“A maiden’s fancies.”
In spite of the turmoil of mind under which I had labored since my
interview with my father, I had already formed somewhat definite plans
for my future.
I had made all my arrangements as if I were really going to the Grange,
and had had my boxes labeled accordingly. Thus Lady Elizabeth had not
alarmed herself about me, knowing that my comfort would be looked after
at the Grange. My father, if he had taken the trouble to make any
inquiries about me, would also think he knew whither I was bound; and,
even if visited by a faint feeling of compunction on my behalf, would
consider that I was as well off in one place as in another.
But since he had ordered me from his house, I meant to take him
literally at his word, and had resolved never to cast my shadow within
any threshold of his again. I was but ill equipped for earning my
livelihood, but I had a certain determination of purpose at whose
bidding I was prepared to cast aside all false pride, such as might
possibly throw obstacles in the way of my progress. Thus I realized that
it might become necessary for me to adopt a means of living perfectly
honest and honorable in itself, but which had hitherto never entered
into the calculations of a Courtney.
Circumstances had precluded my having many friends to whom I could turn
in my present need. But I felt that I could rely upon the vicar of
Moorbye and his kindly wife. Both the Rev. Horace Garth and Mrs. Garth
had always shown some interest in me and in my doings, and they were
among the few people who seemed to be uninfluenced by the physical
disadvantages which were such a sore source of trouble to me. It was to
the Moorbye vicarage, therefore, that I resorted for aid and counsel in
this my great extremity. I felt some trepidation as I was swiftly
whirled along in the second-class compartment, for which a sense of the
necessity of economizing the money I had at my disposal had induced me
to take a ticket. As to what kind of traveling companions I had, it is
impossible for me to say, for I was too much engrossed with my troubles
to take notice of my surroundings.
“Will the Garths welcome me, and do their best for me; or will, they
consider me to blame, and wash their hands of me?”
This was the question that was uppermost in my mind, and I could
scarcely refrain from putting it into so many words, when, on alighting
at Moorbye Station, whom should I see but the vicar himself welcoming
two ladies who had evidently traveled from town by the same train which
had conveyed myself.
Leaving the porter, who gave me a respectful recognition, to see after
my luggage for the present, I hurried up to the vicar and accosted him.
“Mr. Garth, can you give me a moment’s private conversation? If these
ladies will kindly excuse you, I will not keep you long.”
“Why, Dorrie! What brings you here just now?” Mr. Garth exclaimed, as
he, fortified by the permission of his friends, walked along the
platform with me. “And how do you happen to be traveling alone?”
“My father has turned me out of his house. Until I can find some means
of earning my living, I have no one to whom I can go for counsel but
yourself. I hoped to have been able to stay with you to-night, but I see
you already have visitors.”
“Tut, tut, child! As if that mattered. You would always be welcome. Now,
not a word of all this until we can talk the matter over later on.
Meanwhile, come and be introduced to my friends.—Oh, I say, Thompson,
see that Miss Courtney’s luggage is sent up to the vicarage with the
rest.—Ah, here we are! Mrs. Marshall, I am glad to introduce to your
notice Miss Dora Courtney, who has kindly come to cheer her old friends
up a bit. Miss May, you will be pleased to have a clever companion of
your own age while you are down here. Dorrie, these are old friends and
near relatives of ours, Mrs. Frank Marshall and Miss May Morris.”
What wonderful power there is in generous good nature combined with
tact! Five minutes before I reached Moorbye Station I was among the most
miserable upon earth, wondering whether even a civil welcome awaited me.
Five minutes after my arrival I was being bowled toward the vicarage in
Mrs. Garth’s funny little governess car, and was laughing merrily with
the others at the small space at our individual disposal.
“My dear, I have an unexpected pleasure in store for you. Here are our
cousins, and here is Dora Courtney, also come to favor us with a visit.”
Thus said the vicar, on our arrival at his home. There was a warm
welcome from Mrs. Garth, supplemented by a somewhat boisterous one from
Master Vincent Garth, who betrayed great curiosity concerning my outward
appearance.
“Do come right into the middle of the hall, just for one minute,” he
demanded, “while we have a real good look at you.”
Quite unconscious of the purport of his impetuosity, I laughingly obeyed
him, the rest meanwhile standing by in indulgent amusement. For some
seconds the child looked at me gravely. Then his face became quickly
clouded with disappointment, and, considerably to the surprise of us
all, he burst into loud lamentations, of which it was some time before
we could gather the meaning.
