Gill Rejoined Him and Was Attempting to Fix Her Hair . . . Frontispiece

"My Dear Mother, What a Sentimentalist You Are"

"I Wonder if I Shall Ever Make You Understand How Dull You Are on One

Particular Subject"

"I Was Never So Disappointed in Any Human Being in My Life, Sally, As I

Am in You"

*The Camp Fire Girls by

the Blue Lagoon*

*CHAPTER I*

*THE CITY OF TOWERS*

One afternoon in October two girls were walking down Fifth Avenue. They

were strangers in New York. One of them, a tall, fair girl, dressed in a

dark blue tailor suit, furs, and a close-fitting velvet hat, was several

years older than her companion, who was small with dark eyes, a sallow

skin and an oddly unconventional appearance which seemed to accord with

her costume, a brown serge cape, a gown of the same material and an

old-fashioned poke bonnet of flowered silk.

In another hour the shops would close and the crowds come pouring forth

into the streets.

"Are you tired, Elce? I had forgotten you were never in New York save

the one day when you landed. The hotel is only a few blocks further on,

yet perhaps it might have been wiser not to have attempted to walk from

the station."

Bettina Graham, who was carrying a small suitcase, made an effort to

slacken her pace, her companion with quicker, shorter steps keeping

close beside her.

"No, I am not tired," she answered, "it is only the noise that confuses

me. I never could have imagined anything like it. Yet I think I once

dreamed of a city like this, of tall towers and streets that are ravines

between high cliffs, with the same bright blue sky overhead."

The older girl smiled.

"You are a fanciful person, but dreaming in New York is a dangerous

pastime, where one must watch every foot of the way."

The afternoon was warm and brilliant, with only a faint suggestion of

frost, the shop windows filled with brilliant displays, the streets

crowded with automobiles.

Bettina's expression changed, her eyes shone, her lips parted slightly

as the color swept into her cheeks.

"New York is fascinating, isn't it? One forgets how fascinating even

when one has been away only a short time. I do hope I may be able to

spend the winter here! But for you, Elce, who have lived almost your

entire life in the country, it must be a wholly new experience. Well,

we are both runaways this afternoon!

"There is Mrs. Burton's hotel just around the corner of the next block.

At this hour, between five and six o'clock, she must be at home."

Unconsciously Bettina began to move more rapidly, with the appearance of

a runner whose goal is nearly in sight.

"I'll send up our cards and she will see us at once. I am sorry our

train was two hours late. I presume I ought to have telegraphed. One

does not enjoy the idea of being alone in New York." Bettina laughed.

"Don't be troubled, there is not the faintest chance of such a disaster.

Now that our Camp Fire guardian has returned to the stage and her play

become one of the greatest successes of the winter, I suppose she does

have to excuse herself to a good many persons, yet she will scarcely

decline to see us."

Not talking to her companion so much as to herself, Bettina at the same

time was studying the faces of the passers-by, divided between her

interest in New York, the contagion of the brilliant autumn day and her

undoubted nervousness over some personal problem.

Reaching the desired hotel, after an instant's hesitation, the two girls

entered, Bettina feeling an unaccustomed awkwardness and embarrassment.

Notwithstanding the fact that she had traveled many miles in the past

few years in her own country and in Europe, this was the first occasion

when she had been without a chaperon.

Declining to surrender her suitcase, Bettina asked the clerk to announce

her arrival to Mr. and Mrs. Richard Burton. In a measure she felt

prepared to have her request refused, as Mrs. Burton would probably wish

to be excused to visitors at this hour. She meant to be insistent, even

if necessary to telephone her own name.

The clerk shook his head.

"Sorry, miss, but Captain and Mrs. Burton are not in; they left this

hotel four or five days ago and took an apartment of their own."

"You don't mean they are no longer living here?"

To her own ears Bettina's voice sounded more startled than it should.

"Then will you be kind enough to give me their new address, as I wish to

find them at once."

She thought she saw a faint look of sympathy and regret on the clerk's

face.

"Sorry again, but Captain Burton left strict orders their new address

was to be given to no one. They do not wish to see strangers. Their

friends they intend notifying themselves. Perhaps you want Mrs. Burton

to help you to go on the stage, so many young women call on her for this

purpose and she has been giving up so much time to them, Captain Burton

does not wish her to be disturbed in the future."

Bettina flushed and frowned.

"No, I am not looking for work and I am not a stranger to Mrs. Burton.

She and Captain Burton would wish you to tell me where they are living.

Mrs. Burton is a kind of relative, or at least she is an intimate

friend."

The clerk smiled.

"That is what everyone says. I regret not being able to oblige you, but

orders are orders."

As if Bettina were no longer demanding his attention he turned to some

one who had been waiting and was now inquiring for a room.

Wishing to discuss a question of great importance to her own happiness

with her Camp Fire guardian, Bettina had run away from home. The act

was not premeditated. When she made her sudden decision her mother and

father chanced to be spending a few days away from Washington. Nor

would they have objected to her journey, save to prefer that she have an

older companion than the little English girl, Elce, originally known as

Chitty, whom the Camp Fire girls had known during the summer in "Merrie

England."

Bettina had not seen her Camp Fire guardian in six months, not since

their parting at Half Moon Lake. Of late, not once, but many times her

mother had announced that she would like the benefit of Polly Burton's

advice on the question which divided them.

So Bettina suddenly had set out on her pilgrimage to New York with this

end in view. To arrive unheralded and not find Mrs. Burton, to be

compelled to spend the night with Elce as her only companion would but

deepen her mother's impression that she possessed neither the judgment

nor experience necessary for the independence she desired.

Nothing would be gained by looking inside her pocket book. She knew

exactly the amount of money it contained.

After paying for her own and Elce's tickets and an expensive lunch on

the train she had counted it carefully. Seven dollars and forty cents

then had seemed a sufficient amount when she expected to be with her

Camp Fire guardian in a few hours; it was woefully insufficient to meet

the expenses of two persons in New York.

There was one friend to whom she might appeal, but this would make her

present difficulty with her mother the greater. Surely there must be

some method of discovering her Camp Fire guardian, if only she were not

so stupid that she had no idea what to do next. In any case she would

not remain longer in the lobby of the hotel and she declined to question

the clerk a third time. In the street she would receive fresh

inspiration.

