THE PLAY BEGINS
"I shall take you over, myself," said Helen to her daughter as they rose
from the breakfast table that first day of October. "And I shall show
you carefully just how to come back this afternoon; but I'm afraid I
shall have to let you come back alone, dear. In the first place, I
shouldn't know when you were ready; and in the second place, I shouldn't
want to go and wait for you."
"Of course not!" cried Betty. "As if I'd let you--and you don't even
have to go with me. I can find out by asking."
"No, I shall go with you." Betty noticed that her mother's cheeks were
very pink and her eyes very bright. "Don't forget the doctor's letter;
and remember, dear, just be--be your own dear sweet self."
"Why, mother, you're--_crying_!" exclaimed the dismayed Betty.
"Crying? Not a bit of it!" The head came proudly erect.
"But does it mean so much to you that I--that I--that he--likes me?"
asked Betty softly.
The next moment, alarmed and amazed, she found her mother's convulsive
arms about her, her mother's trembling voice in her ears.
"It'll mean all the world to me, Betty--oh, Betty, my baby!"
"Why, mother!" exclaimed the girl, aghast and shaken.
But already her mother had drawn herself up, and was laughing through
her tears.
"Dear, dear, but only look at the fuss this old mother-bird is making at
the first flight of her young one!" she chattered gayly. "Come, no more
of this! We'll be late. We'll get ready right away. You say you have the
letter from the doctor. Don't forget that."
"No, I won't. I have it all safe," tossed the girl over her shoulder, as
she hurried away for her hat and coat. A minute later she came back to
find her mother shrouding herself in the black veil. "Oh, mother, dear,
_please_! You aren't going to wear that horrid veil to-day, are you?"
she remonstrated.
"Why, yes, dear. Why not?"
"I don't like it a bit. And it's so thick! I can't see a bit of _you_
through it."
"Can't you? Good!" (Vaguely Betty wondered at the almost gleeful tone of
the voice.) "Then nobody can see my eyes--and know that I've been
crying."
"Ho! they wouldn't, anyway," frowned Betty. "Your eyes aren't red at
all, mother."
But the mother only laughed again gleefully--and fastened the veil with
still another pin. A minute later mother and daughter left the house
together.
It was not a long ride to the foot of the street that led up the hill to
Burke Denby's home. With carefully minute directions as to the return
home at night, Helen left her daughter halfway up the hill, with the
huge wrought-iron gates of the Denby driveway just before her.
"And now remember everything--_everything_, dear," she faltered,
clinging a little convulsively to her daughter's arm. "Dear, dear, but
I'm not sure I ought to let you go--after all," she choked.
"Nonsense, mumsey! Of course you ought to let me go!"
"Then you must remember to tell me everything--when you come home
to-night--_everything_. I shall want to know every single little thing
that's happened!"
"I will, dear, I will. And don't worry. I'm sure I'm going to do all
right," comforted the girl, plainly trying to quiet the anxious fear in
her mother's voice. "And what a beautiful old place it is!" she went on,
her admiring eyes sweeping the handsome house and spacious grounds
beyond the gates. "I shall love it there, I know. And I'm so glad the
doctor got it for me. Now, don't worry!" she finished with a gay wave of
her hand as she turned and sped up the hill.
The mother, with a last lingering look and a sob fortunately smothered
in the enshrouding veil, turned and hurried away in the opposite
direction.
Many times before Betty's return late that afternoon, Helen wondered
that a day, just one little day, could be so long. It seemed to her that
each minute was an hour, and each hour a day, so slowly did the clock
tick the time away. She tried to work, to sew, to read. But there
seemed really nothing that she wanted to do except to stand at one of
the windows, her eyes on the massive, white-pillared old house set in
its wide sweep of green on the opposite hill.
What was happening over there? Was there a possible chance that Burke
would question, suspect, discover--anything? How would he like--Betty?
How would Betty like him? How would Betty do, anyway, in such a
position? It was Betty's first experience in--in working for any one;
and Betty--sweet and dear and loving as she was--had something of the
Denby will and temper, as her mother had long since discovered. Betty
was fearless and high-spirited. If she did not like--but what was
happening over there?
And what would the outcome be? After all, perhaps, as the doctor had
said, it was something of a comic opera and farce all in one--this thing
she was doing. Very likely the whole thing, from the first, when she ran
away years ago, had been absurd and preposterous, just as the doctor had
said. And very likely Burke himself, when he found out, would think so,
too. It was a fearsome thing--to take matters in her own hands as she
had done, and attempt to twist the thread in Fate's hands, and wrest it
away from what she feared was destruction--as if her own puny fingers
could deal with Destiny!
And might it not be, after all, that she had been chasing a
will-o'-the-wisp of fancied "culture" all these years? True, she no
longer said "swell" and "grand," and she knew how to eat her soup
quietly; but was that going to make Burke--love her? She realized now
something of what it was that she had undertaken when she fled to the
doctor years ago. She realized, too, that during these intervening years
there had come to her a very real sense of what love, marriage, and a
happy home ought to mean--and what they must mean if she were ever to be
happy with Burke, or to make him happy.
