"Well, of all things!" Marjorie could not get over her undiluted
amazement. For a second it struck her that she might again be the victim
of a hoax. Perhaps an unkindly-minded person wished her to essay a call
on Miss Susanna, thinking she might receive a sound snubbing. She shook
her head at this canny suspicion. The phrasing was unmistakably Miss
Susanna's. She doubted also whether anyone had seen her that day with
the old lady. Only a few cars had passed them before they had turned
into the private road. These had contained persons not from the college.
Outside the Lookouts, only Katherine, Leila and Vera knew of her
encounter with Miss Susanna. She had not thought of keeping it a secret.
She now made mental note to tell the girls not to mention it to anyone.
This resolve brought with it the annoying cogitation that the girls
would wonder why she suddenly wished the matter kept secret. Nor could
she explain to them without violating Miss Hamilton's request. She could
readily understand the latter's point of view. Miss Susanna could not be
blamed for taking it. Marjorie could only wish the old lady knew how
honorable and discreet her chums were. She decided she would endeavor to
make her hostess acquainted with that truth during her call.
She came to the conclusion that she could not pledge her close friends
to secrecy regarding her recent adventure until after she had been to
Hamilton Arms and talked with its eccentric owner. Miss Susanna would no
doubt be displeased to learn that she had already mentioned their
meeting to others. She would have to be told of it, nevertheless.
Marjorie's next problem was to slip quietly away on Thursday afternoon
without saying where she was going. That would not be difficult,
provided none of the Lookouts happened to desire her company on some
particular jaunt or merry-making. An indefinite refusal on her part
would bring down on her a volley of mischievous questions.
"I'll have to keep clear of the girls on Thursday," she ruminated, with
a half vexed smile. "I'll have to put on the gown I'm going to wear to
tea in the morning and wear it all day so as not to arouse their
curiosity. That's a nuisance. I'd like to wear one of my best frocks and
I can't on account of chemistry. I'll wear that organdie frock Jerry
likes so much; the one with the yellow rosebud in it. It is not fussy.
If it is cold or rainy I can wear a long coat over it. I hope it's a
nice day. I can wear my picture hat. It goes so well with that gown. I
can slip it out of the Hall without them noticing if I swing it on my
arm. I hope to goodness I don't ruin my organdie during chemistry. I
feel like a conspirator."
Marjorie chuckled faintly as she rose from her chair, letter in hand.
She tucked the letter away in the top drawer of her chiffonier with the
optimistic opinion that it would not be very long before she could
frankly tell her chums of its contents.
Fortune favored her on Thursday. She awoke with a stream of brilliant
sunshine in her face. She rejoiced that the day was fair and hoped Miss
Susanna would suggest a walk about the grounds. Then she remembered the
request the latter had made, and smiled at her own stupidity. A walk
about the grounds would probably be the last thing Miss Susanna would
suggest.
As it happened, Jerry had made an engagement to go to Hamilton with
Helen. Ronny had a theme in French to write, which she said would take
her spare time both in the afternoon and evening. Lucy and Katherine
would be in the Biological Laboratory until dinner time, and Leila and
Vera were invited to a tea given by a senior to ten of her class-mates.
These were the only ones to be directly interested in her movements. To
Jerry's invitation, "Want to go to town with Helen and I this
afternoon?" she had replied, "No, Jeremiah," in as casual a tone as she
could command, and that had ended the matter.
Marjorie was doubly careful in the Chemical Laboratory that afternoon
and walked from it this time with no disfiguring stains on her dainty
organdie frock. The letter had named the hour for her visit as five
o'clock. This gave her ample time to return to the Hall, re-coif her
curly hair and add a pretty satin sash of wide pale yellow ribbon to her
costume. The absence of Jerry was, for once, welcome. She had a free
hand to put the finishing touches to her toilet. It appealed to a
certain sense of dignity, latent within her, to be able to quietly
adjust her hat before the mirror and walk openly out of Wayland Hall.
Marjorie inwardly hated anything connected with secrecy, yet it seemed
to her she was always becoming involved in something which demanded it.
When finally she emerged from the Hall, she did not follow the main
drive but cut across the campus, making for the western entrance.
Reaching the highway, she kept a sharp lookout for passing automobiles.
She laughed to herself as she thought of how disconcerting it would be
after all her pains to run squarely into Jerry and Helen. The latter had
just been the lucky recipient of a limousine, long promised her by her
father, and she and Jerry were trying it out that afternoon.
