CINDERELLA
To Miss Katherine Winthrop’s credit it must be stated that she desired
her students at Primrose Hall to grow into something more useful than
mere society women. Her ambition was to have them fill many important
positions in the modern world now offering such big opportunities to
clever women. Miss Winthrop was herself an unusually clever woman, cold
perhaps and not sympathetic with most of her girls, but just always and
interested in their welfare. But then none of her girls knew the story
of her youth nor realized that the last life she had ever expected for
herself in her rich and brilliant girlhood was that of a mistress of a
fashionable boarding school. Years before, Katherine Winthrop had been
the belle and beauty of the countryside, a toast in New York City and in
the homes of the old Dutch and English families along the Hudson River,
until she had let her pride spoil the one romance of her life. By and
by, when her father died and her family fortune disappeared, she had
then opened up her old home as a girls’ boarding school and her
aristocratic connections and old name immediately made Primrose Hall
both fashionable and popular, until now its mere name lent its students
an assured social prestige. Nevertheless, Miss Winthrop wished her
school to be something more than fashionable. Indeed, this thought had
been in her mind when she had chosen the ranch girls for her pupils from
among a list of fifty or more applicants whom she had been obliged to
refuse. There was little in the life of her school which she did not see
and understand, and now her hope was that Jean and Olive and Frieda,
with their freedom from snobbery, their simplicity and broader way of
looking at things, would bring the element most needed into their mere
money-loving and conventional eastern atmosphere. Though no one had
mentioned it to her, she had already observed Jean’s great popularity
with her classmates, Frieda’s good time among the younger girls and
Olive’s failure to make friends. What was the trouble with this third
ranch girl?
Although Miss Winthrop had been particularly busy for the past month in
getting her school into good working order, she had not forgotten the
peculiar emotion that Olive had awakened in her at their first meeting.
Because the child was unusual in her manner and appearance was scarcely
a sufficient reason for the universal prejudice against her, and
to-night, at the first dance of the school season, Miss Winthrop had
determined to watch Olive closely and find out for herself wherein lay
the difficulty. Jessica Hunt was receiving with Miss Winthrop to-night
and had also wondered how Olive would stand the ordeal of their first
evening entertainment. For the dances at Primrose Hall were not
informal, it being a part of the principal’s idea that they should train
her girls for social life in any part of the world where in later years
circumstances might chance to take them.
Miss Winthrop, her teachers and students, always appeared in full
evening dress at these entertainments, and this evening Miss Winthrop
wore a plain black velvet gown with a small diamond star at her throat,
a piece of jewelry for which she had a peculiar affection. Jessica Hunt,
who was standing next her, was in pure white, so that her blue eyes and
the bronze-gold of her hair (so like Jack’s, Olive had thought) made a
striking contrast with the darker, sterner beauty of the older woman.
Though there were a dozen or more of the Primrose Hall girls grouped
about the two women when Jean and Olive entered the reception room
together, both of them immediately saw and watched them as they came
slowly forward.
The eyes of Jean, the flush and sparkle of her, spoke of her
anticipation of unutterable delights. Yet who should know, as she moved
through the room with an expression of fine unconsciousness, that this
was the first really formal party she had ever attended in her life.
Neither her blush nor her dimple betrayed her, although she was
perfectly aware that a number of youths in long-tailed coats and black
trousers, wearing immaculate white gloves and ties, had stopped talking
for several moments to their girl friends in order to glance at Olive
and at her. She even saw, without appearing to lift her lids, that a
tall, blonde fellow standing near her friend, Margaret Belknap, was
deliberately staring at her through a pair of eyeglasses. And at once
Jean decided that the young man was extremely ugly in spite of his
fashionable clothes and therefore not to be compared to Ralph Merrit or
other simple western fellows whom she had known in the past.