She and Elce left the hotel.

Outdoors no new idea immediately occurred to her. It seemed strange

that her mother had not mentioned Mrs. Burton's change of address: as

they never failed to write each other once a week, undoubtedly she must

know. Then Bettina recalled the fact that she and her mother had had

but little to say to each other of late, since no matter upon what

subject they started to talk, always the conversation veered to the

difference between them.

"Don't be worried, dear, I shall be able to think what to do in a few

moments," Bettina remarked, with more courage than conviction. "It was

ridiculous for the hotel management to decline to give me Tante's change

of address. She and Captain Burton will both be annoyed; the clerk

should have known they might wish some exception to be made to their

order."

Elce nodded, regretting that she was unable to offer any advice and yet

perfectly content to abide by Bettina's judgment. In a strange and

unfamiliar world, Bettina was her one anchor. Sent to a boarding

school, from loneliness and longing for the outdoors, Elce had fallen

ill, and unable to continue at school, Bettina's home had been her

refuge.

At present the younger girl was finding it difficult to keep her

attention concentrated upon the object of their quest, the city noises

so excited and confused her. With her strange musical gift she long had

been able to reproduce the country sounds, the singing of certain birds,

the wind in the trees, now she seemed faintly aware of some hidden

harmony amid the thousand discords of the city streets.

Again her companion brought her back from her day dreaming.

"I believe I will look in the telephone book, as it is just possible

Tante may have kept her former telephone number and had it transferred

to her new address. If you do not mind waiting, here is a public

telephone booth."

Five minutes later with her expression a little more cheerful, Bettina

rejoined the younger girl.

"I have discovered an apartment in Fifth Avenue which may be Tante's.

At least it is occupied by a Mr. and Mrs. Richard Burton. As no one

answered the telephone, suppose we take the Fifth Avenue bus and see if

by a stroke of good fortune we have located the right place. I do hope

so. If not, I suppose we can find a quiet hotel and spend the night

there, or if not go to a Y.W.C.A. and explain our difficulty. In the

morning I fear we must return to Washington and there humbly inquire for

Tante's address. I might telegraph of course, but as mother and father

are not at home, to find we have vanished before they receive the letter

I left for them, will annoy and frighten them. Heigh-ho, it is a

puzzling world, Elce dear; when I thought I was attempting a simple

journey for a good cause here I am in an entirely unexpected tangle!"

In spite of her uncertainty, for she had but little assurance of finding

her guardian, Bettina could not fail to enjoy the ride up Fifth Avenue

in the crowded bus. Not yet dark, still here and there lights were

shining in the office buildings, while the throngs of people hurrying

home grew constantly larger. The bus passed the low, classic stone

building she recognized as the New York Public Library, then a group of

magnificent houses and hotels and the entrance to Central Park.

At Sixty-first Street and Fifth Avenue Bettina and her companion

dismounted.

Half a block further on they entered a handsome apartment building.

"Will you telephone up and ask either Mr. or Mrs. Richard Burton to see

Miss Bettina Graham," Bettina asked the elevator boy. "I won't give

your name, Elce; it is better that I explain later and the two names

might be confusing," she whispered, more uneasy than she cared to

confess even to herself.

The reply brought a flush of color to Bettina's cheeks. She was to

"come up at once."

"I am afraid I am a good deal relieved. In truth I am so tired I shall

tumble into bed as soon as dinner is over and not try to have a long

talk with Tante before morning. Probably she would prefer me to wait, as

she will soon be leaving for the theater. I hope her apartment is not

very small, but in any case she will have to find room for us to-night,"

Bettina managed to confide on the way up to the fifth floor.

The moment she had rung the bell, the door opened.

Bettina and Elce found themselves confronting a young man of about

eighteen or nineteen years of age.

"Won't you come in? I believe you wish to see my mother. I did not

catch your name, but she will be at home in a few moments. The

apartment has been deserted all afternoon, but I am sure she won't be

much longer away."

An absurd instant Bettina forgot her dignity and the number of her years

and suffered an impulse to shed tears. She was tired and it was late.

She felt the responsibility for her companion. Of course she should not

have rushed to New York in this impetuous fashion without her mother's

knowledge, or informing her Camp Fire guardian of her intention.

"You are very kind. I am sorry to have troubled you, but it is not your

mother I am looking for. I was afraid I was making a mistake. I am

seeking for another Mrs. Richard Burton and merely hoped that this might

prove to be her address."

"You are convinced it is not." The young fellow's manner was so kind

that Bettina felt slightly less depressed. "Suppose you tell me

something of the Mrs. Burton you _do_ wish to find, give me some kind of

a clue and I may be able to help you."

"Well, I scarcely know how to explain. I came to New York under the

impression that Mr. and Mrs. Burton were at a hotel where I know they

have been for a number of months and unexpectedly learned they had

moved."

"Surely you could have inquired where they have gone!"

Scarcely conscious of how cross and tired she appeared, Bettina frowned.

"Oh, of course I inquired, but the hotel clerk refused to inform me.

Mrs. Burton's play this winter is a great success and I suppose so many

people have called on her that she felt obliged to refuse to permit her

address to be given to strangers, and I was unable to convince the clerk

I was an old friend."

Bettina and Elce were about to turn away.

"Do you mean you are trying to discover the Mrs. Burton who is Polly

O'Neill Burton, and is acting in the new play known as 'A Tide in the

Affairs'? I saw it only a few nights ago. Why do you not go to her

theater and inquire where she lives. The theater is at Forty-seventh

and Broadway. If you do not receive the information you could wait

until Mrs. Burton arrives. I wish you would allow my mother to go with

you. If I were only another girl I might be useful. As I am not, I

don't dare propose to accompany you. But there are two of you, so I

suppose you will be all right, although I don't like the idea of your

going to a theater at this hour alone."

Bettina smiled, forgetting in her evident relief to be as conventional

as was usual with her.

"I am very much obliged to you. I don't see why I did not think of your

suggestion myself. There is no reason to trouble you any further. Of

course yours is the proper solution of our difficulty, I knew there must

be one if I could only discover it. Good-by and thank you."

An hour later Bettina Graham and Elce were entering an old house in

Gramercy Park which recently had been made over into apartments. And

within a few moments Mrs. Burton's arms were about Bettina.

