DOWN BY THE SEA.
Mrs. Rossiter occupied the handsomest rooms at the Sea View House, and
on the morning of Phil’s arrival she lay on her couch by the open
window, occasionally looking out upon the water, but mostly with her
eyes fixed fondly upon her handsome boy, who sat by her side, fanning
himself with his soft hat, and answering the numerous questions of his
sisters, concerning Reinette, their new cousin, whose existence had
taken them so by surprise. How did she look? What was she like? What did
she wear? What did she say, and who was to live with her in that great
lonely house?
“Don’t hurry a chap so!” said Phil. “There’s a lot to tell, and I’d
better begin at the beginning.”
So he described first the arrival at the station, where grandma and Aunt
Lydia were waiting in their weeds, and Anna was gorgeous in her white
muslin and long lace scarf, while he flourished with a dirty face and
torn, soiled pants.
“Oh, if you could have seen her face when we were presented to her as
her ‘_cousins_, and her _uncles_, and her _aunts_!’ I tell you it was
rich. I never saw such eyes in a human being’s head as those which
flashed first upon one and then upon another of her new relations.”
“Do you really mean she had never heard of us at all?” both Ethel and
Grace asked in the same breath, and Phil replied by telling them
everything which had transpired since Reinette’s arrival up to the time
he had left her at her own door, dwelling at length upon her sparkling
beauty, which he said might not perhaps be called beauty in the strict
sense of the word. Some might think her too small and too dark, while
others would object to her forehead as too low, and her nose as a little
too _retrousse_, but to Phil, who had seen the rich warm color come and
go on her clear olive cheeks, who had seen her dark eyes flash, and
sparkle, and dance until her whole person seemed to shine and glow like
some rare diamond, she was supremely beautiful, and he dwelt upon her
loveliness and piquancy, and freshness, while his mother and sisters
listened breathlessly, but not so breathlessly as the girl in the
adjoining room, who sat making some changes in a dress Miss Ethel was to
wear that night to a hop in the hotel.
The door between the two rooms was only slightly ajar, and Margery La
Rue had not heard a word of the conversation between the brother and
sisters until her ear caught the name of Reinette, followed soon by
Hetherton and Paris. Then the work dropped from her hands, and a sudden
pallor crept into her cheeks, which ordinarily were like the sweet roses
of June.
“Reinette; Reinette Hetherton,” she whispered. “Is there another name
like that in all the world? Is it my Reinette, my Queenie, the dearest,
best friend I ever had? Impossible, for what can she be doing here in
America, in Merrivale, where I have thought to go!”
There was a death-like faintness in the heart of this girl, whose
whispered words were in French, and were scarcely words so softly were
they spoken.
“Reinette, Reinette!” she repeated, as with clasped hands, and head bent
forward in the attitude of intense listening, she heard the whole story
Phil told, and laughed a little to herself at the ludicrous description
of the Fergusons, and the impression they made upon the stranger. “I can
imagine just how cold and haughty, and proud she grew, and how those
great eyes blazed with scorn and incredulity, if it is my Reinette he
means,” she thought; “but it cannot be. There is some mistake.” Then as
the name Queenie was spoken she half rose to her feet and laid both
hands upon her mouth to force back the glad cry which sprang to her
lips. There could be no longer a doubt. This foreigner, this girl from
France, this cousin of the Rossiters, this near relation of the
Fergusons, whoever they might be, was _her_ Queenie, her _darling_, whom
she loved with such devotion as few women have ever inspired in another.
How she longed to rush into the next room and pour out question after
question concerning her friend; but this she could not do; she was only
a seamstress and must remain quiet, for the present at least, for she
did not know how the Rossiters would like her to claim acquaintance and
friendship with their kinswoman. So she resumed her work while the talk
in the next room flowed on, always of Queenie, as they called her
because Phil did, and in whom the mother and sisters were so greatly
interested. They had intended stopping at the sea-side for the summer,
but now they spoke of an earlier return to Merrivale on Queenie’s
account, a plan of which Phil highly approved, for he would far rather
be at home than there, especially as his mother was improving daily.
“And Anna? How is she?” Ethel asked. “Does she take kindly to our
cousin, or is she jealous of her, as of us?”
This mention of Anna reminded Phil of the Miss La Rue, who had written
to his aunt, and in whose identity with her friend, Queenie had been so
much interested.
“By the way,” he said, “there’s a dressmaker here somewhere, a Margery
La Rue, from Paris, whom Queenie thinks she knows, and over whom she
goes into rhapsodies. Do you know her, and is she the person who wrote
to Aunt Lydia with regard to her business?”
A warning “sh-sh” came from both the young ladies, with a nod toward the
slightly open door, indicating that the person inquired for was there.
Then the voices were lowered and the door was shut, and the wonder and
interest increased as Ethel and Grace heard all which Reinette had said
of their dressmaker, whose taste and skill they esteemed so highly that
they had suggested her going to Merrivale, but did not then know that
she had written to their aunt, for the girl was very reticent concerning
herself and her business, and only spoke when she was spoken to.
“It is very strange that she should know our cousin so well,” Ethel
said. “I mean to sound her on the subject, and hear what she has to
say,” and as it was time for Mrs. Rossiter to take her airing in her
invalid chair the conference broke up, and on pretext of seeing to her
dress Ethel went into the room where Margery now sat sewing as quietly
and composedly as if she had never heard of Queenie Hetherton.