“We don’t like her any better,” he sobbed. “Susie said Miss Dora was to
be a grand countess, and we’ve looked at her, and she isn’t turned
grand. She’s just ugly.”
I believe Mrs. Garth hoped and fancied that I had not been able to
understand Vinnie’s comments. But I had not found it very difficult to
do so, and felt quite as much hurt as if this little stab to my vanity
had proceeded from a responsible individual, instead of from an
impulsive child, though I strove to hide my humiliated feelings as much
as possible.
“What a horrid child,” whispered Miss Morris, as we passed up the fine
old staircase, in the wake of our hostess, on the way to the rooms
allotted to us. “He ought to be whipped for insulting any one like
that.”
For a moment I was tempted to second her remark. Then my better nature
prevailed, as I remembered how frank and generous Vinnie really was.
“I do not blame him,” I answered, somewhat soberly, it must be
confessed. “Vinnie was only giving way to a natural disappointment, and
did not dream of hurting my feelings, I am sure.”
“Now look at the accommodation I have for you, and tell me if you think
it will do,” called out Mrs. Garth’s rich voice from a room which she
and Mrs. Marshall had just entered. “I have only two spare bedrooms,
which open out of this dressing-room,” she continued. “I had intended
the large room for Madge, and the small one for May, but I am afraid I
must ask two of you to use one bedroom jointly.”
“Oh, how delightful!” exclaimed May, who was evidently a very impulsive
young lady. “Madge can have the small room, and Dora and I will sleep in
the other. I may call you Dora, mayn’t I? I hate ceremony, and, do you
know, I have taken quite a fancy to you.”
Of course all Miss May’s propositions were cheerfully acquiesced in, and
we were all three soon occupied in unpacking our dinner-gowns. In the
dressing-room a cozy little fire shed its comforting rays upon the
pretty furniture and draperies, and gave an aspect of cheerfulness to
the place which was by no means reflected in my own heart, though I
strove to banish all outward semblance of dejection.
“Fancy a fire in June!” laughed May, as she insisted I should at once
call her. “It strikes a Londoner as rather odd; but, do you know, I’m
not at all sure that it isn’t quite cool down here. I gather that you
are a native of these parts, Dora. Is it a usual thing to need fires in
summer?”
“At the Grange,” I replied, as I fastened the dinner-dress which I would
rather have been excused from wearing this evening, as I was both tired
and overwrought, and would gladly have gone to bed, “at the Grange we
seem to need fires all the year round in some of the rooms. Some parts
of the neighborhood are inclined to be rather marshy and damp, and as
coals are cheap about here, nearly everybody keeps the chills off in the
only possible way.”
“Good gracious! I hope it isn’t a fever-and-ague sort of a neighborhood!
What shall we do if it is? We are invited down here for a month, but if
there is any danger in that direction, I shall betake myself off again.
Fancy jerking your limbs first in one direction and then in another, and
pulling grimaces at people just at the very moment when you want to be
most polite! It’s too awful to think about, and I dare not risk it.”
“Why, you goose,” exclaimed Mrs. Marshall, “you are mixing up
fever-and-ague with an entirely different complaint, called St. Vitus’s
Dance. It is a nervous affection, not likely to be brought on by a
chill.”
“And,” I added, “I don’t think you need alarm yourself about
fever-and-ague, either. None of the Garth household have ever been
troubled with it, and we have always enjoyed the same immunity at the
Grange.”
“The Grange. That’s where you live, isn’t it?” inquired May. “It sounds
quite old-worldish and jolly. I can fancy all sorts of spirits and
hobgoblins disporting in its interminable corridors and secret chambers.
What is the ghost like? Is it a woman dressed in gray silk, and with a
heartbroken look on a beautiful face? And does she wring her hands, and
cry, ‘Woe is me!’ Or is it a man, looking fierce and vengeful, and
dragging clanking chains after him? They are mostly either one or the
other, and oh! I forgot, the woman turns into a cat sometimes, and
stands mewing over a place where there is a buried treasure. Isn’t it
delightful to think of? Dora, you must take me to the Grange, and let me
sleep with you one night. Then we’ll watch for the ghost, and perhaps we
may solve the mystery of the treasure and become rich beyond the wildest
dreams of avarice. And then I’ll write the ghost’s history. Mr. Stoach
is great on ghosts lately, but our ghost tale will be much better and
much more thrilling than any he has got hold of. I wonder if there are
heaps of rubies and pearls and diamonds and sapphires among the
treasure. It always is the case. Oh, won’t they be gorgeous! Dora, we
must go not later than to-morrow night! I really cannot bear the
suspense any longer. What do you say?”
