MARJORIE SURPRISES HER RELATIVES
"I REALLY don't know when I've been so pleased about anything!"
exclaimed Lulu Bell, a pretty, bright-faced girl of fourteen, as she and
her friends greeted Marjorie in the restaurant. "We were all so glad
when Beverly Randolph told us you were here. Won't Elsie be surprised?
She hadn't the least idea you were coming. Come here and sit between
Winifred and me."
"I don't believe any one can be much more surprised than I am myself,"
said Marjorie, laughing, as she took the proffered seat, and received
the kindly greeting of her other schoolmates. "Wasn't it just heavenly
of the Randolphs to bring me with them?"
"It was nice," Winifred Hamilton agreed heartily. "This is my first
football game, too, and I'm almost too excited to eat. Did you ever see
such a crowd in your life?"
"No, never," said Marjorie, with a glance round the packed restaurant.
"I wonder if they will really have lunch enough for all these people.
Do you suppose Aunt Julia and Elsie are here?"
"No, I don't think so," said Winifred. "We saw Elsie at the dance last
night, and she said they were going to lunch with some friends of her
cousin's. She will be at the game, of course, and perhaps you may see
her there."
"I think it was real mean of Elsie to come without you," chimed in
Gertie Rossiter, who was not noted for tact. "I should have hated to go
off for a good time and leave my cousin at home alone."
"Oh, Elsie couldn't help it," protested Marjorie; "her cousin could only
get two tickets."
"Nonsense!" retorted Gertie indignantly. "He could have gotten an extra
one as well as not if he had known in time; he told me so last night. I
know Percy Ward very well, and he's an awfully nice boy. He felt
dreadfully sorry when he heard about your being left behind. He said it
was just like Elsie."
"Isn't Mrs. Randolph pretty?" broke in Winifred, anxious to change the
subject before Gertie made any more uncomfortable revelations. "She
looks awfully young to be that big boy's mother."
"She is perfectly lovely," declared Marjorie, and Lulu added, by way of
keeping the conversation in safe channels:
"Papa knows her brother-in-law, Dr. Randolph, very well, and he says she
is the bravest woman he has ever met. You've heard about her little
girl, haven't you?"
"Yes," said Marjorie, "it was very sad; I don't see how poor Mrs.
Randolph ever got over it."
"She didn't," said Lulu. "Dr. Randolph says it nearly killed her, and
even now she can't bear to speak of it, but she doesn't think it right
to sadden her son's life, and so she is always bright and cheerful. If I
ever write a book I shall make my heroine just that sort of person."
At this moment Beverly, who had gone to speak to some friends at another
table, joined the party, and the subject of his family was dropped. The
luncheon was a very merry one. They were a large party, for besides
Lulu's father and mother and the three girls, there were a couple of
Yale students, friends of the Bells, and everybody seemed in excellent
spirits. Marjorie felt a little shy at first, but soon thawed under the
genial atmosphere, and before the meal was over she was chatting and
laughing as merrily as any of the others.
"Isn't Marjorie a nice girl?" whispered Winifred to Lulu, as they were
leaving the restaurant. "I'm so glad she got the chance to come, but I
do wonder what Elsie will say."
It seemed to Marjorie that the next three hours must be the most
exciting period of her life. To most girls a college football game is
looked upon as a rather important event, but to Marjorie, fresh from her
Arizona home, it was an experience never to be forgotten. It was on the
whole a peaceful game, and there were no serious accidents to mar the
general enjoyment and as the sun continued to shine, and the day was
comfortably warm, there were not even the usual discomforts of weather
to be endured. Marjorie and her friends were about equally divided in
their championship; Lulu, Winifred and Gertie being for Yale, while
Beverly and Marjorie herself favored Harvard, and joined in the cheers
and rejoicing when the "Crimson" at last carried off the honors of the
day, although Yale ran so close behind that at one time fears had been
entertained that the game would be a tie.