"My dear, how lovely it is to see you after so long! But what has

brought you here at this hour without letting me know? Surely nothing

has happened to Betty or to you! You have not come to tell me your

mother is ill and wants me?"

Bettina shook her head.

"No, dear, there is no reason to be uneasy. I simply wish to talk over

a question with you, partly because you are my Camp Fire guardian, but

more I suppose because you are yourself. I left Washington suddenly and

did not think it worth while to telegraph. You see I did not dream you

had moved, or that I would have any difficulty in discovering you. But

let me tell you the whole story in the morning. Elce and I are tired

and hungry. Can you find a place for us?"

"Don't be absurd, Bettina. Think, dear, I have not seen one of my Camp

Fire girls in six months! Come and let us find Richard, he is in the

drawing-room; then we will have dinner as I must be off to the theater

soon afterwards. We can have a long, uninterrupted talk after breakfast

tomorrow."

*CHAPTER II*

*THE GENERATIONS*

At ten o'clock the next morning Bettina and Mrs. Burton were in her

small sitting-room with the door closed.

The room was characteristic of its owner--filled with warm, soft colors

in shades of rose and blue, a few beautiful pieces of furniture, a few

photographs, two exquisite paintings on the wall.

In a large chair before the fire, with a small table drawn up beside

her, Mrs. Burton had just finished breakfast and was reading her mail,

while Bettina wandered about examining the rosewood desk, the pictures,

dipping her nose into a blue bowl filled with violets which had arrived

not a quarter of an hour before and which Bettina herself had arranged.

"I have a letter from your mother, Princess; she is not writing from

Washington and has not yet heard you are with me. However, she says she

wishes that we could have a talk together," Mrs. Burton remarked,

dropping into the fanciful title the Camp Fire girls had bestowed upon

Bettina Graham years before, and which they now only used occasionally.

"Come and make your confession, dear, for besides being by nature

curious I can't help being troubled. Surely, Bettina, you have not been

falling in love with some one whom your mother does not approve! If so,

I am going to be equally difficult. When I became your Camp Fire

guardian long ago, and you were all small girls, I never considered the

responsibilities that your growing up would thrust upon me, and have

often thought of resigning the honor since."

Bettina came and stood before the fire with her hands clasped in front

of her and looking down at the older woman, who was gazing up at her

half smiling and half frowning.

"I don't see what especial difference your resigning as our Camp Fire

guardian would make, Tante. We would all continue to come to you with

our problems and you would be wounded and offended should we choose any

one else. It is true most of us are growing rather old for the Camp

Fire, and yet it has become so important a part of our lives no one of

us would dream of giving it up. By the way, you are looking wonderfully

well, as if your work were agreeing with you better than I thought

possible."

"Yes, I am well, thank you. Is it so difficult to confide what you came

to New York to tell me? I don't like to think of your search for me

yesterday and the possibility that you might not have found me. When

Captain Burton, believing I was seeing too many people, left the order

at the hotel I was afraid that some one might come seeking me whom I

should regret missing. Won't you sit down?"

Bettina shook her head.

"No, I would rather not. Somehow it is harder to begin my story than I

dreamed! You see, I want so much to have you feel as I do about what I

am going to tell you, since it means my whole life, and yet I am

dreadfully afraid you won't. As you know, mother and I have disagreed

about many small matters since I was a little girl. I was obstinate, I

suppose, and she never has wholly recovered from her disappointment that

I am so unlike her in my disposition and tastes. In the past father and

I have seemed to understand each other, until now when he too is not in

sympathy with me. Oh, I realize I am coming to my point slowly, but you

must let me try and tell you in my own fashion. You care so much for

mother I fear your affection for her may prejudice you against me."

"Isn't that a strange speech, Bettina, as if I did not care for you as

well, and as if there could be any division of interest between your

mother and you?"

The Camp Fire guardian spoke slowly, studying Bettina closely. More

than she realized, in the past six months Bettina had changed; she

looked older and more serious and did not appear in especially good

health. She had grown thinner. Under her eyes were shadows and about

her lips discontented lines.

With the first suggestion of criticism her manner had altered.

Years before when Bettina was much younger, during the first months as

Sunrise Camp Fire guardian, Mrs. Burton had not understood Bettina's

reserve, the little coldness which made her apparently express less

affection than the other girls. Later, when this proved to be more

shyness than coldness, she had come to believe that, although Bettina

did not care for many persons, her affections were deep and abiding and

that between them lay a friendship as strong as was possible between a

girl and a so much older woman.

"Yes, Bettina has altered more than I dreamed," she reflected.

"I am sorry to hear you say, Tante, that mother and I cannot have an

interest apart, because that is exactly what has occurred," Bettina

announced. "We have differed, we do still differ upon a question of

such importance that I doubt if our old relation can ever be exactly the

same. Of course I care for mother as much as I ever cared, although she

declines to believe it. She already has said that her affection for me

is not the same."

"Nonsense, Bettina," Mrs. Burton answered. "Please tell me what you

mean more clearly and be prepared to have me frank with you. If you

feel you will be angry unless I agree with you, my opinion will not be

of value."

"Oh, I am accustomed to everybody's being frank in their disapproval of

me whenever they hear what I wish to do. I do not expect you to agree

with me, Tante, but I did hope you would listen to my side of the

question and not think me altogether selfish and inconsiderate, which is

the family point of view at present."

In Bettina's manner there was a subtle change, her tone less

self-assured, her expression showing more appeal and less challenge.

In the same instant Mrs. Burton appreciated that to fail Bettina now was

to fail Bettina's mother as well, even to end the long friendship upon

which they both depended. Beneath Bettina's assumption of hardness and

wilfulness, she was sincerely troubled. Moreover, she was facing some

decision vital to her future.

"Come and sit down beside me, dear, you look so tall and old towering

above me. And suppose we do not presume in the beginning that we are

going to misunderstand each other. You want to confide in me and I am

glad you do; now go on and I shall not interrupt."

At the change in her Camp Fire guardian's manner, Bettina's face

softened, she seemed younger and gentler. Sitting down on a low chair

she leaned forward, placing her clasped hands in the older woman's lap

and gazing directly at her with eyes that were clear and gallant, even

if they were a little obstinate and cold.

