Next morning at half past ten o'clock Polly O'Neill was sitting upright
in bed in the room at her hotel with Betty on one side, Mollie on the
other and Sylvia at the foot, gazing rather searchingly upon the object
of their present devotion.
Polly was wearing a pale pink dressing jacket trimmed with a great deal
of lace and evidently quite new. Indeed it had been purchased with the
idea of celebrating this great occasion. The girl's cheeks were as
crimson as they had been on the stage the night before and her eyes were
as shining. She was talking with great rapidity and excitement.
"Yes, it is perfectly thrilling and delightful, Mollie Mavourneen, and I
never was so happy in my life, now that you know all about me and are
not really angry," Polly exclaimed gayly. "But I can tell you it wasn't
all honey and roses last winter, working all alone and being lonely and
homesick and miserable most of the time. No one praised me or sent me
flowers then," and the girl looked with perfectly natural vanity and
satisfaction at the big box of roses that had just been opened and was
still lying on her lap. On her bureau there were vases of fresh flowers
and several other boxes on a nearby table.
"Well, it must be worth any amount of hard work and unhappiness to be so
popular and famous," Mollie murmured, glancing with heartfelt admiration
and yet with a little wistfulness at her twin sister. "Just think, Polly
dear, we are exactly the same age and used to do almost the same things;
and now you are a celebrated actress and I'm just nobody at all. I am
sorry I used to be so opposed to your going on the stage. I think it
perfectly splendid now."
With a laugh that had a slight quaver in it Polly threw an arm about her
sister and hugged her close. "You silly darling, how you have always
flattered me and how dearly I do love it!" she returned, looking with
equal admiration at the soft roundness of Mollie's girlish figure and
the pretty dimples in her delicately pink cheeks. "I am not a celebrated
actress in the least, sister of mine, just because I have succeeded in
doing one little character part so that a few people, just a few people,
like it. I do wonder what Margaret Adams thought of me. She did not say
much last night. She is coming to see me presently, so I am desperately
nervous over what she will say. One swallow does not make a career any
more than it makes a summer. And as for daring to say you are nobody,
Mollie O'Neill, I never heard such arrant nonsense in my life. For you
know perfectly well that you are a thousand times prettier, more
charming and more popular than I am, and everybody knows it except you.
But, of course, you never have believed it in your life, you blessed
little goose!" and Polly pinched her sister's soft arm appreciatively.
"I wish there was as much of me as there is of you for one thing, Mollie
darling, your figure is a perfect dream and I'm nothing in the world but
skin and bones," Polly finished at last, drawing her dressing jacket
more closely about her with a barely concealed shiver.
From the foot of the bed Sylvia was eyeing her severely. "Yes, we had
already noticed that without your mentioning it, Polly," she remarked
dryly.
Her only answer was a careless shrugging of her thin shoulders, as Polly
turned this time toward Betty.
"What makes you so silent, Princess? You are not vexed with me and only
said you were not angry last night to spare my feelings?" Polly asked
more seriously than she had yet spoken. Even though Polly might believe
that she loved her sister better, yet she realized that they could never
so completely understand each other and never have perhaps quite the
same degree of spiritual intimacy as she had with her friend.
Betty took Polly's outstretched hand and held it lightly.
"I was only thinking of something; I beg your pardon, dear," Betty
replied quietly.
Polly frowned. "You are not to think of anything or anybody except me
today," she demanded jealously. "You have had months and months to think
about other people. This is the best of what I have been working
for--just to have you girls with me like this, and have you praise me and
make love to me as Mollie did. Yes, I understand I am being desperately
vain and self-centered, Princess; so you may think it your duty to take
me to task for it. But it is only because I have always been such a
dreadful black sheep among all the other Camp Fire girls. Then I suppose
it is also because we have been separated so long. Pretty soon I'll have
to go back to the work-a-day, critical old world where nobody really
cares a thing about me and where 'my career,' as Mollie calls it, has
scarcely begun. But please don't make me do all the talking, Betty, it
is so unlike me and I can see that Sylvia thinks I am saying far too
much." Here Polly's apparently endless stream of conversation was
interrupted by a fit of coughing, which took all the color from her
cheeks, brought there by the morning's excitement, and left her huddled
up among her pillows pale and breathless, with Sylvia's light blue eyes
staring at her with a somewhat enigmatic expression.