But for a little while I was beyond saying anything, for every time I
tried to speak a fit of laughter prevented the utterance of a single
intelligible word. Mrs. Marshall, too, though she laughed like one who
was more familiar with Miss May’s flights of fancy and vagaries than I
was, enjoyed the situation thoroughly.
“That’s the way with May,” she smiled. “You will get used to her
by-and-by, no doubt. She pictures the wildest things, and accepts the
freaks of her own imagination as gospel truth.”
“But,” interrupted May, whose face looked comically anxious. “There is a
ghost, isn’t there? And there is a treasure, isn’t there?”
“I’m afraid that the Grange possesses neither of those hall-marks of
antiquity,” I responded, as gravely as I could. “At least, I have never
heard of them.”
“That’s just it!” cried May, renewed hope sparkling in her eyes.
“Perhaps you are rather nervous, and they didn’t like to tell you about
the ghost. But it’s there, all the same. Have you never heard it
pattering along the deserted corridors, or tapping gently against the
window panes, to attract your attention, or sighing mournfully through
the keyhole, or—”
“May, do be less absurd,” pleaded Mrs. Marshall. “You will not be ready
to go down with us to dinner if you do not hurry up, instead of standing
chattering about rubbish.”
“Rubbish, indeed! Ghosts are not rubbish. Treasure is not rubbish. I
wish I had some of the latter now, so that I could have a maid to dress
me. Dora, you must, you really must, let us make a start at solving the
mystery to-morrow.”
“But there is no mystery.”
“That remains to be seen. At any rate, you will take me to the Grange
to-morrow, will you not?”
I was glad that just at this moment we were summoned to dinner, as May’s
persistence about visiting the Grange worried me a little, and I did not
want to commit myself in any way until I had had the private talk with
Mr. Garth that had been agreed upon. So “We will see about it” was all
the reply on the subject which May received just then. But it satisfied
her for the time being, for she immediately went off into ecstasies of
thanks and speculation, which bubbled over even after we had sat down to
dinner.
“What do you think?” she exclaimed to Mr. and Mrs. Garth. “I’m in for no
end of adventure. Dora has promised to take me to the Grange, to
exorcise the ghost and recover the buried treasure. And we’re going to
spend our wealth abroad. We shall wear our diamonds at the foreign
courts, and I intend to marry nothing under a duke. And my children will
be princes, and perhaps—Good gracious! who’s the next heir to the throne
of Germany?”
By this time the whole company was convulsed with laughter, which Miss
May did not seem to appreciate; for she froze up immediately, cast a
withering look of scorn at the callously inappreciative company, and
spoke not another word for at least two minutes, at the end of which
time her tongue was languishing for exercise.
“And how did you leave Lady Elizabeth?” inquired Mrs. Garth, during this
momentary break in the conversation.
“I do not like her present condition at all,” was my reply. “She has
fretted a good deal ever—ever since the earl died.”
It cost me much to utter these words quietly, for the mere thought of my
poor old lover’s mysterious death always moved me to sudden anger.
“But surely she is not fretting herself ill?” said Mr. Garth, in some
surprise. “We know that she was much attached to her father; but, after
all, he was really old, and she has many compensating blessings, if I am
not mistaken.”
“You are not mistaken,” was my answer. “But Lady Elizabeth’s grief is
not selfish or unreasonable, though it may be incomprehensible to all
but herself and me.”
“Then you think you understand fully why she is allowing it to prey on
her health?”
“God help me, yes!” I cried passionately. “Why do you torture me like
this? Cannot you understand that the whole subject is too bitter for me
to talk of more than can be helped?”
“Poor child!” exclaimed Mrs. Garth penitently. “Of course it is. I ought
to have known.”
“No, no, I am the one to blame. How can you possibly know all that
occupies my mind? Forgive my hasty words, they were foolish and
unwarrantable.”
Mrs. Garth protested against this last assertion of mine, but I need
hardly remark that our party was not quite so cheerful as it had been,
and that we were all somewhat relieved when it was time to adjourn to
the drawing-room.
“Dorrie,” said Mr. Garth, “can you spare me a few moments before we join
the others?”
“Certainly.”
“Then we will have a chat in my study.”
