THE VAN ARSDALE LADIES
The Van Arsdale ladies did decide to come. On the receipt of Mrs.
Faulkner's note they concluded that the Dorrance Domain was just the
place for them, and they immediately began to make preparations for
leaving the Horton House.
"Though it's a very queer thing, Amanda," the elder Miss Van Arsdale
said to her sister, "it's a very queer thing for a young girl to be
proprietor of a hotel. I must confess I don't understand it. And I'm not
sure I want to be mixed up with any such ridiculous doings."
"But Mrs. Faulkner says that it's all right; and that we four will be
the only boarders. That seems to me very exclusive. You know the
Faulkners are all right,--her mother was a Frelinghuysen. I'm not afraid
to risk it, as long as they recommend it."
"Well, we'll try it for a week, as Mrs. Faulkner advised; and if we
don't like the girl proprietor, we won't have to stay any longer."
"I don't know what she can be, I'm sure. She can't be of our kind."
Judging from the effect presented to the eye, the Van Arsdale ladies and
Dorothy Dorrance were not of the same kind.
They were both elderly spinsters of the type that looks older than it
really is, yet tries to seem younger. They were tall and spare with high
cheek bones, and aquiline, aristocratic noses. These noses seemed to
turn up at everything; and though literally they didn't turn up at all,
yet the effect of turning up was always there. Their large, light blue
eyes were capable of a powerful and penetrating gaze, that was apt to be
extremely disconcerting to the object of their stare. Both ladies had
really beautiful hair of a soft, gray color, which they wore rolled over
high pompadours. They were wealthy, and though economical and even
penurious in some respects, each possessed an inordinate love of dress,
and was willing to spend large sums for gorgeous fabrics made up in the
latest styles. The incongruity of these middle aged and far from
beautiful spinsters, trailing around soft exquisite robes of dainty
coloring, and exquisitely made, afforded much scope for wonderment and
curiosity wherever they went.
But the sisters cared little or nothing for the comments passed upon
them. They bought their clothes, and wore them, purely for their own
selfish enjoyment; and met with stares of cold contempt, the
half-sarcastic praises offered by some daring ladies at the hotel.
The day that the Van Arsdales were expected at the Dorrance Domain,
Dorothy and Leicester were prepared to receive them as they had the
others. Lilian and Fairy were allowed to witness the performance this
time, on the strict conditions that they were not to laugh, and none of
the four were to look at each other.
And so when the Horton House stage came over for the second time,
Grandma Dorrance, the three Dorrance girls, and the two Faulkners were
on the veranda, while Leicester stood nobly at his post in the office.
Mr. Hickox appeared duly, and made everything all right as usual. But
when he assisted the Van Arsdale ladies out of the stage, he remarked to
himself that his wife would certainly be surprised if she could see them
dresses.
The elder Miss Van Arsdale wore a silk of the exquisite shade known as
pastel blue; it was made with a jaunty little jacket, opening over an
elaborate white lace waist. A long gold chain hung around her neck, from
which depended innumerable lockets, charms, pencils, purses and
vinaigrettes, in a bewildering array. Her blue hat was decked with white
ostrich plumes, and though Dorothy had been prepared by Mrs. Faulkner
for this display, yet she had not expected quite such a gorgeous
spectacle.
Miss Amanda Van Arsdale followed her sister; she wore a liberty silk
gown of an old rose color, and a hat with long black ostrich feathers.
She wore no necklace, but from her belt was suspended a large square bag
made entirely of overlapping plates of gold, in which doubtless she
carried the various impedimenta that her sister exhibited.
Though over-elaborate, these costumes were made in the latest fashion,
and they looked like beautiful and costly gowns, which by some absurd
mistake had been put on the wrong wearers.
The two advanced with a haughty and somewhat supercilious air, and Mr.
and Mrs. Faulkner rose to greet them. Introductions to the Dorrances
followed, and then Miss Van Arsdale raised her _lorgnon_, and treated
Dorothy to a prolonged inspection.
"And you are the proprietor of this hotel?" she said.
"Yes," said Dorothy, smiling; "I am."
"Well," said Miss Van Arsdale, "you can't fool me. You look to me quite
capable of being the proprietor of anything."
And somehow, in spite of her peculiar appearance and her brusque ways,
Dorothy felt at once a decided liking for Miss Marcia Van Arsdale.
Mrs. Faulkner gave a little nod of satisfaction as she saw the good
understanding between these two, and Mr. Faulkner said, genially:
"Yes, we think our proprietor a very capable young woman."
Then Dorothy ushered the ladies in to the office and paused at the desk.
Leicester confessed afterwards that he almost fell off his stool when he
saw Dorothy bringing in two Birds of Paradise, with their feathers
freshly painted. But at the time he preserved a straight face, and
politely offered the register and the pen.
Miss Marcia, in a bold, dashing hand, signed for them both, and then
Dorothy went herself to their rooms with them,--the faithful Hickox
bringing up the rear.
On reaching the rooms, Dorothy offered to assist the ladies in removing
their hats and veils, but Miss Marcia only stared at her. "Send me a
maid," she said; "a lady's maid."
Then Dorothy, who was acting under Mrs. Faulkner's direction, said
quietly:
"Miss Van Arsdale, this is not a fully equipped hotel, and we do not
have ladies' maids. The chambermaid, Tessie, will attend to your rooms,
and such outside service as you may require. Also, my sisters and I will
be glad to help you occasionally, as we often help one another. But a
regular ladies' maid to assist at your toilet, we cannot provide. May I
help you unpin your veil?"