Betty smiled, however, pulling at one of the long braids of black hair
with some severity. Last night it had seemed to her that Polly O'Neill
was quite the most wonderful person in the world and that she could
never feel exactly the same toward her, but must surely treat her with
entirely new reverence and respect. Yet here she was, just as absurd and
childish as ever and pleading for compliments as a child for sweets. No
one could treat Polly O'Neill with great respect, though love her one
must to the end of the chapter. She had a thousand faults, yet Betty
knew that vanity was not one of them. It was simply because of her
affection for her friends that she wished to find them pleased with her.
In her heart of hearts no one was humbler than Polly. Betty at least
understood that her ambition would never leave her satisfied with one
success.
"But I was thinking of you, my ridiculous Polly!" Betty answered
finally. "I regret to state, however, that I was not for the moment
dwelling on your great and glorious career. Naturally no other Sunrise
Hill Camp Fire girl may ever hope to aspire so high. I was wondering
whether your mother allowed you to wander around by yourself last
winter, and, if she did, how you ever managed to take proper care of
yourself."
"Dear me, hasn't mother told you? Why of course I had a chaperon, child!
Mollie, please ring the bell for me. She is a dear and is dreadfully
anxious to meet all of you," Polly explained. "But Sylvia took care of
me too--would you mind not staring at me quite so hard all the time,
Sylvia? I know I am better looking behind the footlights," Polly now
urged almost plaintively, for her younger sister was making her
decidedly nervous by her continued scrutiny. "Betty, even you will
hardly place me at the head of the theatrical profession at present,"
she continued. "Though I am quite green with jealousy, I must tell you
that Sylvia Wharton has stood at the head of her class in medicine, male
and female, during this entire year and is confidently expected to come
out first in her final examinations. I am abominably afraid that Sylvia
may develop into a more distinguished Camp Fire girl in the end than I
ever shall."
There was no further opportunity at present for further personal
discussion, for at this instant a tall, dark-haired woman with somewhat
timid manners entered the room, where she stood hesitating, glancing
from one girl's face to the other.
"You know Sylvia, Mrs. Martins, so this is Mollie, whom you may
recognize as being a good-looking likeness of me," Polly began. "Of
course this third person is necessarily Betty Ashton."
From her place on the bed Sylvia had smiled her greeting, but Mollie and
Betty of course got up at once and walked forward to shake hands with
the newcomer.
Then unexpectedly and to Betty's immense surprise, she found both of her
hands immediately clasped in an ardent embrace by the stranger, while
the woman gazed at her with her lips trembling and the tears streaming
unchecked down her face.
"How shall I ever thank you or make you understand?" she said
passionately. "All my life long I can never repay what you have done for
me, but at least I shall never forget it."
Betty pressed the newcomer's hand politely, turning from her to Polly,
hoping that she might in her friend's expression find some clue to this
puzzling utterance. Polly appeared just as rapt and mysterious.
"You are awfully kind and I am most happy to meet you," Betty felt
called on to reply, "but I am afraid you must have mistaken me for some
one else. It is I who owe gratitude to you for having taken such good
care of Polly."
The Princess was gracious and sweet in her manner, but she could hardly
be expected not to have drawn back slightly from such an extraordinary
greeting from a stranger.
"Oh, my dear, I ought to have explained to you. You must forgive me, it
is because I feel so deeply and that the people of my race cannot always
control their emotions so readily," the older woman protested. "It is my
little girl, for whom you have done such wonderful things. She has
written me that she is almost happy now that you have become her fairy
princess. And in truth you are quite lovely enough," the stranger
continued, believing that at last she was making herself clear.