It was ten minutes to five when, without having met anyone save two or
three campus acquaintances, Marjorie walked sedately between the high,
ornamental gate posts of Hamilton Arms, and on up the drive to the
house. She compared her present approach to that of last May Day
evening, when she had stolen like a shadow to the veranda to hang the
May basket. It did not seem quite real to her that now she was actually
coming to Hamilton Arms as an invited guest.
The knocker was no easier to pull than it had been on that night. She
waited, feeling as though she were about to leave the college world
behind and enter one rich in the romance of Colonial days. Then the door
opened slowly and a dignified old man with thick, snow-white hair and a
smooth-shaven face stood regarding her solemnly.
"You are Marjorie Dean?" he interrogated in deep, but very gentle tones.
This before she had time to ask for Miss Susanna.
"Yes," she affirmed, smiling in her unaffected, charming fashion.
"I--Miss Hamilton expects me to tea."
"I know." He bowed with grave politeness. "Come in. Miss Susanna is in
the library. I will show you the way."
Marjorie drew a long breath of admiration as she was ushered into a wide
almost square reception hall paneled in walnut. Her feet sank deep into
the heavy brown velvet rug which completely covered the floor. Walking
quickly behind her guide, she had no more than time for a passing glance
at the massive elegance of the carved walnut furniture. She caught a
fleeting glimpse of herself in the great square mirror of the hall rack
and thought how very small and insignificant she appeared.
"How are you, Marjorie Dean?" Ushered into the library by the stately
old man, the last of the Hamiltons now came forward to greet her.
"I am very well, thank you. I hope you are feeling well, too, Miss
Susanna."
Marjorie took the small, sturdy hand Miss Susanna extended in both her
own. The mistress of Hamilton Arms looked so very tiny in the great
room. Marjorie experienced a wave of sudden tenderness for her.
"Yes; I am well, by the grace of God and my own good sense," returned
her hostess in her brisk, almost hard tones. "You are prompt to the
hour, child. I like that. I hate to be kept waiting. I have my tea at
precisely five o'clock. It is years since I had a guest to tea. Sit down
there." She indicated a straight chair with an ornamental leather back
and seat. "Jonas will bring the tea table in directly, and serve the
tea. Take off your hat and lay it on the library table. I wish to see
you without it."
She had not more than finished speaking, when the snowy-haired servitor
wheeled in a good-sized rosewood tea-table. He drew it up to where
Marjorie sat, and brought another chair for the mistress of Hamilton
Arms similar to the one on which the guest was sitting. Withdrawing from
the room, he left youth and age to take tea together.
"Who would have thought that I should ever pour tea for one of my
particular aversions," Miss Susanna commented with grim humor. "Do you
take sugar and cream, child?"
"Two lumps of sugar and no cream." Marjorie held out her hand for the
delicate Sevres cup.
"Help yourself to the muffins and jam. It is red raspberry. I put it up
myself. Now eat as though you were hungry. I am always ravenous for my
tea. I do not have dinner until eight and I am outdoors so much I grow
very hungry as five o'clock approaches."
"I am awfully hungry," Marjorie confessed. "I love five o'clock tea. We
have it at home in summer but not in winter. We girls at Hamilton hardly
ever have it, because we have dinner shortly after six."
"At what campus house are you?" was the abrupt question.
"Wayland Hall. I like it best of all, though Silverton Hall is a fine
house."
"Wayland Hall," the old lady repeated. "It was his favorite house."
"You are speaking of Mr. Brooke Hamilton?" Marjorie inquired with
breathless interest. "Miss Remson said it was his favorite house. He was
so wonderful. 'We shall ne'er see his like again,'" she quoted, her
brown eyes eloquent.
Miss Susanna stared at her in silence, as though trying to determine the
worth of Marjorie's unexpected remarks.
"He _was_ wonderful," she said at last. "I am amazed at your
appreciation of him. You _are_ an amazing young person, I must say. How
much do you know concerning my great uncle that you should have arrived
at your truly high opinion of him?"
"I know very little about him except that he loved Hamilton and planned
it nobly." Marjorie's clear eyes looked straight into her vis-a-vis's
sharp dark ones. "I have asked questions. I have treasured every scrap
of information about him that I have heard since I came to Hamilton
College. No one seems to know much of him except in a general way."
