THE DAUGHTER OF MRS. DE LANCEY SMYTHE
Breakfast was hardly over next morning before a note on thin foreign
paper was handed to Miss Sallie Stuart. She read it aloud: it asked for
the pleasure of their company at luncheon. It was signed "Sophia von
Stolberg." The messenger would wait for the answer. Mr. Stuart was
included in the invitation.
"There's only one answer to that note," laughed Mr. Stuart, scanning the
four eager faces of the "Automobile Girls." "Shall I translate your
expressions into a single word? It is 'yes,' my hearties."
"Did you think they would fail to accept?" teased Miss Sallie. "Look at
the foolish young things! They have all fallen in love with the countess
at first sight, and can hardly wait for one o'clock to arrive. But I
will send our acceptance at once, so as not to keep the man waiting."
Miss Stuart hurried off to the writing room of the hotel.
So the girls were alone when they were joined on the piazza by Mrs. De
Lancey Smythe and Marian.
"Good morning, my dears," said Mrs. De Lancey Smythe, with an attempt at
affability. "Isn't it delightful after the storm?"
"Very," answered Ruth, rather shortly.
"Have you seen dear Maud and her father this morning?" pursued Mrs.
Smythe, ignoring Ruth's lack of cordiality.
"No," replied Ruth. "Have you?"
"I saw them a few minutes ago, and they were engaged in a family
discussion," replied the older woman. "Such discussions are most
disagreeable to me. Marian and I never have them. For some stupid
reason, Mr. Warren is opposed to his daughter's receiving attentions
from the Count de Sonde. I have assured him that I know the count well.
He belongs to an old and illustrious family. But tell me, what is your
opinion of the Countess Sophia von Stolberg? Do you think she is an
impostor?"
"An impostor!" exclaimed Ruth indignantly. "I think she is simply
perfect. I never met any one in my life who impressed me so much."
"Beware, my dear, that your feelings do not run away with you," warned
Mrs. De Lancey Smythe with asperity. "I have heard rumors, since I saw
you last night. There are suspicious circumstances connected with this
countess. She may very possibly be an impostor."
"Who told you such a dreadful falsehood?" demanded Ruth. She was almost
choking with anger. But Barbara had joined her. Bab's firm fingers on
Ruth's arm warned her to be careful.
"The man who told me is in a position to know the truth. He is a clever
man of the world, a foreigner himself," replied Mrs. Smythe
triumphantly.
"I am afraid I cannot credit his story," replied Ruth, with more
composure. "I cannot forget that we accepted the countess's hospitality
yesterday and we are to have the pleasure of accepting more of it
to-day. My father and Aunt Sallie, and we four girls, are to have
luncheon with the Countess von Stolberg and Madame de Villiers."
Ruth drew Barbara's arm through hers. They moved away from Mrs. De
Lancey Smythe.
But Mrs. De Lancey Smythe had said her say and left a sting, and she
smiled maliciously as the two girls walked away.
"I can't endure that woman, Barbara," exclaimed Ruth. "I'll lose my head
completely if she attacks our beautiful countess again."
"She is too disagreeable to notice," answered Bab vehemently. "Here
comes Maud Warren. Shall we ask her to take a walk with us along the
Beach?"
"I suppose so," assented Ruth, whose enthusiasm had somewhat cooled over
night. "I don't want her. But we ought to be polite."
The two girls greeted Maud Warren cordially. There was a discontented
line across that young woman's brow, and an angry look in her pale blue
eyes.
"I am looking for the count," she declared defiantly.
The girls instinctively knew that Maud was disobeying her father. Mr.
Warren had just finished lecturing Maud and had commanded that she cut
the count's acquaintance.
"I saw the count a few minutes ago. He was starting off with his friend
for a walk," explained Bab gently. "Won't you take a stroll on the beach
with us, Maud? It is such a perfect morning."
"Oh, do come, Maud," begged Ruth, with a charming, cordial smile. Ruth's
sweet nature was again asserting itself.
"Yes, do," cried Mollie and Grace, who had just joined the little group
of girls.
Maud's face softened. "You are awfully nice," she said. Maud was a
little taken aback by so much friendliness. She had been spoiled all her
life, and had never had real friends among young girls. People had
thought her disagreeable and overbearing, and she had held herself
aloof, displaying a degree of hauteur that admitted of no friendship.
"Let's get our hats and go immediately. It will soon be time to go in
bathing," suggested Bab. Barbara never missed a swim if she could help
it.