"I? Your little girl?" Betty repeated stupidly. "You don't mean you are
Angelique's mother? But of course you are. Now I can see that you look
like each other and your name is 'Martins.' It is curious, but I paid no
attention to your name at first and never associated you with my little
French girl." Now it was Betty's turn to find her voice shaking, partly
from pleasure and also from embarrassment. "It was a beautiful accident,
wasn't it, for Angelique and I, and you and Polly to find each other?
But you have nothing to thank me for, Mrs. Martins. Angel has given me
more pleasure than I can ever give her. She has been so wonderful since
she found something in life to interest her. Won't you come to the cabin
with me right away and see her? Mollie and Mrs. Wharton can surely look
after Polly for a few days; besides she never does what any one tells
her."
Suddenly Betty let go her companion's hand, swinging around toward the
elfish figure in the bed. For Polly did look elfish at this moment, with
her knees huddled up almost to her chin and her head resting on her
hand. Her eyes were almost all one could see of her face at present,
they looked so absurdly large and so darkly blue.
Betty seized the girl by both shoulders, giving her a tiny shake.
"Polly O'Neill, did you write me those anonymous letters about Angel
last winter? Oh, of course you did! But what a queer muddle it all is! I
don't understand, for Angel told me that she had never heard of Polly
O'Neill in her entire life until I spoke of you."
"And no more she has, Princess," returned Polly smiling. "Everybody sit
down and be good, please, while I explain things as far as I understand
them. You see Mrs. Martins and I met each other at the theater one
evening where she had come to do some wonderful sewing for some one.
Well, of course my clothes were in rags, for with all our Camp Fire
training I never learned much about the gentle art of stitching. So Mrs.
Martins promised to do some work for me and by and by we got to knowing
each other pretty well. One day I found her crying, and then she told me
about her little girl. A friend had offered to send Angelique to this
hospital in Boston and Mrs. Martins felt she must let her go, as she
could not make enough money to keep them comfortable. Besides Angelique
needed special care and treatment. Of course she realized it was best
for her little girl, yet they were horribly grieved over being
separated.
"Just at this time, Miss Brown, whom mother had persuaded to travel with
me all winter, got terribly tired of her job. So I asked Mrs. Martins if
she cared to come with me. When she and mother learned to know and like
each other things were arranged.
"Afterwards the heavenly powers must have sent you to that hospital,
Betty dear, otherwise there is no accounting for it. Pretty soon after
your first visit Angel wrote her mother describing a lovely lady with
auburn hair, gray eyes and the most charming manner in the world, who
had been to the hospital to see them, but had only said a few words to
her. Yes, I know you think that is queer, Betty, but please remember
that though Angelique knew her mother was traveling with an eccentric
young female, she did not know my real name. I was Peggy Moore to her
always, just as I was to you until last night. Can't you understand? Of
course I knew you were in Boston with Esther and Dick, and besides there
could be only one Betty Ashton in the world answering to your
description. Then, of course, Mrs. Martins and I both wanted to write
and explain things to you dreadfully, yet at the same time I did not
wish you to guess where I was or what I was doing. So I persuaded Mrs.
Martins to wait; at the same time I did write you these silly anonymous
letters, for I was so anxious for you to be particularly interested in
Angel. I might have known you would have been anyway, you dearest of
princesses and best," whispered Polly so earnestly that Betty drew away
from her friend's embrace, her cheeks scarlet.
"I am going to another room with Mrs. Martins to have a long talk,
Polly, while you rest," Betty answered the next moment. "Mrs. Wharton
said that we were not to stay with you but an hour and a half and it has
been two already. You will want to be at your best when Margaret Adams
comes to see you this afternoon."
"If you mean in the best of health, Betty," Sylvia remarked at this
instant, as she got down somewhat awkwardly from her seat on the bed,
"then I might as well tell you that Polly O'Neill is far from being even
ordinarily well. She has not been well all winter; but now, with the
excitement and strain of her first success, she is utterly used up. All
I can say is that if she does not quit this acting business and go
somewhere and have a real rest, well, we shall all be sorry some day,"
and with this unexpected announcement Sylvia stalked calmly out of the
room, leaving three rather frightened women and one exceedingly angry
one behind her.