"That is true. Well, the fault lies with the college." The reply hinted
of hostility. "Perhaps I will tell you more of him some day. Not now; I
am not in the humor. I must get used to having you here first. I try to
forget that you are from the college. I told you I did not like girls. I
may call you an exception, child. I realized that after you had left me,
the day you helped me to the cottage with the chrysanthemums. I was
cheered by your company. I am pleased with your admiration for him. He
was worthy of it."
As on the day of her initial meeting with Brooke Hamilton's great niece,
Marjorie was again at a loss as to what to say next. She wished to say
how greatly she revered the memory of the founder of Hamilton College.
In the face of Miss Susanna's declaration that she did not wish to talk
of him, she could not frame a reply that conveyed her reverence.
"Try these cakes. They are from an old recipe the Hamiltons have used
for four generations. Ellen, my cook, made these. I seldom do any baking
now. I used to when younger. I spend most of my time out of doors in
good weather. Let me have your cup."
Her hostess tendered a plate of delicate little cakes not unlike
macaroons. Marjorie helped herself to the cakes and forebore asking
questions about Brooke Hamilton. Miss Susanna had partially promised to
tell her of him some day. She could do no more than possess her soul in
patience.
"What do you do in winter, Miss Hamilton, when you can't be out?" she
questioned interestedly. "Do you live at Hamilton Arms the year round?"
"Yes; I have not been away from here for a number of years. In winter I
read and embroider. I do plain sewing for the poor of Hamilton. Jonas
takes baskets of clothing and necessities to needy families in the town
of Hamilton. 'The poor ye have always with ye,' you know."
"I know," Marjorie affirmed, her lovely face growing momently sad.
"Captain, I mean, my mother, does a good deal of such work in Sanford. I
have helped her a little. During our last year at high school a number
of us organized a club. We called ourselves the Lookouts and we rented a
house and started a day nursery for the mill children. The house was in
their district."
"And how long did you keep it up?" was the somewhat skeptical inquiry.
"Oh, it is running along beautifully yet." Marjorie laughed as she made
answer.
"I am more amazed than before. A club of girls usually hangs together
about six weeks. Each girl feels that she ought to be at the head of it
and in the end a grand falling-out occurs." Miss Susanna's eyes were
twinkling. This time her remarks were not pointedly ill-natured. "You
are to tell me about this club," she commanded.
Marjorie complied, giving her a brief history of the day nursery.
"Are any of your Lookouts here at Hamilton with you?" she was
interrogated.
"Four of them. One, Lucy Warner, won a scholarship to Hamilton." Now on
the subject, Marjorie determined to make a valiant stand for her chums.
She therefore told of the offering of the scholarship by Ronny and of
Lucy's brilliancy as a student. She told of Lucy's ability as a
secretary and of how much she had done to help herself through college.
She did not forget to speak of Katherine Langly, and her exceptional
winning of a scholarship especially offered by Brooke Hamilton.
"I had no idea there were any such girls over there." The old lady spoke
half to herself. "I might have known there would be some apostles."
"Miss Susanna,"--Marjorie decided that this would be the best time to
acquaint her hostess with what she had purposed to tell her,--"I told my
intimate friends of meeting you the day the basket handle broke. I
thought you ought to know that. You had asked me in your letter not to
mention to anyone that I was coming here. I did not say a word to anyone
of the letter. I would ask my chums not to mention what I told them
about meeting you in the first place, but, if I do, they will wish to
know why."
"Humph!" The listener used Jerry's pet interjection. "Where did you tell
them you were going today? Some of them must have seen you as you came
away."
"No; they were all out except one girl. She was busy writing a theme."
"What would you have told them if they had seen you?" Miss Hamilton eyed
the young girl searchingly.
"I would have said I was going out and hoped they wouldn't feel hurt if
I didn't tell them my destination. What else could I have said?" It was
Marjorie's turn to fix her gaze upon her hostess.
"Nothing else, by rights. If I allowed you to tell your chums, as you
call them, that you were here today, would they keep your counsel? How
many of them would have to know it?" The older woman's face had softened
wonderfully.
Marjorie thought for an instant. "Eight," she answered. "They are
honorable. I would like to tell them."
"Very well, you may." The permission came concisely. "I will take your
word for their discretion. I have my own proper reasons for not wishing
to be gossiped about on the campus. I wish you to come again. I do not
wish your visits to be a secret. I abhor that kind of secrecy. Perhaps
in time I shall not care if the whole college knows. At present what
they do not know will not hurt them. In the words of my distinguished
uncle, 'Be not secret; be discreet.'"