And to Mr. Garth’s study we went. Here, so far as it was advisable for
me to do, I confided the details of my history and perplexities to my
host, who listened with the greatest attention to all I had to tell him.
“Do you think I am much to blame?” I asked at last.
“I cannot think that you have much to reproach yourself with, as, though
somewhat impulsive at times, I believe you to be very fair and just.
But, to be candid, I do not quite realize the necessity for all this
extreme feeling. That, I suppose, is because I do not know all the
workings of the case. Is that so?”
“You are quite right. But I cannot be more explicit than I have been. I
have no right to press the subject further on any one’s notice. But I
can assure you honestly that I have done nothing of which I need be
ashamed, and that it would be utterly impossible for me to live in the
same house with my sister again. Not that she need be blamed much,
either. But we seem to be naturally antagonistic to each other and are
best apart.”
“But what will you do with yourself, child? That you should earn your
own living has never been contemplated for you, and you are consequently
handicapped at every point.”
“I am not afraid of work. Teaching is not much in my line. I believe I
can play the fiddle sufficiently well to perform at an occasional
concert, but that would not do much toward keeping me.”
“You might teach the violin—”
“Oh, dear no. I am afraid I should find myself rapping the knuckles of
my pupils if they should turn out extra stupid. That wouldn’t do at all.
I could go out as amanuensis, or companion, or something of that sort;
for I write a neat hand, have more than a smattering of French and
German, and am A1 at making Everton taffy and pickled cabbage.”
“Two very indispensable acquisitions for an amanuensis! Still, your
other qualifications might fetch somebody. What do you say if we
advertise? Would you mind going abroad?”
“Just what I would be best pleased to do at present.”
“Now about Mrs. Marshall and Miss Morris. It will be necessary to tell
them something—”
“We will just tell them that I have had a deal of trouble, that I wish
to turn my back on the scenes of my trouble for a time, and that while
away from home I have a fancy for earning my own living. Such part of my
troubles as are already public property you may of course confide to
them.”
“Then things are settled so far. I will see about the advertisement
being sent off for you, and you must understand that we are by no means
in a hurry to get rid of you. You will be more than welcome to stay here
until you find something to your liking to do.”
Somehow all this kindness robbed me of the composure which a strict
business-like attitude on Mr. Garth’s part might have helped me to
preserve. I could only thank him brokenly, and beg him to excuse my
appearance in the drawing-room, as I felt fit for nothing but solitude
and bed. He readily promised to do what I wished, and at length I felt
at liberty to retire for the night. But by this time I had a distracting
headache, and though I bathed my forehead with eau-de-cologne, and tried
various other infallible specifics, I found it impossible to go to
sleep, or even to subdue the pain which tormented me. From below I could
occasionally hear the sound of singing, though I was unable to judge
whether the vocalist was the elder or the younger of the two visitors.
About twelve o’clock, as judged from the periodical chiming of the
little clock in the dressing-room, it became evident that the other
visitors were coming up to bed, and I forthwith feigned the sleep which
refused to come at my bidding, lest voluble Miss May might expect me to
talk with her. The two ladies made as little noise as possible in the
dressing-room for a while, and I was just thinking that my bedfellow
would soon join me, when I heard the most blood-curdling shriek
imaginable, and a white figure fairly flew into the bedroom, jumped into
the bed, drew the clothes frantically over her head and ears, and moaned
in a state of shuddering terror. My own natural alarm was speedily
quenched by the appearance of Mrs. Marshall, bearing every evidence of
extreme anger.
“I do believe you are losing your senses altogether!” she exclaimed,
giving her sister’s shoulder a vigorous shake, which, so far from
pacifying the young lady, only sent her into a fresh paroxysm of terror,
and caused her to give a louder shriek than the first. By this time Mrs.
Garth had run into the room, to see what was the matter, while at the
door could be heard the voices of a startled group of people, composed
of the vicar, the cook and the housemaid, all of them wondering what on
earth the commotion was about. Inside the bedroom, the tableau was not
without interest. Mrs. Garth stood with a lighted candle raised above
her head, looking almost as frightened as May seemed to be. Mrs.
Marshall was trying to convince her sister that there was nothing to be
afraid of. May was steadily trying to bury herself under the bedclothes,
and I was sitting up in bed, vainly struggling to wrest my legitimate
share of sheets and blankets from the frantic clasp of their
unceremonious appropriator.
After a while May grew calmer and popped her head from under the clothes
with a sudden jerk, which caused it to come into contact with the chin
of her sister, who was bending over her, in an attempt to pacify her.
