The Meeting
"They are not coming, Esther, and I am so dreadfully disappointed I
think I shall weep," Betty Ashton announced one afternoon about two
weeks later. The two girls were waiting in front of a tumble-down little
German station in the country, apparently several miles from any thickly
settled spot. Esther was seated in a carriage with a driver, but Betty
was leaning disconsolately over the station platform raised by a few
steps from the ground. A few moments before she had been walking rapidly
up and down in far too great a state of excitement and pleasure to keep
still. Now, however, the train had pulled in and stopped, letting off
several stout passengers, but revealing no sign of Polly O'Neill and the
maid, whom Miss Adams was sending on ahead to make things ready for
her.
"They must have missed the train; they will be sure to come down early
in the morning," Esther comforted.
But Betty mournfully shook her head. "It won't be quite the same if they
do. Of course I shall always be happy to see Polly O'Neill at any time
or place in this world or the next; still, a postponed pleasure is not
as agreeable as one that takes place on time. And think of all we had
planned for this evening!"
Under the circumstances there was nothing for Betty to do now but to
climb back into the carriage and take her seat next her sister. For the
little station was by this time completely deserted and had few
attractions for making one linger long in its neighborhood. It was too
lonely and dilapidated. There was another station at Waldheim, where
passengers usually got out, but the two girls had given Polly special
directions to use this one, so that they might have a long drive home
through the German forests at sundown, bringing her to their little
house in the woods amid the best scenic effects.
"We won't even be able to receive a telegram tonight telling us what
has occurred, the office closes so early," Betty continued. "I wish at
least that Dick had not chosen to spend tonight in Berlin. Don't you
think he is behaving rather curiously lately, Esther? He is so unlike
himself and sometimes so cross. Of course I realized that he had a right
to be angry when those absurd German youths came wandering out here. But
I was glad enough to have him write to Franz Schmidt that he was never
to see me again. And we have not exactly the right to forbid Frederick
von Reuter's coming to this neighborhood. You don't believe, do you,
Esther child, that Dick can be staying in town so often lately to see
that abominable girl at our old pension?"
Esther chanced to be gazing at the beautiful landscape through which
they were passing, so that the younger girl had no opportunity for
observing her face. Moreover, Esther's rather weary and wistful
expression would not have altogether surprised her, as both she and her
mother had been worrying recently over Esther's appearance. Undoubtedly
she was working too hard over her music. She went into town twice a week
for lessons and the thought of her appearance in the early autumn might
also be making her nervous.
Esther made no answer now to Betty's complaints, but instead pointed
toward a hill at the left of them. Near the summit they could see a gray
stone house, looking more like a prison than the American ideal of a
home, and yet possessing a kind of lonely beauty and dignity.
"Whose castle is that, Betty, do you know?" Esther queried. Betty
wondered if the question was intended to change the current of her
thoughts.
"It looks far more like one of the castles that we saw during our trip
along the Rhine than the estates near Berlin."
Then for some absurd reason Betty blushed. "It is Fritz von Reuter's
uncle's place, I believe. I have always intended telling you, Esther, if
you will promise not to mention it to Dick. The day I first came to this
neighborhood to look for a place for us to live I had rather an odd
experience."
Betty would have continued her confession, but at this moment they were
driving through a wonderful stretch of woodland road. The way was narrow
and on one side was a sharp decline and on the other a thick growth of
evergreens. Moving toward them was a horse with a young man upon it in a
suit of light gray riding clothes, which in the afternoon sunlight
looked almost the color of silver. He was carrying his hat in his hand
and his hair was a bright yellow such as one seldom sees except in young
children. Indeed, he was so remarkably handsome that even Esther, who
rarely paid much attention to strangers, gazed at him for the moment
with interest, temporarily forgetting what Betty had been trying to
confess.
To her amazement, however, the rider made not the faintest effort to
give their carriage the right of way, but moved on directly in the
center of the road. Their driver, evidently recognizing the young man as
a person of distinction, then drove so close to the underbrush on their
right that both girls felt a momentary fear of being tumbled out.
Betty kept her lips demurely closed and her head held upright, with the
expression of pride and self-possession which she reserved for very
special occasions. However, it was difficult to maintain an atmosphere
of cold dignity when one was in immediate danger of being tipped out of
a rickety old carriage into a ditch.
The horse and rider approached nearly opposite the carriage, the young
fellow gazing haughtily but none the less curiously toward the two
American girls. Then almost instantly his unprepossessing manner changed
and his face broke into a smile which was singularly charming. Neither
of the two girls had often seen in Germany just this type of youth. He
was of only medium height, but perfectly proportioned, with square
military shoulders, and he rode his horse as though he and it were
carved from the same block of stone. Nevertheless there was no doubt but
that he was looking at Betty as if he expected some sign of recognition.
He was mistaken, however, for she let him pass them without even
turning her head in his direction.
It was after eight o'clock that evening when Mrs. Ashton, Betty and
Esther had finally come to the end of their melancholy dinner. For there
are few things drearier than eating alone the banquet prepared for a
long expected guest, when the guest has failed to arrive.
The dinner table had a miniature pine tree in the center, which Betty
had dug out of the earth with her own hands and decorated with the tiny
Camp Fire emblems which she and Esther always carried about in their
trunks, while waving from its summit was a tiny American flag. On either
side of the tree were the three candles sacred to all their Camp Fire
memories, and the table was also loaded with plates of German sweets and
nuts and favors sent out from town for this evening's feast.
Esther and Mrs. Ashton had been trying to keep up a semblance of
cheerfulness during dinner, but Betty had refused to make any such
effort. Now the front doorbell unexpectedly rang and their funny little
German _Maedchen_ went out of the room to open it. Betty did not even
glance up. She supposed that it must be Dick, who had changed his mind
about remaining in Berlin and had taken a later train home. However,
even Dick's return was of only limited interest this evening.
The next moment and two arms were tight about her neck, almost stifling
her. Then a voice that could only be Polly O'Neill's, though Betty could
not turn her head, was whispering:
"Oh, Princess, Princess, has it been two years or two centuries since we
met? And are you as pretty as ever, and do you love me as much?"
A little later, when both girls had laughed and cried in each other's
arms, Polly was at last able to explain to Mrs. Ashton that she and her
maid had made a mistake in their train and had taken one which did not
stop at the out-of-the-way station mentioned in the girls' letters. So
they had been compelled to go on further and then to have an automobile
to bring them back to Waldheim.