Mrs. Burton experienced a sensation of relief. In Bettina's opposition

to her mother there could be nothing seriously wrong.

She began to speak at once:

"Perhaps my confession is not so dreadful as you fear, Tante. The

unfortunate thing is that mother and I cannot seem to agree and that we

have argued the question so many times until of late we have not only

argued but quarreled. Well, I shall begin at the beginning! When we

said good-by to one another at Tahawus cabin,[*] I remained at home in

Washington for only a few weeks and then mother and I opened our summer

house. We both wrote you that she and father and Tony and Marguerite

Arnot and I spent several perfect months together motoring and sailing

and swimming with one another and with the people who came to see us.

David Hale came now and then, and Tony's college friends, besides

Washington friends and Sally and Alice Ashton for a few days. There was

only one small difficulty. I became intimate with an older woman who

was boarding not far away. Mother did not consider her particularly

desirable. She was polite to her as she is to most people and did not

really object to Miss Merton until she began to feel that she was having

more influence over me than she liked. Miss Merton is a settlement

worker and used to tell me of her life and the people she is thrown with

and the help she is able to give them. I found the account of her work

very fascinating, until mother began to feel I was neglecting my family

and preferring Miss Merton's society. This was not true; I did not care

so much for Miss Merton herself, although I do admire her. It was her

experiences among the poor which interested me so keenly; the clubs and

classes and the nursing and the effort to teach our immigrants more of

the spirit and opportunities of the United States."

[*] See "Camp Fire Girls at Half Moon Lake".

"Yes, I know, my dear, social settlement work is not a new discovery.

Was it to you? What in the world can this have to do with you? Surely

your mother did not oppose your friendship with this Miss Merton to such

an extent that you have made a tragedy of it!"

"No, of course not. What happened was just this. I became so

interested in social settlement work that I have decided it is the work

to which I wish to devote my life. I thought over the question for

weeks and then I spoke to mother. I told her that I could not possibly

do what she desired for me and make my debut in Washington society this

winter. The very idea makes me wretched! I assured her she could not

realize what an utter waste of time a society life appears to me.

Besides, I am not in any way fitted for it. I asked her to allow me to

spend this winter studying social settlement work. Then if I found I

could be useful I would choose it as my life work. You know I never

have felt that I wished to marry and for the last two years, when we

were not busy with the reconstruction work in France I have been more

restless than any one realized. I must find my own road, yet I did not

know in what direction it lay."

"Yes, well, go on, Bettina," Mrs. Burton urged, smiling a little

inwardly and yet conscious of Bettina's immense seriousness, which made

her egotism pardonable.

"Well, mother at first simply declined to pay any attention to what I

told her. Afterwards when she began to see that I was in earnest she

declined to have me mention the subject to her again. She announced

that her plans were made; I was to make my debut early in October and to

spend the winter at home. She declared that social settlement work

should be left to older people and to girls who had fewer opportunities.

She said other things of course, but the important fact is that she

refuses to permit me the choice of my own life. Because she cares for

society and people and being beautiful and admired is no reason why I

should care for the same things. If I were older I should do as I like.

Miss Merton has charge of a settlement house on the east side in New

York and would take me in to live with her."

Bettina put up her hands to her flushed cheeks.

"I suppose this sounds as if I did not care in the least for what mother

wishes, and yet I do. I am sorry to disappoint her; I wish I had been

what she desired. Yet I cannot for that reason change my own nature and

my own inclinations. Do please say something, Tante; it is not like you

to remain silent so long."

"I did not wish to interrupt you and I am feeling sorry for Betty."

"Sorry for mother? Of course I expected you would be; everybody is

sorry for her. They always have been sorry that she should have a

daughter who has neither her beauty, nor charm, nor sweetness; the fact

that I am a failure in society and wish to lead my own life is only one

thing more. You need not for a moment suppose that the sympathy is not

all with mother. I regret having troubled you. I thought when you were

a girl your family and friends were bitterly opposed to your going on

the stage and that regardless of them you did the thing you wished. But

you are a genius and have proved your right to do as you like. I

understand that makes all the difference in the world. It even

justifies sacrificing other people."

Hurt and angry, and not sure of her own position, Bettina felt the

common impulse to strike at some one else. The moment after her final

speech she was sorry to have made it.

"Have I sacrificed other people to have my own way, Bettina? I wonder?

If you mean that I returned to the stage in opposition to Aunt

Patricia's wish, it is true," Mrs. Burton answered.

"You would not have referred to this had you known how unhappy it has

made me. Since we parted at Tahawus cabin Aunt Patricia has never

spoken to me or answered one of my letters. She has not allowed me to

see her, although I have been twice to Boston for no other purpose.

Yet, Bettina, are the circumstances the same? I do not wish to hurt Aunt

Patricia, but I am not a girl by many years, and I chose my profession

long ago. I explained that my husband and I needed the money I am able

to make and could not continue to accept Aunt Patricia's generosity.

She has no real objection to my return to the stage except the mistaken

notion that I'm not strong enough and the fact that she cannot allow me

to do what her will opposes. Dear Aunt Patricia is nothing, if not an

autocrat! Still there are hours when I miss her so much, when it hurts

to have her believe me ungrateful, until I almost regret what I have

done, pleased as I am at the success of my new play. I often wish I had

tried more persuasion with Aunt Patricia. But, Bettina, I never claimed

to be a model person, and as you seem to feel I have no right to judge

you, suppose we do not discuss your difficulty."

Flushing Bettina bit her lips and lowered her lids over her grey eyes.

"I don't wonder you say that, Tante, and I deserve it. To be rude to

you does not help my cause, does it? Certainly it would not with

mother. Besides you know I thoroughly approved of your return to the

stage and think Aunt Patricia utterly unreasonable. There isn't any

likeness between my position and yours in this instance. What I want

you to do is to try and think how you felt when you were a girl and all

your family and friends opposed your going on the stage. Didn't they

tell you that you were selfish and unreasonable and breaking people's

hearts from sheer obstinacy? I don't wish to be disagreeable, I have no

great talent as you have, I just want you to try to feel a little

sympathy for me, even if you feel more for mother."

The Camp Fire guardian smiled and shook her head, yet laid her hand on

Bettina's.