"All right, old water dog," Ruth agreed. "Meet us on the piazza looking
toward the ocean, Maud. We will be back in ten minutes."
The girls were back on the piazza at the appointed time. Maud was there.
But with her were Marian De Lancey Smythe, and the Count de Sonde.
"What a nuisance!" exclaimed Ruth under her breath. But there was
nothing to be done; therefore the girls decided to accept this undesired
addition to their number with the best possible grace.
The entire party started down the avenue of palms toward the ocean.
The "Automobile Girls" were thrilled with the beauty of the great
stretch of blue water. Marian De Lancey Smythe, too, had a soul stirring
within her. It had been choked by the false principles and ostentations
that her mother had taught her. But Marian was not a stupid girl. Her
wits had been sharpened by years of managing and deceit. She had the
sense to see the difference between herself and the four sweet,
unaffected "Automobile Girls," and she knew the difference was in their
favor.
Under her fashionable exterior a really simple heart beat in Marian's
bosom, and she was filled with a wild desire to shake off her mother's
despotic rule, and for once let her real self come to the surface. As
she strolled moodily along beside Barbara she reflected bitterly that
while others had been given all, she had received nothing.
She contrasted the hand to mouth existence that she and her mother led
with the full, cheerful life of the "Automobile Girls," and a wave of
shame swept over her at the deceptions and subterfuges that were second
nature to her mother, which she felt reasonably certain that no really
honest person would practise. Her life was a sham and a mockery, and
behind it was the ever present fear that her mother would some day
overstep all bounds, and do something to bring the crushing weight of
the law down upon them. There were so many things that Marian did not
understand. Her mother never said more about her affairs than was
absolutely necessary. She only knew that they were always poor, always
struggling to appear to be that which they were not. She had been
commanded to dissemble, to lie, to do without a murmur, whatever her
mother asked of her, and her better self sometimes rose in a revolt
against her mother, that was almost hatred.
As she walked gloomily along wrapped in her own bitter reflections, she
sighed deeply. Bab who was walking with her glanced quickly at Marian,
then with one of her swift impulses, she put out her hand and clasped
that of the other girl.
"Are you unhappy, Marian?" she asked.
"No," replied Marian. But her emotions got the better of her and she
choked back her sobs with an angry gulp. Then feeling the pressure of
Bab's sympathetic hand she said brokenly, "I mean, yes. At least, I
don't know exactly what is the matter with me. I think I am
homesick--homesick for the things I have never had, and never expect to
have."
"I'm sorry," said Bab, still holding Marian's hand, yet looking away, so
she should not see Marian's rebellious tears. "But why do you think you
won't have the things you want? If you keep on wishing for a thing the
wish is sure to come true some day."
Marian's set face softened at these words. "Do you really think that?"
she asked. "Do you suppose that things will ever be any different for
me? Oh, if you only knew how I hate all this miserable pretense."
"Why, Marian!" exclaimed Bab. "What is the matter? I had no idea you
were so unhappy."
"Of course you hadn't," replied Marian. "Because I never dare let any
one know my real feelings. I never have hated my life as I do since I
have known you girls. You are just girls. That's the beauty of it, and
you have folks who love you and want you to stay girls and not ape grown
up people all the time. I'd like to wear my hair in one braid, and run
and romp and have a good time generally. Look at me. I look as though I
were twenty-two at least, and I'm only seventeen. I have to wear my hair
on top of my head and pretend to be something remarkable when I want to
be just a plain every day girl. It's intolerable. I won't stand it any
longer. I don't see why I was ever born."
"Poor Marian," soothed Bab. "Don't feel so badly. It will all come right
some day. Let me be your friend. I believe I understand just how you
feel. Perhaps your mother may----"
"Don't speak of my mother!" ejaculated the girl passionately. "Sometimes
I hate her. Do you know, Barbara, I often wonder if she is really my
mother. Away back in my mind there is the memory of another face. I
don't know whether I have only dreamed it, or where it came from, but I
like to think of that sweet face as belonging to my mother."
Bab looked at Marian in a rather startled way. What a strange girl she
was, to be sure. Suppose Mrs. De Lancey Smythe were not her mother.
Suppose that Marian had been stolen when a baby. Bab's active brain
immediately began to spin a web of circumstances about Marian Smythe.
"Marian," she began. But she never finished for just then a piercing cry
rang out.
Nursemaids with children began running along the sands. Another nurse
had run out into the water. She was wildly waving her arms and pointing
to a small object well out on the waves. Barbara saw it for just an
instant. Then it disappeared. She and Marian both recognized what it
was. A child's curly head had risen to the surface of the water, and
then had sunk out of sight.