Perhaps five minutes were required for this list of Jean’s passing
observations in her forward progress toward Miss Winthrop, and yet in
the same length of time Olive, who was close beside her, had seen
nothing “but a sea of unknown faces.” Even her school companions
to-night in their frocks of silk and lace looked unfamiliar. And yet
somehow, with Jean’s assistance, she also managed to arrive in front of
Miss Winthrop and Jessica Hunt and to pay her respects to them. Then,
still sticking close to Jean, she was soon borne off for a short
distance and there surrounded by a group of Jean’s girl friends.
Half a dozen or more of them, Gerry Ferrows and Margaret Belknap in the
number, had come up with their cousins, brothers and friends to meet
Jean Bruce and to fill up her dance card. They were, of course, also
introduced to Olive, but as she did not speak, no one noticed her
particularly and no one invited her to dance. Jean had not intended to
desert Olive, but when the music of the first waltz began she forgot her
and marched off with an enthusiastic partner, who had asked Gerry
Ferrows to introduce him to the most fascinating girl in the room, and
Gerry had unhesitatingly chosen Jean.
There were two or three other girls and young men standing near Olive
when Jean had turned away, but a few seconds later and she was entirely
alone.
Is there greater anguish than for a shy girl unaccustomed to society to
find herself solitary in a crowded ballroom? At first Olive felt
desperate, knowing that her cheeks were crimson with shame and fearing
that her eyes were filling with tears. Then looking about her she soon
discovered a group of palms in a corner of the room not far away and
guessed that she could find shelter behind them. Slipping across she
came upon a small sofa hidden behind the evergreens, and with a little
sigh of thanksgiving sank down upon it. Soon after Olive began to grow
serene, for from her retreat she could watch the dancers and see what a
good time Jean and Frieda were having without being seen herself. Once
she almost laughed aloud as Frieda waltzed by her hiding place—Frieda,
who had been a fat, little girl with long plaits down her back just a
few weeks ago, now attired in a blue silk and lace, was whirling about
on the arm of a long-legged boy who had such a small nose and ridiculous
quantity of blonde curls that he might almost have been Frieda’s twin
brother. Five minutes later Olive decided that Jean was the belle of the
evening and that she would write the news to Jack to-morrow, for
apparently every young man in the ballroom was wishing to dance with
her. Even the supercilious fellow with the eyeglasses, whom Olive
recognized as Margaret Belknap’s much-talked-of Harvard brother, could
be seen dancing attendance on Jean.
Twenty minutes, half an hour must have passed by in this fashion until
Olive felt perfectly safe in her green retreat, when unexpectedly a hand
was laid upon her shoulder and a voice said sternly, “What in the world,
child, are you doing hiding yourself in here? When I said you could not
stay up in your room to-night it was because I desired you to take part
in the dancing; there really isn’t much difference between your being
concealed up there or here.”
And then to Olive’s discouragement an absurd catch in her breath made
her unable to answer at once.
Olive’s retreat behind the palms had not been unnoticed as she had
thought, for both Miss Winthrop and Jessica Hunt had seen first her
embarrassment at being left alone and next her withdrawal. In much the
same fashion that Jack would have followed, Jessica had wished to rush
off at once to comfort Olive, but Miss Winthrop had held her back.
“What is the difficulty about this girl, Jessica, what makes her so
unpopular?” she had asked when every one else was out of hearing. “I
wish you would tell me if you know any explanation for it.”
But Jessica had only been able to shake her head, answering, “I can’t
for the life of me understand. There are a good many little things that
Olive does not seem to know, and yet, as she studies very hard, I
believe she will soon be one of the honor girls in my class. I have a
friend in New York, or an acquaintance rather,” and here Jessica blushed
unaccountably, “who seems to know the ranch girls very well. Perhaps I
had best ask him if there is anything unusual about Olive.”
