WAITING TO FIND OUT
AS the days passed on, the little French girl did not find her
difficulties grow less. At the office she continued to hear veiled
discussions of the seriousness of the lost letters. No one, of course,
except a few persons in the Governor's confidence, knew exactly what
information the letters contained, but there was no question of their
political importance, for everybody could feel the atmosphere of strain
and suspense. Yet for one thing at least Angelique Martins was grateful:
no one had in any way associated her with the lost or stolen papers. For
whatever Kenneth Helm suspected, or Governor Graham feared, they had
both kept their own counsel. Yet this did not mean that they both
considered her guiltless.
Time and time again Angel tried to summon courage to speak directly to
Kenneth Helm on the subject. She had frequent opportunities, for even
if there was danger of notice or interruption at the office, he came
very often to the Governor's mansion to see Faith or to dine with the
family.
However, she simply did not know what to do or say. To go to Kenneth and
ask him why he had accused her seemed to the girl almost like a
confession of wrongdoing. For oftentimes it appears preposterous in this
world to be forced into denying an act that one could never have even
dreamed of committing. How can one suddenly say, "I am _not_ a thief, I
am _not_ a liar," when every thought and act of their lives has been
pure and good?
Neither could Angel persuade herself to tell Kenneth Helm that she felt
just as suspicious of him as he could possibly feel of her. For she had
no proof of any kind except her own dislike and distrust and the fact
that she had seen him coming out of the Governor's private study on the
same night on which he had suggested that she might have previously
entered it. For of course the Governor's private secretary had a right
to his chief's private papers at almost all times. No, Kenneth would
only consider her accusation an expression of feeble revenge and be
perhaps more convinced of her guilt in consequence.
Therefore there was nothing to do but wait with the hope that everything
would soon be cleared up and the lost letters either found or their
thief discovered.
Moreover, Angel was not even to have the satisfaction of talking the
matter over with Betty, the one person in the world who could and would
have helped her. For she had the Governor's strict command against this
and did not dare disobey. Besides, Angel could see that Betty was unlike
herself these days and so should not be troubled by any one else's
trials. This, of course, was a mistaken point of view, as nothing would
so have helped Betty Graham at this time as to have had some one to
think about who really needed her. However, neither her friend nor her
husband could have realized this.
Nevertheless there was one consolation that the little French girl
enjoyed during these days and that was "the secret" which she and
Bettina had been cherishing so ardently for weeks. Every spare hour she
had from her work she and Bettina had spent together in a big room at
the top of the house, which was Bettina's own private play-room, sacred
to her uses only.
It was a lovely room with pale gray walls and warm, rose-colored
curtains, and all about were pictures of girls and boys who had come
straight out of fairyland and had their photographs taken by such
wonderful fairy artists as Maxfield Parish and Elizabeth Shippen Greene.
For you see Angelique was absolutely attempting to draw one of these
fairy pictures herself, while Bettina was acting as her model.
The picture was not to be a portrait, the artist had scarcely courage to
have undertaken that, but it was to represent Bettina's favorite
heroine, "Snow White and Rose Red."
All her life, ever since she was a little girl of five or six, Angelique
Martins had been drawing and painting whenever she had the least chance
or excuse. Of course it was this same artistic gift that had showed in
her clever fingers and sense of color through all the work which she had
done in the Camp Fire Club. But of her actual talent as an artist
Angelique had always been extremely shy. You see, she cared for art so
much that she did not consider that she had any _real_ talent. But even
confessing that she had the least little ability, of course it would
take years of study and goodness knows how much money before she could
have hoped to amount to anything.
Nevertheless there was nothing to forbid the little lame French girl's
amusing herself with her fancy whenever she had the chance. And ever
since she could remember, Angel had been drawing pictures for Bettina.
It had been their favorite amusement as soon as Tina passed beyond her
babyhood, which was sooner than most children.
Naturally Angel had drawn hundreds of pictures with Bettina as her model
before, but never one half so ambitious as this. However, this last one
represented about the sixth effort, and it was a great question even
now whether this was to be the final one. For "Snow White and Rose Red"
was not merely a play picture, one that had been painted merely for
amusement; it had a most serious intention behind it.
Weeks before in a magazine which the two friends had been looking over
together they had come across an advertisement. A prize of two hundred
dollars was offered for the best picture illustrating any fairy story.