The result was somewhat painful for Mrs. Marshall, and caused May to
scream out again in terror.
“Keep it off! Keep it off!” she cried wildly.
“Keep what off? What on earth do you mean?” I shouted, feeling utterly
unnerved and vexed at the same time.
“Oh, the ghost! the ghost! Keep it off!” was the shuddering response.
“How can you be so silly,” I said, out of all patience. “What do you
mean by a ghost?”
By this time, May began to seem more rational, and cautiously sat up,
surveying the room with a scared look. “I heard it,” she said, solemnly.
“And I felt it touch my shoulders.”
“It was no ghost other than myself who touched your shoulders,” spoke up
Mrs. Marshall, still hugging her jaw in an attitude of pain. “I wish I
could shake some sense into you.”
“Oh! it was you, was it?” quoth May. “But it wasn’t you who gave three
unearthly taps at the window. I heard them quite distinctly, and I’m
sure it was all done by a ghost.”
“It was done by the Virginia Creeper which climbs all over this side of
the house,” said Mrs. Garth. “You will very likely hear it again, but
may go to sleep comfortably.”
“And let other people go to sleep,” added Mrs. Marshall, as she went
back to her own room.
Mrs. Garth, after bidding us both good-night, also retired, and May
subsided angrily into a recumbent position. “Just like Madge, to try and
make me look ridiculous,” she grumbled. “All the same, it was a ghost,
and I won’t stay here after to-morrow.”
And this was the girl who, only a few hours before, had talked of laying
a ghost and unearthing the ghostly buried treasure with which her
prolific imagination haunted the home of my childhood!
Certainly her escapade had had one good effect. It had banished my
headache, and I did not suffer any more from insomnia that night.
When I awoke the next morning, May Morris was looking at me with a
comical expression of disgust on her pretty face.
“Do you know,” she said solemnly, “I believe I made a perfect idiot of
myself last night. I can’t think what it was that so unnerved me. The
fact is, it was the unexpectedness of the whole thing. Now, if I had
known beforehand that the house was haunted, I shouldn’t have been
frightened a bit. You wait and see what a bold front I shall put on when
we see the Grange ghost.”
“My dear,” I said, with a smile born of a conscious superiority in
matters nervous, “there are two reasons why I cannot show the Grange
ghost.”
“And what are they?”
“I am not likely to visit the interior of the Grange, and, if I did
visit it, I could not show any one its ghost, because it hasn’t got
one.”
“Hasn’t it, really?”
“No—really.”
“What a pity! And just when I thought I was going to have a share of the
treasure! Never mind, I shall find another some day. Oh, by-the-by, Mr.
Garth told me a funny thing last night. He said that you, a rich young
lady, belonging to a county family, and, as one might almost say, the
widow of an earl, wanted to take a situation and earn your own living!”
“He is quite right in what he has stated.”
“Then I believe I know just the sort of thing that would suit you, that
is, if you would care to go to Russia.”
“Why not?”
“Well, you see, it is such a queer place. It swarms all over with
nihilists, and anarchists, and spies, and caviare, and bomb-shells, and
there are prisons at every street corner, into which they clap you
without so much as a minute’s notice, if you don’t happen to salaam
humbly every time a government official goes by in his amber gown and
scarlet turban. In fact, it’s just a horrid place, where they can’t
speak English, and where they murder everybody who can’t pronounce the
word ‘Peccavi.’”
“Upon my word, May, you’ll be the death of me yet! You seem to get
awfully mixed up in your information. Somebody must have been slandering
Russia to you a little. Of course, it could never be half so nice as
England at its best; but even the Evil One, you know, isn’t half so
black as he’s painted, and we’ll give Russia the benefit of doubt.
Anyhow, your description hasn’t frightened me, and, if you don’t mind,
you shall give me the particulars of the situation you were speaking of,
while I complete my toilet.”
“All right, I’ll tell you about it. But if you are put in prison and
tickled to death, don’t say I didn’t warn you. I dare say you have heard
that when Madge and I are at home we live at South Kensington. Now next
door to us there lives a Russian lady with her little daughter and a
whole swarm of servants. We met Madame Kominski at Lady Tranmere’s At
Home last week, and heard that she was looking out for a useful
companion to take back to Russia with her. She wanted somebody who was a
real lady, who could be treated on a family footing, and who could speak
French or German. She had had several applicants for the post, but none
of them suited.”
“I wonder why?”