"My dear, you are making a more difficult request than you realize. It

is so hard to go back to one's past that most of us only understand our

own generation. You Camp Fire girls should have taught me more wisdom!

Of course I sympathize with you if you are unhappy, Bettina, and feel

yourself in the wrong place, yet I am sorrier for your mother, because

you cannot possibly realize how much you are hurting her. She never has

believed you cared for her deeply and now that you are not willing to

spend even one season with her in doing what she wishes, she is the more

firmly convinced that you have no affection for her. You talk a great

deal of not having your mother's beauty and charm; well, perhaps not in

the same degree; but Betty, I know, is very proud of you and thinks you

are infinitely cleverer than she and that you feel this yourself."

"Tante, you are not fair," Bettina interrupted.

"Then perhaps you would rather I would not go on."

"Yes, I want to know what you think, only what you have said is absurd.

Mother never has been proud of me, although this is scarcely her fault.

She agrees with me that I am not a success in society, only she insists

that this is because I won't try to make myself popular."

"Do you try?"

"Well, no, not especially, but why should I? If I were allowed to do

what I like, to give all my energy and the little knowledge I possess to

help people less fortunate than I am, I should try as I have never tried

to accomplish anything in my life."

"You are not willing to make any effort to fulfill your mother's wish.

Suppose we do not discuss the subject, Bettina, any further at present.

We are both tired. I telegraphed your mother last night and am writing

to-day to ask if you may make me a visit."

There was a knock at the door and Mrs. Burton arose.

"I told you I did not wish to be disturbed," she protested when the door

opened and another girl entered.

This girl possessed an apparently colorless manner and personality, she

had ash-brown hair and eyes and the question of her appearance would

scarcely occur to any one who knew her but slightly. Juliet Temple was

not a member of the Sunrise Camp Fire. She had been introduced to the

Camp Fire guardian and the group of girls by Mrs. Burton's husband

during the winter they had spent together in the Adirondacks.

Not popular with the rest of the household, Juliet Temple had continued

to live with Mrs. Burton in a position a little difficult to describe.

Treated as a member of the family, she was useful to Mrs. Burton in a

variety of ways, in fact she had come to depend upon her far more than

she appreciated.

"Yes, I understood that you did not desire to be disturbed, but I think

when you know who wishes to see you that you will feel differently,"

Juliet said quietly.

Accepting the cards that were offered her, Mrs. Burton exclaimed:

"Bettina, you cannot guess who has arrived, unless you have arranged to

surprise me! Not to have seen one of you Camp Fire girls in all these

months and now to have four of you appear at the same time scarcely

seems accidental."

Bettina got up.

"I don't know what you mean!"

The Camp Fire guardian disappeared.

A moment later, returning to her sitting-room she was accompanied by

three girls, one of them a tall girl with dusky black hair and eyes and

a foreign appearance in spite of the fact that she was an American.

The other two girls were sisters, although utterly unlike in appearance;

one of them was tall and slightly angular with gray eyes and reddish

hair. The younger girl had golden brown hair and eyes, was small and

softly rounded. Her expression at the moment was one of demure

happiness.

"Vera Lagerloff, Alice Ashton and Sally Ashton, at your service,

Bettina," the Sunrise Camp Fire guardian announced with a curtsey.

"But, Bettina Graham, how in the world do you happen to be in New York

at this time?"

Bettina laughed.

"That is exactly the question I was about to ask of you."

*CHAPTER III*

*FUTURE PLANS*

"We are spending the winter in New York; actually I have been intending

to write you for weeks, Bettina, but have been too busy; Alice and I are

taking special courses at Columbia and Sally is here keeping house for

us," Vera Lagerloff answered.

"Have I talked so much, Tante, that you have had no opportunity to tell

me so important a piece of news?" Bettina inquired.

After finding chairs for her guests, Mrs. Burton had seated herself on a

couch beside Sally Ashton. She now shook her head.

"No, Bettina, I could not have told you, since I had no idea the girls

were in New York. You see, they have never before been to see me or let

me hear where they were. Have you been in town long?"

There was a short, uncomfortable silence.

"About a month; but please let me explain," Alice Ashton said, seeing

that the other girls were waiting for her to assume the responsibility

of a reply. "I realize this must seem strange to you, and I grant you

it does look odd, as if we had lost all our affection and gratitude.

And yet you can not believe this of us!"

"I have made no accusation," the Camp Fire guardian returned, yet in her

tone and manner there was an unconscious accusation, which made it

difficult for Alice to continue.

"I am afraid you are wounded, Tante; I am sorry," she added awkwardly

and paused.

Guardian of the Sunrise Camp Fire girls for a number of years, Mrs.

Richard Burton, whose professional name was Polly O'Neill Burton, had

given up her career on the stage and traveled with the Camp Fire girls

in the west. Later when the great war turned the world upside down she

had gone with them to Europe accompanied by a wealthy and eccentric

spinster, Miss Patricia Lord. After two years in France and a summer in

England they had come back to their own country and on account of the

Camp Fire guardian's health had spent the preceding winter in the

Adirondacks.[*]

[*] See "Camp Fire Girls" Series.

With the close of the winter Mrs. Burton had returned to the stage and

the Camp Fire girls to their homes. There had been no meeting between

them until to-day.

"Tante" was the title which the greater number of the Sunrise Camp Fire

girls used in speaking to their guardian.

"Please don't behave as if you were too wounded to be angry," Sally

Ashton remonstrated, moving closer to the older woman and slipping an

arm about her. "And please remember that it is a good deal more of a

trial for your Camp Fire girls to have been separated from you for all

these months than for you to have had a brief rest from their society.

Some of us at least realize that you have given too much of yourself to

us for the last few years when a so much larger public needed you. I

can't tell you how proud I am of your latest success. I have read dozen

of notices in the papers and the critics all say that you are more

wonderful than ever."

Mrs. Burton smiled.

"You are very complimentary, Sally dear, and of course I am immensely

flattered. Nevertheless this does not explain why you girls have never

come near me for a month, or taken the trouble to write or telephone.

This would not have interfered seriously with the holiday which you seem

to feel I have required."

Rising, Alice Ashton came over and stood before her guardian, her

expression unusually gentle and affectionate. Ordinarily Alice was not

tactful, although sincerity and a fine sense of honor were her ruling

characteristics.