But what was taking place--over there?
At ten minutes before five Betty reached home. Her mother met her
halfway down the stairs.
"Oh, Betty, you--you _are_ here!" she panted. "Now, tell me
everything--every single thing," she reiterated, almost dragging the
girl into the apartment, in her haste and excitement. "Don't skip
anything--not the least little thing; for a little thing might mean so
much--to me."
"Why, mother!" exclaimed Betty, her laughing eyes growing vaguely
troubled. "Do you really _care_ so much?"
With a sudden tightening of the throat Helen pulled herself up sharply.
She gave a light laugh.
"Care? Of course I care! Don't you suppose I want to know what my baby
has been doing all the long day away from me? Now, tell me. Sit right
down and tell me from the beginning."
"All right, I will," smiled Betty. To herself she said: "Poor mother! As
if I wouldn't work my fingers off before I'd fail her, when she cares so
much--when she _needs_ so much--what I earn!" Then, aloud, cheerily,
she began:--
[Illustration: "SO I RANG THE BELL."]
"Well, first, I walked up that long, long walk through that beautiful
lawn to the house; but for a minute I didn't ring the bell. It was so
beautiful--the view from that veranda, with the sun on the reds and
browns and yellows of the trees everywhere! Then I remembered suddenly
that I hadn't come to make a call and admire the view, but that I was a
business woman now. So I rang the bell. There was a lovely old brass
knocker on the great door; but I saw a very conspicuous push-button, and
I concluded that was for real use."
"Yes, yes. And were you--frightened, dear?"
"Well, 'nervous,' we'll call it. Then, as I was planning just what to
say, the door opened and the oldest little old man I ever saw stood
before me."
"Yes, go on!"
"He was the butler, I found out afterwards. They called him Benton. He
seemed surprised, somehow, to see me, or frightened, or something.
Anyway, he started queerly, as his eyes met mine, and he muttered a
quick something under his breath; but all I could hear was the last,
'No, no, it couldn't be!'"
"Yes--yes!" breathed Helen, her face a little white.
"The next minute he became so stiff and straight and dignified that even
his English cousin might have envied him. I told him I was Miss Darling,
and that I had a note to Mr. Denby from Dr. Gleason.
"'Yes, Miss. The master is expecting you. He said to show you right in.
This way, please,' he said then, pompously. And then I saw that great
hall. Oh, mother, if you could see it! It's wonderful, and so full of
treasures! I could hardly take off my hat and coat properly, for
devouring a superb specimen of old armor right in front of me. Then
Benton took me into the library, and I saw--something even more
wonderful."
"You mean your--er--Mr. Denby?" The mother's face was aglow.
Betty gave a merry laugh.
"Indeed, I don't! Oh, he was there, but he was no wonder, mother, dear.
The wonder was cabinet after cabinet filled with jades and bronzes and
carved ivories and Babylonian tablets and-- But I couldn't begin to tell
you! I couldn't even begin to see for myself, for, of course, I had to
say something to Mr. Denby."
"Of course! And tell me--what was he--he like?"
"Oh, he was just a man, tall and stern-looking, and a little gray. He's
old, you know. He isn't young at all"--spoken with all the serene
confidence of Betty's eighteen years. "He has nice eyes, and I imagine
_he'd_ be nice, if he'd let himself be. But he won't."
"Why, Betty, what--what do you mean?"
Betty laughed and shrugged her shoulders.
"Oh, mother, dear, you'd have to see him really to know. It's just
that--that he's so used to having his own way that he takes it as a
matter of course, as his right."
"Oh, my dear!"
"But he does. It shows up in everything that everybody in that house
does. I could see that, even in this one day I was there. Benton, Sarah
(the maid), Mrs. Gowing (the old cousin housekeeper)--even the dog and
the cat show that they've stood at attention for Master Burke Denby all
their lives. You just wait till I get _my_ chance. I'll show him
somebody that isn't standing at salute all the time."
"_Betty!_" There was real horror in the woman's voice this time.
Again Betty's merry laugh rang out.
"Don't look so shocked, dearie. I shan't do anything or say anything to
imperil my--my job." (Betty's eyes twinkled even more merrily over the
last word.) "It's just that I don't think any living man has a right to
make everybody so afraid of him as Mr. Denby very plainly has done. And
I only mean that if the occasion ever came up, I should let him know
that I am not afraid of him."
"Oh, Betty, Betty, be careful, be _careful_. I beg of you, be careful!"
"Oh, I will. Don't worry," laughed the girl. "But, listen, don't you
want me to go on with my story?"
"Yes--oh, yes!"
"Well, where was I? Oh, I know--just inside the library door. Very good,
then. Ruthlessly suppressing my almost overwhelming longing to pounce
on one of those alluring cabinets, I advanced properly and held out my
note to Mr. Denby. As I came near I fancied that he, too, gave a slight
start as he looked sharply into my face; and I thought I caught a real
gleam of life in his eyes. The next instant it was gone, however (if
indeed it had ever been there!), and he had taken my note and waved me
politely to a chair."
