, but Stuart had invited
himself to accompany her to that point, thus giving himself a chance, as
he said, to clinch that bargain with Jeannette concerning the promised
letters and post-cards.
Therefore Georgiana's farewells were not to be all said at once, for
which she was thankful. It was quite enough to take leave of Father
Davy, who was looking, it seemed to his daughter's eyes, on that sultry
June morning, a shade paler and weaker than usual.
"It's the sudden summer heat, dear," he said with the brightest of
smiles, as with her arms about him she questioned him; "nothing more.
There, there, my little girl; don't let your fancy get the better of
you. I'm very well indeed, and shall soon be used to the summer weather.
Go--and God be with you, dearest!"
"It doesn't matter about His going with me if He'll only stay with you,"
murmured Georgiana, vainly struggling with herself, that she might take
a bright and tearless farewell of this dear being.
"He will go with you and He will stay with me," said Mr. Warne
cheerfully, "so be at rest. Here--I've written you a steamer letter.
Read it when the good ship sails, and think of me as rejoicing in your
happiness."
It was over at last, and she was off. At the gate she had turned to Mr.
Jefferson, who was carrying her handbag to the village stage, from which
Stuart had leaped to run up to the porch and say a word of cheer to Mr.
Warne, sitting in a big chair.
"I can't tell you what a comfort it is, Mr. Jefferson," she said as she
gave him her hand, "to know that you are here. I haven't worked with you
for six weeks not to understand that it is no mere author of a
scientific treatise who is staying with my father."
"No?" He smiled into her lifted eyes, and his look was that of a friend
whom one may trust. "Well, Miss Georgiana, if it is of any support to
you to be told that whatever knowledge or skill I may have is all at the
service of your father, then I am glad to assure you of that fact. I
will do my best for him always. Good-bye, and may it be a happy time
from first to last."
His hand held hers close as he said these words, and continued to hold
it for a moment longer while he gave her a long and intent look. She
felt a strange pang; it was almost as if she could think he was going to
miss her. Yet she knew better. If he missed her it would be only because
he had become accustomed to having her about. No sign of any more
uncommon interest had he ever shown.
Then Stuart, farther down the path, was calling, "Come, George, we're
all but late now"; and she was in the old stage and it was lumbering off
down the road, while neighbours waved from their windows, and Georgiana
strained her eyes to get a last look at the figure on the porch.
On the train she and Stuart somehow found little to say to each other in
the ride of an hour and a half to the city station where the rest of the
party came aboard. Stuart did not catch sight of Miles Channing until
the last minute of the train's stop. He had filled the earlier period of
the ten-minute detention in the station with a hurried talk with
Jeannette, during which Georgiana noted that the two seemed thoroughly
absorbed in each other. It was small wonder, for Jeannette had never
been more radiantly lovely than in the distinguished plainness of her
traveling costume. She seemed very happy as she presumably bargained
with Stuart for letters, and Jimps himself had never looked more
interested in any proposition than in that one.
Suddenly, however, the wait was over. Georgiana turned from greeting
Channing, who had just come aboard followed by a porter with his
luggage, when she heard Stuart's voice in her ear:
"George, is _he_ going?"
"I believe he is," she admitted, trying not to let her colour rise
beneath the accusing expression in his eyes.
"And you didn't mention it?"
"Didn't I? He's Jeannette's and Rosalie's friend, not mine."
"No; he's something more than a friend to you--or means to be. I might
have known he'd work this scheme. It's good-bye to you in earnest then."
"Jimps! Please don't. It's nothing of the sort. I----"
The train began to move. But instead of a hasty leave-taking and a leap
from the steps, James Stuart stood still. "I believe I'll go on for
another hour," he said coolly, with a glance at his watch. "I can get
off at the next stop. Meanwhile--Miss Jeannette, the observation
platform seems to be nearly empty. Would you care to sit out there a
while, since I've no chair in here now and the car is full?"
Georgiana, sitting facing Miles Channing--she wondered who was
responsible for the fact that his chair proved to be next hers--saw his
eyes, as he glanced toward the rear of the car, follow Stuart and
Jeannette.
"He's a mighty nice fellow, isn't he?" he commented pleasantly. "Too bad
he isn't coming along. Seems tremendously interested in Jeannette, and
it's quite evident that she likes him--as much as is good for him. These
partings--well, I'm sorry for him. But he means to make the most of this
last hour. It would be unkind of us to follow them out there, wouldn't
it?--though I was about to propose going out when he stole a march on
me."
"It would be very unkind," agreed Georgiana gayly. "Yes, I wish he could
have the whole journey; he deserves a rest and change. He's one of the
finest men I know."
Now that Channing was beside her, with his handsome face and faultlessly
dressed figure easily the most attractive man in the car, she could not
begrudge Jeannette this final hour with Stuart, though her pride
smarted a little under the change in his manner toward herself. She had
read in her cousin's face, as Jeannette's eyes met Stuart's when she
first caught sight of him, that she was much more than commonly glad to
see him, and the observer had noted with what an air of joyous
comradeship the two had hurried, laughing, down the aisle to the rear
door after Stuart's proposal.
But the hour was soon over. It was not until the train stopped that
Jeannette and Stuart returned to the others inside the car, and then the
farewells were necessarily hurried. With a smiling face Stuart shook
hands with them all, leaving his best friend to the last, according to
the unwritten law of farewells.
When he came to her he looked very nearly straight into her eyes--not
quite--it might have been her lower eyelashes upon which he brought his
glance to bear.
"Great luck, Georgiana," he said distinctly, "and all kinds of a good
time."
"Good-bye, Jimps, and thank you very, very much for coming," she
responded.
It was hardly to be believed that James Stuart would not lower his voice
and murmur some last word for her ear alone, for this had long been his
custom. Instead, he gave her a brilliant smile--and turned again to
Jeannette.
"Good-bye, once more," he said--and added something under his breath, in
response to which Jeannette nodded, smiling, and went with him to the
front end of the car, where she alone was the last to wave farewell as
he looked back from the platform.
Georgiana caught a final glimpse of him as he ran along it with bared
head, and the whole party waved hands and called parting salutes, in
which she joined. Then Jeannette came back, and Georgiana looked
searchingly at her, her own heart experiencing an uncomfortable sort of
depression as she saw the exquisite flush on her cousin's cheek and the
light in her eyes.
"'Dog in the manger!'" Georgiana sternly reproached herself in her own
thoughts. "Isn't it enough for you to have one man looking devotion at
you, but you must claim everybody in sight?" And she made a determined
and partially successful effort not to mind that things had turned out
as they had. Only--she and James Stuart had been friends a very long
time, and she was sorry to have the parting from him tinged by a cloud
of misunderstanding. It would have been much better, she admitted to
herself now, to have told him frankly in the beginning that Miles
Channing was to be of the party.