Moreover, no well-known artist was to be allowed to enter the
competition; the drawings were all to be made by amateurs under
twenty-five years of age.
The first suggestion that Angel should take part in this wonderful
contest had come, of course, from Bettina as soon as the older girl had
read her the amazing announcement, for Tina's faith in her friend was
without limit. Then just as naturally Angel first laughed at her
suggestion and afterwards decided to try just for fun to see what she
could do; and here at last was most furiously in earnest, although still
undecided whether to send her picture to the competition or to throw it
away.
There were only a few days more before the time limit expired.
Therefore, would it be possible for her to undertake an entirely new
picture here at the very last?
With these uncertainties weighing on her mind Angel was sitting in front
of a small easel with a box of pastels on a table near by. Closer to the
big nursery window Bettina was curled up in a white armchair, one foot
tucked up under her in a favorite attitude and in her lap were half a
dozen red roses.
She was tired, for she had been quiet an unusually long time while Angel
made slight changes in her work and then stopped to consider the whole
thing disparagingly. But somehow her weariness made Bettina's pose even
more charming.
[Illustration: ANGEL HAD CAUGHT BETTINA'S ATTITUDE ALMOST EXACTLY]
Her long yellow-brown hair hung over her shoulders down into her very
lap, her eyes were wide open and yet were plainly not looking at any
particular object. For Tina was making up stories to amuse herself while
Angel worked. It was only in this way that she could manage to keep
still for so long a time as Angel needed.
But this was the picture that Bettina herself made; what of her friend's
drawing of her? Naturally it was not so graceful or pretty as the little
girl herself.
Nevertheless, by some happy chance Angel had caught Bettina's attitude
almost exactly. Then too she had drawn a little girl who did not look
exactly like other children. There was a suggestion of poetry, almost of
mystery, about her fairy tale girl, in the wide open blue-gray eyes,
dreaming as Tina's so often were, and in the half uncurled lips.
Of course the lines of the drawing were not so firm and clear as an
experienced artist would have made them, yet glancing at the little
picture, you felt something that made you wish to look at it again.
However, Angel sighed so that Bettina came out of her dream story and
stretched herself in the big chair.
"What is the matter?" she inquired. "May I get up and walk about the
room now?"
The older girl nodded. "Thank you, dear. This is the last time I am
going to trouble you to sit for this picture. I have just decided that I
can't do any better by trying it over again, yet I don't know whether I
shall send it to the competition after all."
The next moment Angel was startled by something that sounded almost like
a sob from Tina. Since the little girl was so seldom cross, she was
surprised and a little frightened.
"I am sorry you are so tired. Why didn't you tell me?" Angelique
demanded.
Bettina had crossed the nursery and was standing close beside her
picture.
"It isn't that, it is only that I do want you to send it so much,"
Bettina answered. "You see, I think it is the best picture anybody ever
painted and we have both worked so hard and it has been such a nice
secret," she said huskily.
Angel put her arm about her. "Of course I'll send it, dear, if you feel
that way," she conceded. "But you must not even dream that I shall get
the prize and you must promise not to be disappointed if we never hear
of the picture again."
Bettina agreed and then there followed a most unexpected knocking at the
locked nursery door. The two conspirators stared at each other in
consternation.
"Who is it, please?" Bettina demanded. "You know Angel and I are having
our secret together and we can't let any one come in."
Betty's voice replied: "Yes, I know; but I thought maybe the secret was
over and you would like me to come and play too. I am feeling pretty
lonesome."
"Oh," Tina returned, and then she and Angel whispered together. Finally
the little girl came over toward the closed door.
"I wish you would not be lonesome just now, mother," she murmured, "just
when we are most dreadfully busy. If you will only go away for a little
while and then come back, why, Angel and I will love to play with you."
"I am afraid I won't be here after a while," Betty answered and then
walked slowly away. It was absurd for her to feel wounded by such a
trifle, and yet recently it had looked as though Bettina preferred
Angelique's company to hers. What a useless person she was growing to
be! Well, at least she and Meg were going to a Suffrage meeting that
afternoon! She had not intended going, but the baby was asleep and
Anthony would not be home for hours. Perhaps after the talk ended she
might drive by and get Anthony to return with her. She had not thought
him looking very well that morning.