"Are you tired, Marjorie?" Beverly asked, as they were making their way
through the dense throng to the waiting motor-car.
"I don't know whether I am or not," said Marjorie, laughing. "It has
all been so wonderful, and I don't feel as if I could quite realize it
yet. Oh, there they are!"
"Who?" demanded Beverly, looking round in surprise. "Oh, I see, your
aunt and cousin--do you want to speak to them?"
"Yes, of course I do; they'll be so surprised. Why, Elsie is staring at
me as if she didn't know me."
To say that Mrs. Carleton and her daughter were surprised would be but a
mild way of expressing their feelings. They were for the moment
literally speechless with astonishment. Elsie was the first to recover
her power of articulation.
"Is it really and truly you, Marjorie?" she demanded, regarding her
smiling cousin with round-eyed amazement.
"Yes, it really and truly is," laughed Marjorie. "I've been trying to
find you all the afternoon, but there was such a crowd. I knew you'd be
surprised."
"Surprised!" echoed Elsie, looking from Marjorie to her tall companion,
"I was never so surprised in my life. But how did it happen--who brought
you?"
"Mr. Randolph and his mother," said Marjorie, "wasn't it perfectly
lovely of them?" And she proceeded to give her aunt and cousin an
account of recent events.
"I am sure it was extremely kind of Mrs. Randolph," Mrs. Carleton said,
when Marjorie had finished her story. "I only hope this little girl
hasn't been a trouble to your mother, Mr. Randolph."
"Indeed she hasn't," declared Beverly, not without some indignation in
his tone. "We've had a splendid time, haven't we, Marjorie?" To which
Marjorie, who felt suddenly as if a pail of ice water had been dashed
over her, answered rather meekly:--
"It was beautiful. I never had such a good time in my life."
"I am afraid that we must hurry along, Mrs. Carleton," said Beverly. "My
mother and uncle have gone ahead, and will be waiting for us at the
entrance. Don't worry about Marjorie; we'll take good care of her, and
bring her home safely. We may be a little late, as my uncle doesn't like
to run his car fast after dark."
"Oh, I shall not worry," said Mrs. Carleton, with her sweetest smile. "I
know Marjorie is in excellent hands, and between ourselves, I think she
is a very fortunate little girl."
Marjorie was rather silent during the long ride back to New York that
evening. Mrs. Randolph and the doctor thought she was tired after all
the excitement of the day, and kindly left her alone, but Beverly was of
a different opinion, and his feelings towards Marjorie's aunt and cousin
were not of the kindest.
"I suppose your aunt was very much surprised to see you," Mrs. Randolph
said kindly, merely for the sake of conversation.
"Very much indeed," said Marjorie, in a tone that was not altogether
steady. "Oh, Mrs. Randolph, I do hope I haven't been a trouble to you."
"A trouble! My dear child, what nonsense. It has been perfectly
delightful to have you with us, and you have added greatly to our
pleasure. I hope we may have many more little trips together before the
winter is over. You know I am very fond of little girls."
Marjorie was much relieved, but her heart was not as light as it had
been all day.
"Be sure to remember me to your father when you write," were Dr.
Randolph's parting words to Marjorie, as they drew up before the big
hotel at ten o'clock that night. "Tell him he mustn't forget to look me
up when he comes to New York."
"Indeed I will," promised Marjorie; "he will be so interested. I don't
suppose--" with sudden eagerness--"that you ever go to Arizona?"
"I have never been there as yet, but nobody knows what may happen. If I
ever go to Arizona, though, I shall certainly call on my old college
friend, Donald Graham."
"Isn't your uncle a dear?" remarked Marjorie to Beverly, as her friend
was taking her upstairs to the Carletons' apartment.
"He's a brick," was the young man's hearty rejoinder. "I'm glad you like
him, for I know he likes you. He doesn't take to everybody, but he's
been awfully good to Mother and me, and he was very fond of my little
sister. Here's your door, so I'll say good-night. Hasn't it been a jolly
day?"