"See here, Tante, we are in an uncomfortable position and there is

nothing to do save tell you the entire story and let you judge. You

will say frankly whether you think we have been right or wrong. I feel

sure that Sally and Vera have felt as I do, when I say there has

scarcely been a day since our arrival in New York when we have not

thought of you and longed to see you. We have been to your play several

times."

"Why avoid me, dear? What can it be that you find so difficult to say?

I prefer to know."

"Even if the reason will trouble you more than the fact? The truth is

that Aunt Patricia would not agree to have us see you."

"So Aunt Patricia's influence is stronger than your feeling for me!

Perhaps that is as it should be, but I can not altogether recognize what

I have done which makes Aunt Patricia not only refuse to have anything

to do with me herself, but wish to separate you Camp Fire girls from me

as well. I suppose she fears I may affect you with the ingratitude and

obstinacy I possess. As long as you were so compliant with Aunt

Patricia's wish, Alice, why did you change? Aunt Patricia has not

changed!"

"You are angry and hurt and I don't know how to go on," Alice returned,

her gray blue eyes darkening, a flush coming into her cheeks.

"Then don't try, Alice," Sally interrupted. "Tante, please be sensible

and don't make a tragedy over a situation that is uncomfortable enough

for us all, goodness knows! I have no gift of words but at least I can

speak plainly. Alice and Vera both feel under obligation to Aunt

Patricia because she is paying their expenses in New York this winter.

I have not been here so long as they have, in fact I only arrived a few

days ago. Aunt Patricia has rented a lovely little apartment for us and

is being generous as only she can be. So when she asked Alice and Vera

not to come to see you, they considered that in a way they were obliged

to do as she asked; I had no such feeling. Aunt Patricia has been

spending a few days with us and this morning at breakfast, I had the

matter out with her. I simply told her I was coming to call on you,

that she of course must do as she liked, but that I had been caring for

you all my life and had no idea of ever doing anything else. If she did

not wish me to remain on at the apartment, she could of course send me

home."

"Bravo, Sally!" Bettina Graham said softly under her breath.

"Of course," Sally added, "Alice and Vera have a different attitude

toward Aunt Patricia. I have never been a favorite with her, as they

have, or lived alone with her during their reconstruction work in

France. My own opinion is that Aunt Patricia wants to see you so much

herself that she is unwilling to have us see you, for fear we shall talk

of you afterwards. She made it a stipulation this morning when she

agreed we could come to see you that your name was not to be mentioned

in her presence. I really am awfully sorry for her. She is very lonely

this winter I am afraid, shut up in her big house near Boston. She cares

for you more than any one in the world, and only comes to New York

occasionally, I really believe to find out how you are, although no one

of us has been able to discover if she has been to see you act."

During Sally Ashton's long speech neither her sister, Alice, nor Vera

Lagerloff had appeared particularly serene.

Vera Lagerloff was an unusual looking girl; at Sally's words, her eyes

narrowed, her skin paled slightly and her lips parted over her firm,

white teeth. In all the years of their Camp Fire life together, no one

of her companions had ever seen Vera seriously angry, although she

always insisted that notwithstanding her American birth, she shared the

Russian peculiarity.

She looked more aggrieved at this moment than was customary.

"Sally is making a good story so far as she is concerned, although not

so fortunate a one for us," she commented. "Still the worst of it is,

Mrs. Burton, that Alice and I cannot altogether deny the truth of what

she has told you." (Vera was always more formal in her manner toward

the Sunrise Camp Fire guardian than the other girls, and rarely used the

title of "Tante.") "We do feel under obligation to Aunt Patricia;

neither Alice nor I could have afforded the winter at Columbia save for

her kindness. Yet she did not insist on our not coming to see you, or

letting you hear from us. She merely asked it as a favor, and only for a

limited length of time. One of the reasons she gave was that you had

chosen to separate yourself from us in order to give your time and

energy to your stage career and that we should not interfere. Alice and

I were merely waiting to decide what was wisest and best."

"Very well, I understand; please let us not discuss the question any

further. Of course, Vera, dear, I know Aunt Patricia also told you I

would be an unfortunate influence, but you are perfectly right not to

speak of this. Do tell me what you and Alice are studying at Columbia

and whether you like New York and, oh, dozens of other things!"

The Camp Fire guardian's manner was sweet and friendly as her arm

encircled Sally and she gave her an affectionate embrace.

Sally dimpled and smiled.

"You are a prophet, Tante. Aunt Patricia suggested only this morning

that in order to have your own way, you disregarded every one's wishes.

The implication was that I bore a slight, but unfortunate resemblance to

you."

At this the other girls laughed and the atmosphere cleared.

"Alice is preparing to study medicine and I am taking a course in

architecture and another in domestic science. Aunt Patricia talks

sometimes of returning to France and spending the rest of her days over

there at her home for French war orphans. She says if we wish and our

parents agree she may take Alice and me with her."

Sally Ashton shook her head.

"Don't worry, Tante, Aunt Patricia will never leave this country without

you."

Mrs. Burton, who had been glancing into the flames which flickered in a

small open fire, now looked up.

"Really, Alice and Vera, I am glad you have done what Aunt Patricia

wished, although at first I confess I was hurt and angry. If she needs

you, you must fill her life as completely as you can. I don't agree

with Sally, much as I would like to. Aunt Patricia is singularly

unforgiving and must have lost all affection for me. You'll stay to

lunch with us. You and Bettina have not had a moment's conversation and

she has a great deal to tell you. I'll go and see about things."

After the Camp Fire guardian had disappeared from the room, Bettina

Graham slipped into her place beside Sally.

"Do come and sit close to us in a Camp Fire square, if not a Camp Fire

circle," Bettina urged. "If you girls only knew how glad I am to see

you and how your being here in New York makes me more than ever anxious

to do what I have been planning! You know how I always have hated the

idea of making my debut in society. Well, as the ordeal has drawn

nearer, I have found myself hating the possibility more than ever. This

summer while we were at our new home, that we call 'The House by the

Blue Lagoon,' I at last made up my mind what I really wish to do. I

want to devote my life to social work and to begin by studying social

settlement work in New York this winter."

Sally Ashton sighed.

