Ten days later, returning from another of her now regular visits to the
hospital, Betty Ashton was surprised by hearing voices inside the living
room just as she was passing the closed door. Possibly Esther had
invited some of their new acquaintances in to tea and had forgotten to
mention it. Now she could hear her own name being called.
Her hair had been blown in every direction by the east wind and she had
been sitting on the floor at the hospital, building a camp fire in the
old chimney place, with the grate removed, according to the most
approved camping methods. Straightening her hat and rubbing her face for
an instant with her handkerchief, Betty made a casual entrance into the
room, trying to assume an agreeable society manner to make up for her
other deficiencies.
It was five o'clock and growing dark, although as yet the lights were
not on. Esther was sitting at a little round wicker table pouring tea
and Meg, who had evidently lately arrived, was standing near waiting to
receive her cup. But in the largest chair in the room with her back
turned to the opening door was a figure that made Betty's heart behave
in the most extraordinary fashion. The hair was so black, the figure so
graceful that for the moment it seemed it could only be one
person--Polly! Betty's welcome was no less spontaneous, however, when
Mollie O'Neill, jumping up, ran quickly toward her.
"No, I am not Polly, Betty dear! I only wish I were, for then we should
at least know what had become of her. But Esther has asked me to spend
Christmas with you and I hope you are half as glad to see me as I am to
be with you."
Half an hour later, Esther having disappeared to see about dinner as Meg
was also to remain for the night, the three old friends dropped down on
sofa cushions before the fire, Camp Fire fashion, and with the tea pot
between them began talking all at the same time.
"Do, do tell me everything about Woodford," Betty demanded. "I never
shall love any place half so well as my native town and I have not heard
a word except through letters, for ages."
Ceasing her own questioning of Meg in regard to the pleasures of college
life, Mollie at once turned her serious blue eyes upon her other friend.
"Haven't heard of Woodford, Betty!" she exclaimed, "what on earth do you
mean? Then what do you and Anthony Graham talk about when he comes to
Boston? I know he has been here twice lately, because he told me so
himself and said you were well."
Suddenly in Esther's pretty sitting room all conversation abruptly ended
and only the ticking of the clock could be heard. Fortunately the room
was still in shadow, for unexpectedly Meg's cheeks had turned scarlet,
as she glanced toward the window with a perfectly unnecessary expression
of unconcern. But Betty did not change color nor did her gray eyes
falter for an instant from those of her friend. Yet before she received
her answer Mollie was conscious that she must in some fashion have said
the wrong thing.
Yet what could have been the fault with her question? It was a perfectly
natural one, as Betty and Anthony had always been extremely intimate in
the old days, ever since Anthony had lived for a year at Mrs. Ashton's
house. Mollie appreciated the change in the atmosphere, the coldness and
restraint that had not been there before. Naturally she would have
preferred to change the subject before receiving a reply, but she had
not the quickness and adaptability of many girls, perhaps because she
was too simple and sincere herself.
"Anthony Graham does not come to see me--us, Mollie," Betty corrected
herself, "when he makes his visits to Boston these days. You see he is
now Meg's friend more than mine. But you must remember, Mollie dear,
that Meg has always had more admirers than the rest of us and now she is
a full-fledged college girl, of course she is irresistible."
Betty Ashton spoke without the least suggestion of anger or envy and yet
Meg turned reproachfully toward her. Her usually gay and friendly
expression had certainly changed, she seemed embarrassed and annoyed.
"You know that isn't true, Princess, and never has been," Meg returned,
rumpling her pretty yellow hair as she always did in any kind of
perplexity or distress. "I never have even dreamed of being so charming
as you are. You know that John has always said----"
Alas, if only Polly O'Neill had been present Mollie might in some
fashion have been persuaded not to speak at this unlucky instant! But
Polly had always cruelly called her an "enfant terrible." Now Mollie was
too puzzled to appreciate the situation and so determined to get at the
bottom of it.
"But does Anthony come to see you and not Betty?" Mollie demanded
inexorably of the embarrassed girl.
Meg nodded. "Yes, but it is only because Betty----"
"Please don't try to offer any explanation, Meg, I would rather you
would not. It is most unnecessary," Betty now interrupted gently, in a
tone that few persons in her life had ever opposed. Then, reaching over,
she began pouring out fresh cups of tea for her friends. "You need not
worry, Mollie, Anthony and I are perfectly good friends. We have not
quarreled, only he has not so much time these days now he is getting to
be such a distinguished person. But do tell me whether you have the
faintest idea of what Polly O'Neill is doing, or where she is, or a
single solitary thing about her?"