"It has been one of the loveliest days I've ever had," said Marjorie
earnestly. "I'm sorry Aunt Julia thought I might have been troublesome,
but your mother said I wasn't."
"Troublesome! I should say not. Don't bother about what your aunt says;
she doesn't know anything about it, and it's all nonsense, you know."
Elsie had already gone to bed, and Mr. Carleton had telegraphed that he
was taking the midnight train from Washington, and would not reach home
till the following morning. But Aunt Julia was still up and dressed, and
awaiting her niece's return.
"My dear child, how late you are," was the rather reproachful greeting.
"Do you know it is nearly half-past ten? Elsie went to bed more than an
hour ago; she was quite worn out, poor child, as indeed I am myself, but
I couldn't make up my mind to undress until I knew you were safely at
home. I am horribly afraid of those automobiles."
"I'm so sorry you worried about me, Aunt Julia," said Marjorie,
regretfully. "I think we were quite safe, though; Dr. Randolph's
chauffeur seems very careful, and they don't like going fast. I wasn't a
bit frightened."
"No, I don't suppose you were; children seldom realize danger. Sit down,
Marjorie; I want to have a little talk with you before you go to your
room."
Marjorie complied, drawing a chair close to the fire, and stretching her
cold hands out to the welcome blaze. She was longing to tell all about
the day's pleasures, and was glad of the prospect of a little chat with
Aunt Julia before going to bed.
"Now my dear," began Mrs. Carleton, speaking fast and rather nervously,
"I don't want you to let what I am going to say make you unhappy. I am
not in the least displeased with you, because I am sure you had no
intention of doing anything wrong; I have told Elsie so. But, Marjorie
dear, it is not quite the proper thing for a girl of your age to accept
invitations from strangers without first consulting the people under
whose care she has been placed."
"Oh, Aunt Julia," cried Marjorie, clasping her hands in dismay, while
all the brightness died suddenly out of her face, "I am so sorry! I had
no idea you would object to my going with the Randolphs; I thought you
would be pleased because you were so sorry about leaving me at home.
Mrs. Randolph said she was sure you wouldn't mind."
Mrs. Carleton moved uneasily in her chair, and her eyes did not meet
Marjorie's honest, astonished gaze.
"I am sure it was very kind of Mrs. Randolph to think of giving you so
much pleasure," she said. "I am not displeased with you either,
Marjorie; I am only warning you not to make such a mistake another time.
The Randolphs are merely slight acquaintances of ours, and one doesn't
like being under obligations to strangers, you know. Elsie feels this
quite as strongly as I do."
"Elsie," repeated Marjorie, with a start, "why does she care? Didn't she
want me to go to the game?"
"Nonsense, dear; of course Elsie wanted you to go. She would have been
delighted if only the circumstances had been a little different. Don't
look so distressed, Marjorie; there is really nothing tragic in the
situation. You have done nothing wrong, and I am glad you have had such
a pleasant day, but don't accept another invitation without consulting
either your uncle or me. Now kiss me good-night; I am tired to death and
simply cannot sit up another minute."
Marjorie cried herself to sleep that night for the first time in weeks.
In spite of the memories of her happy day, she was more homesick than
she had been at any time since coming to New York. She was so anxious to
do right; to please her uncle and aunt in every way, and show them how
grateful she was for all they were doing for her. And now, without
having the slightest idea of having done anything wrong, she had annoyed
Aunt Julia. She was thankful Hortense had not mentioned the episode of
the cruel driver, and that her wrist no longer required a bandage. What
would her aunt say if she knew of this delinquency as well as the other?
But Marjorie was a very honest, truthful girl, and she decided to make a
clean breast of everything to Uncle Henry when he came home. There was
only one thing she could not understand, and that was why Elsie should
have objected to her going to New Haven with the Randolphs.