The man promptly brought the machine to a slow stop. He was too well
acquainted with the whims of "them girls from the college" to exhibit
surprise. Having paid her fare on entering the taxicab, Marjorie now
quitted it with alacrity and ran back to the scene of the mishap.
"Please let me help you," she offered in a gracious fashion which came
straight from her heart. "I saw the handle of that basket break and I
made the driver stop and let me out of the taxi."
Without waiting for Miss Susanna's permission, Marjorie stooped and lay
hold on one of the scattered flower pots. Thus far the old lady had made
no effort to gather them in. She had stood eyeing the unstable basket
with marked disgust.
"And who are you, may I ask?" The brisk manner of question reminded
Marjorie of Miss Remson.
"Oh, I am Marjorie Dean from Hamilton College," Marjorie said,
straightening up with a smile.
For an instant the two pairs of dark eyes met. In the old lady's
appeared a gleam half resentful, half admiring. In the young girl's
shone a pleasant light, hard to resist.
"Yes; I supposed you were one of them," nodded Miss Susanna. "Let me
tell you, young woman, you are the first I have met in all these years
from the college who had any claim on gentle breeding."
Marjorie smiled. "There are a good many fine girls at Hamilton," she
defended without intent to be discourteous. "Any one of a number I know
would have been glad to help you."
"Then that doll shop has changed a good deal recently," retorted the old
lady with rapidity. "Nowadays it is nothing but drive flamboyant cars
and spend money for frivolities over there. I hate the place."
Marjorie was silent. She did not like to contradict further by saying
pointedly that she loved Hamilton, neither could she bear the thought of
not defending her Alma Mater.
"I can't say that I hate Hamilton College, because I don't," she finally
returned, before the pause between the two had grown embarrassing. "I am
sure you must have good reason to dislike Hamilton and its students or
you would not say so."
The pink in her cheeks deepened. Marjorie bent and completed the task of
returning the last spilled posy to the basket.
"There!" she exclaimed good-naturedly. "I have them all in the basket
again, and not a single one of those little jars are broken. I wish you
would let me carry the basket for you, Miss Hamilton. It is really a
cumbersome affair without the handle."
"You are quite a nice child, I must say." Miss Susanna continued to
regard Marjorie with her bright, bird-like gaze. "Where on earth were
you brought up?"
Signally amused, Marjorie laughed outright. She had raised the basket
from the ground. As she stood there, her lovely face full of light and
laughter, arms full of flowers, Miss Susanna's stubborn old heart
softened a trifle toward girlhood.
"I come from Sanford, New York," she answered. "This is my junior year
at Hamilton. Four other girls from Sanford entered when I did."
"Sanford," repeated her questioner. "I never heard of the place. If
these girls are friends of yours I suppose they escape being
barbarians."
"They are the finest girls I ever knew," Marjorie praised with
sincerity.
"Well, well; I am pleased to hear it." The old lady spoke with a
brusquerie which seemed to indicate her wish to be done with the
subject. "You insist on helping me, do you?"
"Yes; if it pleases you to allow me."
"It's to my advantage, so it ought to," was the dry retort. "I am not
particular about lugging that basket in my arms. I loaded it too
heavily. Brian, the gardener, would have carried it for me, but I didn't
care to be bothered with him. I am carrying these down to an old man who
used to work about the lawns. His days are numbered and he loves flowers
better than anything else. He lives in a little house just outside the
estate. It is still quite a walk. If you have anything else to do you
had better consider it and not me."
"I was on my way to town. It is too late to go now." Marjorie explained
the nature of her errand as they walked on. "The girls will probably
come to the conclusion that I found it too late to go to Hamilton after
I had changed my gown. One or another of them will buy me something
pretty to give to Elaine," she ended.
"It is a good many years since I bought a birthday gift for anyone. I
always give my servants money on their birthdays. I have not received a
birthday gift for over fifty years and I don't want one. I do not allow
my household to make me presents on any occasion." Miss Susanna
announced this with a touch of defiance.
"It seems as though my life has been full of presents. My father and
mother have given me hundreds, I guess. My father is away from home a
good deal. When he comes back from his long business trips he always
brings Captain and I whole stacks of treasures."