Quick as a flash Barbara kicked off her white canvas pumps and threw hat
and linen coat on the ground.
Extending her hands before her, she ran out into the water. Marian ran
blindly after her. The Count de Sonde was the only man near that part of
the beach. He was behaving in a most remarkable manner. Entirely
forgetful of the blood of scores of noble ancestors that ran in his
veins, he had taken to his heels and his small figure was seen flying up
the beach away from the water.
However, Bab was not thinking of aid. She made straight for the little
head, which rose for the second time above the waves.
When Barbara reached the spot where she had last seen the child's head
she dived beneath the surface of the water.
Marian thought that Barbara, too, had lost her life. She began wringing
her hands and calling for help. In her excitement she had waded to her
neck in the water and was clinging to the life rope. She did not know
how to swim, but she had a wild idea that she ought to follow in
Barbara's lead, and now she clung to the rope and anxiously watched
Barbara's movements. Bab in the meantime, had dived into deep water and
was groping blindly for the little figure. At last she seized the child
by the arm and with lungs bursting rose to the top of the water, when
suddenly she was struck a fearful and unlooked for blow. She had not
reckoned with the life line and with the little fellow in her arms had
come in violent contact with it. She reeled and would have gone under
but a hand grasped her firmly by the arm and pulled her from under the
treacherous rope. She had just sense enough to hand the child over to
Marian Smythe and seize the rope herself. Then she filled her exhausted
lungs with the fresh air.
On the shore Grace and Mollie were running up and down the sands
imploring some one to save Bab. Ruth wished to rush out into the water.
But she knew she could not reach the two exhausted girls.
As for the Count de Sonde, he was nowhere to be seen, while Maud Warren
stood on the shore helplessly wringing her hands.
In a short time the beach was crowded with people. Marian and Bab had
brought the little boy in to his nurse. The hotel physician soon took
the nurse and the baby both away, and the crowd followed them.
Bab flung herself down in the warm sand. Mollie, Ruth and Grace hung
over her anxiously.
"I'll just rest here a moment," Bab said faintly. "I want to get my
breath. But do see to Marian. She is a brave girl. She saved my life. I
struck against the life rope, and would have gone under with the little
boy had she not caught my arm and held me up."
"You dear, dear girl," said Mollie with a half sob. "How splendid of
you!"
Then the three girls surrounded Marian and hugged her until they were
almost as wet as she was.
"I didn't do anything remarkable," she averred, almost shyly. "I went
into the water after Barbara before I realized what I was doing. I just
had to catch hold of her arm, because I saw that she was going under.
You girls are perfectly sweet to me and I am happier to-day than I've
ever been before."
"Marian," called the cold tones of her mother. "Go up to the hotel at
once and change your clothing. Your appearance is disgraceful."
Mrs. De Lancey Smythe stalked majestically over to the little group,
frowning her displeasure. "Whatever possessed you and Miss Thurston to
rush madly into the water after a child you never saw before?" she said
to Marian, whose happy face had darkened at her mother's first word.
"Really, Marian, dear, you are at times past understanding."
"Mrs. Smythe," said Barbara coldly. "We could never have been so
heartless as to stand on the shore and wait for some one else to rescue
that little child. I felt it my duty to make some effort and I am sure
that Marian did."
"Really, Miss Thurston," retorted Mrs. Smythe, "I addressed my remark to
Marian."
"Yes," said Bab, her eyes flashing, "but you included me in it,
therefore I felt justified in answering it."
For a moment there was a tense silence. Bab stood looking composedly
into the angry eyes of Mrs. De Lancey Smythe. Then Ruth said, with
superb indifference. "Oh, come on, girls, don't waste your whole
morning, here. Bab, you'll catch cold. Hurry right up to the hotel with
Marian. Good-bye, Marian, we'll see you later."
Utterly ignoring Mrs. Smythe, Ruth turned on her heel and accompanied by
Grace and Mollie continued the stroll along the beach.
"My I'd hate to meet Mrs. De Lancey Smythe alone on a dark night,"
remarked Mollie, with a giggle. "Didn't she look ready to scratch Bab's
eyes out, though."
"She found her match in Mistress Barbara," observed Grace. "She can't
intimidate our Bab."
Bab hurried along the beach toward the hotel full of sympathy for the
luckless Marian, and vowing within herself to be a true friend to the
girl who had been cheated of her girlhood.