"Yes, go on, go on!"
"Yes; well, do you know?--that's exactly what I felt like saying to
him," laughed Betty softly. "He just glanced at the note with a low
ejaculation; then he sat there staring at nothing for so long that I
began to think I should scream from sheer nervousness. Then, perhaps I
stirred a little. At all events, he turned with a start, and then is
when I saw, for just a minute, how kind his eyes could be.
"'There, there, my child, I beg your pardon,' he cried. 'I quite forgot
you were here. Something--your eyes, I think--set me to dreaming. Now to
business! Perhaps you'll be good enough to take some letters for me.
You'll find pencils, pen, and paper there at your right.' And I did. And
I began. And that's all."
"All! But surely there was more!"
"Not much. I took dictation in long hand for perhaps a dozen
letters--most of them short ones. He said he was behind on his personal
correspondence. Then he went away and left me. He goes down to his
office at the Denby Iron Works every forenoon, I understand. Anyway,
there I was, left in that fascinating room with all those cabinets full
of treasures that I so longed to explore, but tied to a lot of scrawly
notes and a typewriter. I forgot to say there was one of those
disappearing typewriters in a desk over by the window. It wasn't quite
like Gladys's, but the keyboard was, and I very soon got the run of it.
"At one o'clock he came back. I had the letters all done, and they
looked lovely. I was rather proud of them. I passed them over for
him to sign, and waited expectantly for a nice little word of
commendation--which I didn't get."
"Oh, but I'm sure he didn't--didn't realize that--that--"
"Oh, no, he didn't realize, of course, that this was my maiden effort at
private secretarying," laughed Betty, a little ruefully, "and that I
wanted to be patted on the head with a 'Well done, little girl!' He just
shoved them back for me to fold and put in the envelopes; and just then
Benton came to announce luncheon."
"But tell me about the luncheon."
"There isn't much to tell. There were just us three at the table, Mr.
Denby, Mrs. Gowing, and myself. There was plenty to eat, and it was very
nice. But, dear, dear, the dreariness of it! With the soup Mrs. Gowing
observed that it was a nice day. With the chicken patties she asked if I
liked Dalton; and with the salad she remarked that we had had an
unusually cold summer. Dessert was eaten in utter silence. Why, mother,
I should die if I had to spend my life in an atmosphere like that!"
"But didn't Mr. Denby say--anything?"
"Oh, yes. He asked me for the salt, and he gave an order to Benton. Oh,
he's such fascinating company--he is!"
At the disturbed expression on her mother's face, Betty gave a playful
shrug. "Oh, I know, he's my respected employer, and all that," she
laughed; "and I shall be very careful to do his bidding. Never fear! But
that doesn't mean that I've got to love him."
Helen Denby flushed a painful red.
"But I wanted--I hoped you would--er--l-like him, my dear," she
faltered.
"Maybe I shall--when I get him--er--trained," retorted Betty, flashing a
merry glance into her mother's dismayed eyes. "Don't worry, dear. I was
a perfect angel to him to-day. Truly I was. Listen! After luncheon Mr.
Denby brought me three or four newspapers which he had marked here and
there; and for an hour then I read to him. And what do you think?--when
I had finished he said, in that crisp short way of his: 'You have a good
voice, Miss Darling. I hope you won't mind if I ask you to read to me
often.' And of course I smiled and said no, indeed, I should be glad to
read as often as he liked."
"Of course!" beamed the mother, with so decided an emphasis that Betty
exclaimed warningly:--
"Tut, tut, now! Don't _you_ go to tumbling down and worshiping him like
all the rest."
"W-worshiping him!" Helen Denby's cheeks were scarlet.
"Yes," nodded Betty, with tranquil superiority. "It isn't good for him,
I tell you. He doesn't get anything but worship from every single one of
those people around him. Honestly, if he should declare that the earth
was flat, I think that ridiculous old butler and that scared cousin
housekeeper would bow: 'Just as you say, sir, just as you say.' Humph!
He'd better tell _me_ the world is flat, some day."
"Oh, Betty! Betty!" implored Betty's mother.
But Betty only went on with a merry toss of her head:--
"Well, after the reading there were other letters, then some work on a
card-index record of his correspondence. After that I came home. But,
mother, oh, mother, only think what it'll be when we begin to catalogue
all those treasures in his cabinets. And we're going to do it. He said
we were. It seems as if I just couldn't wait!"
"But you will be careful what you say to him, dear," begged the mother
again, anxiously. "He wouldn't understand your mischief, dear, and
I--I'm sure he wouldn't like it."
Betty stooped to give a playful kiss.
"Careful? Why, mumsey, dear, when we get at those cabinets he may tell
me a dozen times the earth is flat, if he wants to, and I won't so much
as blink--if I think there's any danger of my getting cheated out of
that cataloguing!"