Marjorie was not sure that this was what she should have said. She found
conversing with the last of the Hamiltons a trifle hazardous. She had no
desire to contradict, yet she and her new acquaintance had thus far not
agreed on a single point.
"Who is 'Captain,'" was the inquiry, made with the curiosity of a child.
Marjorie turned rosy red. The pet appellation had slipped out before she
thought.
"I call my mother 'Captain,'" she informed, then went on to explain
further of their fond home play. She fully expected Miss Susanna would
criticize it as "silly." She was already understanding a little of the
lonely old gentlewoman's bitterness of heart. Her earnest desire to know
the last of the Hamiltons had arisen purely out of her great sympathy
for Miss Susanna.
"You seem to have had a childhood," was the surprising reception her
explanation called forth. "I can't endure the children of today. They
are grown up in their minds at seven. I must say your father and mother
are exceptional. No wonder you have good manners. That is, if they are
genuine. I have seen some good imitations. Young girls are more
deceitful than young men. I don't like either. There is nothing I
despise so much as the calloused selfishness of youth. It is far worse
than crabbed age."
"I know young girls are often selfish of their own pleasure," Marjorie
returned with sudden humility. "I try not to be. I know I am at times.
Many of my girl friends are not. I wish I could begin to tell you of the
beautiful, unselfish things some of my chums have done for others."
Miss Susanna vouchsafed no reply to this little speech. She trotted
along beside Marjorie for several rods without saying another word. When
she spoke again it was to say briefly: "Here is where we turn off the
road. Is that basket growing very heavy?"
"It is quite heavy. I believe I will set it down for a minute." Marjorie
carefully deposited her burden on the grass at the roadside and
straightened up, stretching her aching arms. The basket had begun to be
considerable of a burden on account of the manner in which it had to be
carried.
"I couldn't have lugged that myself," Miss Susanna confessed. "I found
it almost too much for me with the handle on. Ridiculous, the flimsy way
in which things are put together today! Splint baskets of years ago
would have stood any amount of strain. If you had not kindly come to my
assistance, I intended to pick out as many of those jars as I could
carry in my arms and go on with them. The others I would have set up
against my own property fence and hoped no one would walk off with them
before my return. I dislike anyone to have the flowers I own and have
tended unless I give them away myself."
"I have often seen you working among your flowers when I have passed
Hamilton Arms. I knew you must love them dearly or you would not spend
so much time with them."
"Hm-m!" The interjection might have been an assent to Marjorie's polite
observation. It was not, however. Miss Susanna was understanding that
this young girl who had shown her such unaffected courtesy had thought
of her kindly as a stranger. She experienced a sudden desire to see
Marjorie again. Her long and concentrated hatred against Hamilton
College and its students forbade her to make any friendly advances. She
had already shown more affability according to her ideas than she had
intended. She wondered why she had not curtly refused Marjorie's offer.
"I am rested now." Marjorie lifted the basket. The two skirted the
northern boundary of Hamilton Arms, taking a narrow private road which
lay between it and the neighboring estate. The road continued straight
to a field where it ended. At the edge of the field stood a small
cottage painted white. Miss Susanna pointed it out as their destination.
"I will carry this to the door and then leave you." Marjorie had no
desire to intrude upon Miss Susanna's call at the cottage.
"Very well. I am obliged to you, Marjorie Dean." Miss Susanna's thanks
were expressed in tones which sounded close to unfriendly. She was
divided between appreciation of Marjorie's courtesy and her dislike for
girls.
"You are welcome." They were now within a few yards of the cottage.
Arriving at the low doorstep, Marjorie set the basket carefully upon it.
"Goodbye, Miss Hamilton." She held out her hand. "I am so glad to have
met you."
"What's that? Oh, yes." The old lady took Marjorie's proffered hand. The
evident sincerity of the words touched a hidden spring within, long
sealed. "Goodbye, child. I am glad to have met at least one young girl
with genuine manners."
Marjorie smiled as she turned away. She had never before met an old
person who so heartily detested youth. She knew her timely assistance
had been appreciated. On that very account Miss Susanna had tried to
smother, temporarily, her standing grudge against the younger
generation.
Well, it had happened. She had achieved her heart's desire. She had
actually met and talked with the last of the Hamiltons.