But the older woman had interrupted, “No, I had rather you would ask no
questions, at least not now please, Jessica, for I have heard at least a
part of the girl’s history, and yet I believe the real truth is not
known to any one and perhaps never will be. It may be happier for Olive
if it never is found out, but I wish we could teach her not to be so
sensitive.” And then when the opportunity arrived Miss Winthrop had
moved across the room to where Olive was in hiding. As the girl’s
startled brown eyes were upturned to hers Miss Winthrop, who was not
poetic, yet thought that her pupil in her pale green dress with her
queer pointed chin and her air of mystery, somehow suggested a girl from
some old fairy legend of the sea. And she wondered why the girls and
young men in the ballroom had not also seen Olive’s unusual beauty,
forgetting that young people seldom admire what is out of the ordinary.
Some impulse after her first speech to Olive made the older woman
quickly put out her hand, clasping Olive’s slender brown fingers in
hers. “Don’t be afraid of me,” she said in a voice that was gentler than
usual, “for I understand it is timidity that is making you hide
yourself. Don’t you think though that you would enjoy dancing?”
Olive’s face was suddenly aglow. “I should love it,” she returned,
forgetting for the instant her shyness, “only no one has invited me.”
Then as her teacher suddenly rose to her feet, as though intending to
find her a partner, with a sudden accession of dignity and fearlessness
Olive drew her down again. “Please don’t ask anyone to dance with me,
Miss Winthrop,” she begged; “if you will sit by me for a little while I
am sure it will be delightful just watching the others.”
While the woman and girl were quietly gazing at the dancers, Miss
Winthrop happened to notice a silver chain with a cross at the end of
it, which Olive was wearing around her throat. Leaning over she took the
cross in her hand. “This is an odd piece of jewelry, child, and must be
very old; it is so heavy that I wonder if there is anything concealed
inside it.”
Olive shook her head. “No, that is, I don’t know anything about it,
except that I hope it once belonged to my mother,” she replied. For some
strange reason this shy girl was speaking of her mother to a comparative
stranger, when she rarely had spoken the name even to her best beloved
friend, Jacqueline Ralston.
But before Miss Winthrop had time to reply a new voice startled both of
them. “Why, Olive Ralston,” it exclaimed, “what do you mean by hiding
yourself away with Miss Winthrop when I have been searching the house
over for you.”
Turning around, to her intense surprise, Olive now beheld Donald Harmon
standing near them, the young fellow whose father had rented the Rainbow
Ranch from the Ralston girls the summer before and whose sister had been
responsible for Jack Ralston’s fall over the cliff.
“I wonder why you would not tell Olive that I was to be one of your
guests to-night, Miss Winthrop,” he continued, “and that my aunt is your
old friend and lives near Primrose Hall.”
While Miss Winthrop was laughing and protesting that she had no idea
that Olive and Donald could know each other, Donald was trying to
persuade Olive out on the ballroom floor for her first dance with him.
By accident it happened to be a Spanish waltz and Olive had not danced
it before, but she had been watching the other girls. Donald was an
excellent partner and in five minutes she might have been dancing it all
her life.
Now dancing with Olive and with Jean was quite a different art, although
both of the girls were beautiful dancers. Jean was gay and vivacious,
full of grace and activity, keeping excellent time to the music, but
Olive seemed to move like a flower that is swayed by the wind, hardly
conscious of what she was dancing or how she was dancing it and yet
yielding her body to every note of the music and movement of her
partner.
By and by, as Olive and Donald continued their dancing, many of the
others stopped and at once the young men demanded to be told who Olive
was and why she had been hidden away from their sight until now?
Whatever replies the girls may have made to these questions, they did
not apparently affect their questioners, for from the time of her first
dance until the close of the evening Olive no longer lacked for
partners. She did not talk very much, but her eyes shone and her cheeks
grew crimson with pleasure and now and then her low laugh rang out, and
always she could dance. What did conversation at a ball amount to anyhow
when movement was the thing, and this stranger girl could dance like a
fairy princess just awakened from a long enchantment?
Donald Harmon grew sorry later in the evening that he had ever brought
Olive forth from her retreat, but just before midnight, when Primrose
Hall parties must always come to an end, he did manage to get her away
for a moment out on the veranda, where chairs were placed so that the
young people could rest and talk.