Miss Marcia Van Arsdale looked at Dorothy again through her glasses.
"You're the right sort," she said, "and I like your plain speaking. I'm
plain-spoken myself. We'll get along all right, and I shall send for my
parrot."
"Oh," exclaimed Dorothy, "have you a parrot?"
"Yes, a very beautiful and valuable bird. But I never take her anywhere,
until I know just what sort of a place it's going to be. I shall send
for her to-morrow."
Not knowing the high esteem in which Miss Van Arsdale held her parrot,
Dorothy did not fully appreciate the magnitude of this compliment. So
she merely said, "We shall be very glad to welcome Polly."
"I do not allow her to be called Polly," said Miss Van Arsdale, with a
sudden return to her supercilious manner. "My bird's name is Mary,--and
I strongly disapprove of nicknames of any sort."
A parrot named Mary struck Dorothy as very funny, but she was learning
to control her sense of humor when necessary, and she replied: "Very
well, Miss Van Arsdale, we shall be glad to welcome Mary."
"Thank you," said Miss Van Arsdale, formally; "and I will ask you to
have her cage moved about at my direction, during the day, in accordance
with the sun and the weather."
Dorothy considered a minute, and concluded that this was one of the
times to humor Miss Van Arsdale.
So she said, "I will see to it that the cage is placed wherever you
desire."
The repetition of this conversation to the others caused great hilarity.
"Mary!" cried Leicester; "a parrot called Mary! but _I_ should not dare
be so familiar with the bird as to call her Mary. I shall say Miss Mary,
and shall always address her with my best dancing-school bow."
The parrot arrived duly, and proved to be such a superior bird, and so
interesting and attractive, that the children all fell in love with her.
The name of Polly was entirely unsuited to such a dignified creature,
and Mary seemed far more appropriate.
The bird's plumage was of brilliant coloring, and Lilian declared that
the Van Arsdale ladies copied their own clothes from Miss Mary's. The
parrot was an exceedingly fine talker, and readily picked up new
phrases.
Whenever the Van Arsdale ladies entered the room, Mary would remark,
"Hurrah for Miss Marcia!" or, "Hurrah for Miss Amanda!" as the case
might be. This hurrahing was quite in line with the Dorrances' own mode
of expression, and they soon taught Mary to hurrah for each of them by
name.
Although on the whole, the Misses Van Arsdale were satisfactory
boarders, they were far more difficult than the easy-going Faulkners.
Miss Marcia had a most irritating way of popping out of her room, and
calling over the banister, "Clerk, clerk!"
Since the moment of registration, she had looked upon Leicester as the
official clerk of the hotel, and applied to him a dozen times a day for
things that she wanted or thought she wanted.
Usually these applications were made by screaming from the head of the
staircase. Sometimes the request was for stationery,--again for hot
water, warm water, cold water, or ice water. Miss Amanda, too, made
similar demands, and was given to calling for a glass of milk at five
o'clock in the morning, or a few sandwiches after everybody had retired
for the night.
But Dorothy was learning that the way to success is not always a
primrose path, and she cheerfully did her best to accede to such of
these demands as she considered just and reasonable. And she tried, too,
to look at the justice and reasonableness from the standpoint of her
guests' rather than her own opinions.
The children had agreed that whenever Miss Marcia desired Mary's cage
moved, any one of the four was to do it. And it was fortunate that the
task was thus divided, for Miss Marcia was fussy, and twenty times a
day, or more, one of the Dorrances might be seen carrying the large cage
from the hall to the veranda, from the veranda to the parlor, from the
parlor to the upper balcony, and so on.
But as careful attention to Mary's welfare was one of the principal
conditions of the Van Arsdales' continued stay at the Dorrance Domain,
and too, as the children were one and all devoted to the bird, this work
was not objected to.
Dorothy was most anxious to keep her four boarders through the rest of
the summer. For the plan was working successfully, and though providing
a well-spread and even bounteous table, Dorothy found she could save a
little money. She was not avaricious nor mercenary, but she longed to be
able, at the close of the season, to present Grandma Dorrance with at
least a small sum of money, to help pay their winter expenses.
And so, when Miss Marcia one day made a proposition to her, Dorothy
hailed it with delight.
The suggestion was that Miss Van Arsdale should ask her niece to come up
to the Dorrance Domain to board, and to bring her whole family.
The family consisted of Mrs. Black, three small children and two nurses;
Mr. Black might possibly come up occasionally, but would remain only a
few days at a time.
Children! Dorothy remembered only too well, how children were objected
to in boarding-houses, and she wondered if she dare undertake to have
them in her hotel. She realized, too, that six or seven more people
would necessitate some radical changes in her methods, and in her
household appointments. Indeed, it meant a change from an experiment to
the real thing. It meant assuming obligations much more formal than she
was under towards her present guests.
On the other hand, Mrs. Black was wealthy, Miss Van Arsdale said, and
quite willing to pay generously for all she received.
"I want to do it, Miss Marcia," said Dorothy,--"I want to do it very
much; but it is a big question to decide. So I'll take twenty-four hours
to think it over, and to discuss it with the others, and to-morrow I
will let you know."