"Oh, dear, how did I ever wander into so serious a Camp Fire group? Is

there no one of the Sunrise girls who does not wish for a career save

me? Of course there are Peggy and Gerry, but they already have chosen

matrimony as their careers."

"Do be quiet, Sally. What a perfectly delightful idea, Bettina dear!

Why can't you spend the winter with us? We have another small bed-room

in our apartment and I am sure Aunt Patricia will be delighted to have

you with us," Alice Ashton urged.

Bettina shook her head.

"No such good fortune, Alice! Mother is entirely opposed to my wish and

insists upon my following her desire for me. I ran away to New York to

try to persuade Tante to use her influence with mother to permit me to

do what I like, but I find she takes mother's point of view altogether.

We were discussing the subject when you came in and she had just told me

she thought it would be selfish and inconsiderate of me to argue the

matter any further. So I suppose I must go back to Washington and be a

wallflower all winter.

"I forgot to tell you that Elce, our little Lancashire girl, is here

with me. She was ill at school and sent to me, as no one seemed able to

find anything the matter, save that she was so homesick and miserable.

Now something has to be done for her and with her and I am so glad to

have the opportunity to ask your advice. I am afraid that to send her

to another boarding school would be to have the same thing occur, and

yet she must have some education. She cares for nothing save her music

and the outdoors and was perfectly well and happy when she was with

mother and me last summer."

A moment the three girls remained silent, then Sally answered.

"If you and Tante think it wise and Alice and Vera and Aunt Patricia are

willing, why not have Elce come and live with us this winter? I know

she would rather be with you, Bettina, but if you are to be introduced

into society in Washington, you will scarcely be able to give any time

to her. Besides, your mother may not wish to have her. Elce can go to

school in New York and I'll look after her otherwise. Perhaps this is

not the best thing for her, but it is the only solution I can suggest.

She won't be so homesick with us as at boarding school and she will have

greater freedom, then I shall like to feel that I am doing something

useful."

"Good gracious, Sally, isn't making a home for Alice and me being

useful?" Vera remonstrated. "I am sorry if I seemed cross a few moments

ago; this was largely because you were in the right and Alice and I did

not enjoy our position."

Before any one could reply there was a knock at the door and another

girl entered.

"Mrs. Burton says that luncheon is ready if you will be kind enough to

come in. I am going to ask you not to stay long afterwards; Mrs. Burton

would not mention it I am sure, but she is supposed to lie down every

afternoon for a short rest."

As the four Camp Fire girls followed Juliet Temple out of the room,

Sally managed to whisper to Bettina:

"What is there about Juliet Temple that is so annoying? That little

speech she just made is the kind of thing that makes me especially

angry, as if she were far more intimate with Tante and more devoted to

her welfare than any of her Camp Fire girls? I suppose she is devoted

to her and certainly she makes herself useful and yet I never feel sure

of her. In my opinion she represents one of the causes of Aunt

Patricia's estrangement."

Bettina shook her head.

"I feel a good deal as you do, Sally, although I am not even so

confident of the reason. Sometimes I think you are a better judge of

character than any of the rest of us, so if you have an opportunity this

winter I wish you would study Juliet Temple and find out what you can.

Is she really devoted to Tante, or is she only devoted to her for what

she thinks she can gain? Come, we must not keep luncheon waiting and I

want you to see Elce. Suppose we talk to her of your proposal."

*CHAPTER IV*

*NATURAL HISTORY*

Mrs. Burton's New York apartment was not large.

In her present state of mind Bettina Graham was restless, so, as her

mother had consented that she spend the week with her Camp Fire

guardian, she devoted many hours each day to being out of doors and to

sight seeing.

She was never alone; one of her excuses was that Elce must be amused and

not allowed to be troublesome. The little English girl, the daughter of

a Lancashire miner, who had been deserted by her father and in a way

thrust upon the Camp Fire girls during a brief visit to Ireland, always

accompanied her.

Elce was not a trying companion when one wished to pursue one's own

train of thought. She talked but little and seemed shy and not

particularly clever save for her extraordinary musical gift. Not that

she had any gift for the technique of music. One of Bettina's puzzles

and disappointments was that so far the younger girl had failed to show

any proper interest in the study of music. Her talent seemed

spontaneous and natural as a bird's ability to sing and she seemed as

little capable of acquiring musical knowledge.

Undoubtedly a problem, Bettina believed that Elce was chiefly her

problem. During the summer in "Merrie England," when the little girl

had been a maid of all work in their household, she first had become

interested in her and in return Elce, whom they then knew by the

Lancashire title of "Chitty," had given her a devotion, which she

revealed toward no one else. Indeed, the younger girl appeared

curiously free from the ordinary affections and to be strangely shy, or

self-contained.

It was at Bettina's request that her father had undertaken to pay for

the little girl's education. There had been no thought of making her a

member of their household, save perhaps during certain holidays.

With Marguerite Arnot the circumstances were different. Marguerite was

older and in spite of her difficult background of poverty and hard

work[*] was possessed of unusual beauty and charm. Then at once

Marguerite had responded to her mother's influence. Indeed, Bettina,

although recognizing the unreasonableness of her own attitude,

frequently had to stifle pangs of something approaching jealousy at the

sympathetic relation between them.

[*] See "Camp Fire Girls in Glorious France."

Marguerite was no longer shy save in a graceful and attractive fashion.

If she played but an inconspicuous part in the social life now

surrounding her, she had the French tact and resourcefulness. It seemed

to Bettina that, as her own difference of opinion with her mother had

grown and developed, Marguerite was beginning to fill her place. In

justice she could not criticize Marguerite for circumstances with which

she had nothing to do, although not enjoying the idea that her mother

was turning to some one else for the sympathy and devotion which should

have been her own to give and to receive.

This afternoon, wandering about the Natural History Museum with Elce,

Bettina was not particularly intent upon the exhibitions, but instead

was planning a letter which she contemplated writing home later in the

evening, when Mrs. Burton had gone to the theater and she could be

alone.

She meant to surrender her own desire; nothing else appeared possible,

but she also wished her family to appreciate that she believed she was

being treated unjustly and that she had the right to her own choice of

life.