“Well, between you and me and the post, I think I know. They were all
too good-looking. Madame is both young and beautiful, and does not want
a companion who will eclipse her.”
“Then I suppose I shall stand a chance of securing the coveted post,
since I am almost ugly enough to serve as a foil even to a plain woman.”
“Now that is nasty of you, for I don’t call you a bit ugly. Only just
unbeautiful enough to prevent madame from being jealous.”
“Very well. I will go back to London to-morrow and interview Madame
Kominski, if you will furnish me with her address.”
“But why not write?”
“A letter would not describe my appearance accurately enough. If madam
desires some one who is unbeautiful, as you put it, a sight of me will
go far to convince her that she has found the treasure she is in search
of.”
“I don’t quite understand you, but of course I will write the address
down for you, and if you really get the appointment, you must write me
regular accounts of your adventures. Then I’ll have them printed in a
book, and if I can’t find a buried treasure, I shall perhaps be famous
as an authoress.”
“A valuable wrinkle, my dear. I must be careful not to write anything
that isn’t intended to become public property.”
“Oh, but you are sure to be in such a perpetual state of excitement that
you will not be able to weigh all your words when you are writing. There
is one difficulty. Suppose they put you in prison, how will you manage
to send your letters off?”
“You must trust me for that. I am sure to find some way of dispatching
all the letters I am likely to write to you while in prison. On your
side, you must never mention anything about Russia or the Russians in
any letter you may dispatch to the czar’s country. Then we shall be all
right.”
“Very well, then that is all arranged. But before you go downstairs I am
going to show you the loveliest, most ravishing, most delightful thing
you ever saw in your life. Look here!”
As May spoke, she jumped up and dived into one of her boxes, whence she
fished out a whole handful of photographs. I naturally expected to
behold the presentment of a superlatively beautiful member of my own
sex, and was not a little astounded to see a dozen portraits of a
popular but by no means wonderfully handsome actor.
“Isn’t he bewitching?” May rhapsodized. “Did you ever see any one in
your life half so handsome? Oh, he’s simply adorable!”
“And did he give you all those photographs?”
“Oh, dear no! I bought them all with my own pocket-money. I love him so
dearly that I dream of him almost night and day, and I buy a copy of
every fresh portrait of him that is issued. Oh, if you could only
imagine how I love him!”
“And does he return your love?”
“Unfortunately for me, he does not know me. He has never even seen me.”
“Then I suppose you fell in love with him on the stage.”
“No, he is nearly always on tour, and I have never seen him act. Indeed,
I have never seen him at all. I just saw a photograph of him in a
shop-window, and straightway fell in love with it. You may think it only
a passing fancy. But I feel that if I could only look upon his face, my
greatest dreams of earthly bliss would be realized, and I would be
content to die.”
“Mere romance, my dear girl. You will come across some one in the flesh
who will prove much more charming than the counterfeit presentments of
your adorable actor, who, by-the-by, becomes engaged to a fresh young
lady about every six months.”
“I can’t help it. He is just all in all to me, and I shall never marry
so long as he remains single. If, after all my devotion, my hero marries
another woman, then I may think of accepting a gentleman who proposes to
me every three months. Meanwhile, I have a little consolation. I often
take a look at his house at Kensington, in the hope of catching a
glimpse of him through one of the windows.”
And in this style May meandered on, the while I wondered whether she
were really sane or not. She was evidently badly smitten, and by mere
portraits, which must have revealed to her many beauties of expression
which were hidden to me, for I could only look upon them as the faithful
presentments of a man whom I had heard spoken of as selfish, conceited
and unscrupulous in his dealings with women.
“I suppose you are quite disburdened of all the particulars of your
wonderful romance by this time,” was Mrs. Marshall’s cheery greeting. “I
knew it was no use interrupting you before you had confided the whole
story to Miss Courtney. And what do you think of it, Miss Dora, now that
you have heard it?”
This last question was addressed to me with such a humorous twinkle in
Mrs. Marshall’s merry dark eyes, that, for the life of me, I could not
help responding to it, and my comments were expressed in a burst of
hearty laughter, which not all my latent worries could rob of its
spontaneity. I was not sure that May might not resent our irreverence,
but she took it very good-humoredly, and five minutes later we were all
greeting our host and hostess at the breakfast-table.
As both the sisters were in quite a merry mood, they cheered the rest of
us up wonderfully, and no one, to look at us, would imagine that we had
ever become acquainted with care.
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