Always Mollie's attention could be distracted by any mention of her
sister's name and it may be that Betty was counting upon this. For Meg
had gotten up and strolled over toward the window, leaving the two other
girls comparatively alone.
Bluer and more serious than ever grew Mollie's big, innocent eyes.
"Polly is well, or at least says she is. That much mother confides in
me," Mollie replied soberly. "But where Polly is or what she is doing I
have no more idea than you have, not so much perhaps. You were always
better at understanding her than I have ever been. But then even Miss
Adams has never heard a line from Polly since she told her good-by in
New York several months ago. By the way, Betty, Miss Adams and Mr. Hunt
are going to be playing here in Boston during the holidays. Won't you
and Esther ask them to your Christmas dinner party?"
Betty at this moment got up from the floor. "Yes, I have seen the
notices of their coming and I am glad. We can have an almost home
Christmas, can't we?" Then she walked over toward the window where Meg
had continued standing, gazing with no special interest out into the
street. The high wind was still blowing and with it occasional flurries
of wet snow.
"Do let us draw down the blinds, Meg, it is getting late and is not very
cheerful outside." With apparent unconsciousness Betty slipped an arm
about her friend's waist and for another instant they both stared out
into the almost deserted street.
Across on the farther sidewalk some one was standing, as though waiting
for a companion. Meg had seen the person before but with no special
attention. She was too deeply engaged with her own thoughts. Betty was
differently influenced, for the figure had an oddly pathetic and lonely
attitude. She could not see the face and the moment she began closing
the living-room curtain the figure walked away.
Meg chose this same instant for giving her friend a sudden ardent
embrace and Betty's attention would in any case have been distracted.
With the lights under the rose-colored shades now glowing, and Mollie
asking no more embarrassing questions, the atmosphere of the living room
soon grew cheerful again. For Mollie had a great deal of Woodford news
to tell. Eleanor Meade was getting a beautiful trousseau for her
marriage with Frank Wharton in the spring and she and Mollie had been
sewing together almost every day. Eleanor had given up her old ambition
to become a celebrated artist and was using her taste for color and
design in the preparation of her clothes. Frank was in business with his
father and would have a good deal of money, and although Eleanor's
family was poor she did not intend to have less in her trousseau than
other girls. Her own skill and work should make up for it.
Billy Webster was succeeding better each month with the management of
his farm since his father's death. Now and then Mollie went to call on
Mrs. Webster and not long ago she and Billy had walked out to Sunrise
cabin. The little house was in excellent condition, although no one had
lived in it for several years.
"It is wonderfully kind," Mollie explained, "but Billy has his own men
look after our cabin and make any repairs that are necessary. He even
keeps the grass cut and the weeds cleared from about the place, so any
one of us could go out there to live with only a few hours preparation,"
she ended with her usual happy smile.
For Mollie O'Neill was not self-conscious and did not guess for a moment
that while she talked both Betty and Meg were engaged with the same
thought. Was there still nothing more between Mollie and Billy than
simple friendliness? Once they had believed that there might be
something, but now the time was passing and they were both free, Mollie
at home helping her mother with the house, Billy the head of his own
farm, and yet nothing had happened. Well, possibly nothing ever would
and they might always simply remain friends, until one or the other
married some one else.
Suddenly Mollie started and her color faded.
"I am awfully sorry, Betty, I know how silly and nervous you and Polly
used always to think me, but look, please!" She spoke under her breath
and pointed toward the closed blind.
There, sharply defined, was the shadow of a head apparently straining to
see inside the room. It had the effect of a gray silhouette.
The two other girls also changed color, for the effect was uncanny. Then
Betty laughed somewhat nervously.
"It must be Dick, of course, trying to frighten us, but how silly and
unlike him!" She then walked as quickly and quietly toward the window as
possible and without a sign or word of warning drew up the curtain. Some
one must have instantly jumped backward, for by the time Mollie and Meg
had also reached the window they could only catch the outline of a
disappearing figure. It was not possible in the darkness to decide
whether it was a girl or a young boy.
"Well, it wasn't Dick anyhow," said Betty finally; "probably some child.
However it might be just as well to go and tell Dick and Esther. They
would not enjoy a sneak thief carrying off their pretty wedding
presents. And besides it is time for us to get ready for dinner and I
haven't yet had time to tell you about my new Camp Fire."