Reaching a secluded corner and discovering an unoccupied bench, Bettina

sat down, suggesting that Elce wander about alone and come back for her

later. They were on the floor devoted to the reproduction of wild birds

in their native haunts. Since the collection was a rarely beautiful

one, Bettina believed it would be of so great fascination as to keep the

younger girl occupied for some time. Personally she was already

fatigued. Moreover, she wished for an opportunity to think without the

possibility of being interrupted at any moment.

After her original talk with her Camp Fire guardian she had not referred

to the subject of their interview. There was little reason why she

should. Definitely she understood that Mrs. Burton's sympathy was with

her mother and that she had but scant patience with her rebellion

against what might appear to most girls as a singularly fortunate fate.

Bettina was not only disappointed, but puzzled and aggrieved. From any

one save her Camp Fire guardian she would have expected such a point of

view. She herself was able to accept the fact that it was but natural

other people should consider an opportunity to enter Washington society,

chaperoned by her mother and with her father's prominent official

position, to be the summit of any natural girl's desire. Yet from her

Camp Fire guardian Bettina had hoped for another viewpoint. Had she not

heard her oftentimes insist that every living human being must follow

his or her own road, and that whether for good or ill she could have

followed no career save the one she had chosen.

The difference in their positions Bettina Graham had far too much

intelligence not to recognize. She was not choosing the career of an

artist and had revealed no exceptional gifts. She merely wanted to give

her life in service to persons less fortunate than herself, rather than

waste it, as she felt, in a society existence for which she had neither

liking nor taste. There was nothing romantic nor inspiring in her

desire. Her mother and father were both convinced that such work should

be left to older women, or to girls who possessed neither her position

nor opportunities.

So since the prop upon which unconsciously she had been leaning, Mrs.

Burton's approval and help, had failed her, Bettina decided to make no

further protest for the present. Later she must convince her family

that her desire was not a whim, a moment's caprice, the influence of a

stronger personality, which would vanish when other interests became

more absorbing.

Suddenly Bettina got up, realizing that the room in which she was seated

was growing surprisingly dark and that a guard was moving about,

announcing that the hour for closing had arrived.

Before leaving Bettina had first to find her companion.

At the farther end of the room she observed that a small crowd had

formed, who seemed loath to depart.

Drawing near, to her amazement she heard a number of beautiful, birdlike

notes with which she was familiar.

Undisturbed by her audience, Elce was standing by a showcase filled with

birds from the northern part of England, birds which the little girl had

known almost from babyhood, as she had spent the greater part of her

time in the woods. To-day amid strange and different surroundings, with

apparent unconsciousness, she was repeating such bird notes as she could

recall.

The crowd about her was amused and admiring.

Bettina laid her hand on the younger girl's shoulder.

"Elce, we must go at once, it is growing late. And you must remember

you are not in the woods, or you will have so large an audience

surrounding us some day that we shall not be able to make our escape.

You are an odd child! I thought you were exceptionally shy and afraid

of people, and now you do a surprising thing like this and appear not in

the least abashed."

In farewell Elce was nodding to several persons who had been standing

near. She appeared entirely unaware that her behavior had been unusual.

Out in the street Bettina discovered that the darkness had not been due

solely to the lateness of the hour, but that a thunderstorm was

approaching.

A few moments she stood hesitating. The History Museum was on the west

side of the city and uptown and she wished to reach the east side and

down town as promptly as possible. By what method she could most

quickly accomplish this result she was not certain. Holding tight to

her companion's hand Bettina made a hurried rush toward the Broadway

subway.

She had no umbrella and large drops of rain were descending. The

darkness was surprising and interesting. Men and women stopped in their

onward rush to look upward toward the sky, where the clouds were

magnificent.

Then the rain became a downpour. Still Bettina and Elce rushed on,

scarcely seeing where they were going.

A moment and Bettina found her horizon limited by an umbrella, which

made a circular barrier directly in her path.

"Is it possible that people can meet by accident in New York City in

this way? I do not see how you can remember us," she was saying the

following moment.

"Our meeting is not so surprising as you think; people who live in New

York never see their acquaintances unexpectedly, while strangers always

do. I am taking it for granted that you are not a New Yorker. You will

have my umbrella, won't you?"

Bettina shook her head.

"No, I cannot do that, but if you will see us to the subway and save

Elce from drowning in this rain, I shall be under a second obligation to

you. We did find Mrs. Burton the other evening in the fashion you

suggested."

Bettina was smiling, amused and entertained by her unexpected encounter.

The rain was dripping from her hat, her hair blowing, her cloth skirt

whipped about her ankles.

"We are trying to reach Gramercy Square," she added, when they had set

out, their companion vainly attempting to hold his umbrella above the

two girls.

"Then I suggest you take the bus so as not to have to cross to the

shuttle at Times Square at this rush hour. You won't think I intend

being impertinent, because already I have discovered two things about

you. You are staying with Mrs. Richard Burton and apparently she lives

in Gramercy Park. You see, you have an unfair advantage of me in one

respect, as you know that my name is Burton and I have no idea of

yours."

Making no rejoinder, Bettina's manner became perceptibly colder. She

was not an unconventional person and was beginning to fear that she had

displayed too great friendliness in permitting herself to recognize an

acquaintance whom she had met in so informal a fashion.

Yet until this moment he had seemed unusually courteous.

At her change of manner he turned and began talking to Elce, so that

Bettina was able to look at him more attentively.

She had only an indistinct impression of him as he stood in his own

doorway several evenings before, giving her the aid of his friendly

advice. Curious that she should be appealing to his friendliness so

soon again! Now she saw that the young man had brown hair and eyes, was

a good deal taller than she, and that he had an expression of delightful

gaiety. Unconsciously Bettina felt a slight sensation of envy. She

knew the copy of Donatello's faun and there was something in her

companion which suggested the famous statue. His brown hair, wet by the

rain, curled in heavy clusters, his ears were slightly pointed, his face

glowed with health and humor.

"I am sorry if I have offended you," he added. "For my own part, I

never have understood why human beings require so much formality in

learning to know one another. I confess I have been struggling to

discover an acquaintance who knows your Mr. and Mrs. Burton ever since

our accidental meeting the other evening. No one seems able to help me.

The only human being I know named Burton outside my own family is a

Captain Burton I saw in France. He was engaged in Red Cross work over

there. But I met him on the street after our return and I remember he

told me he was living in Washington."

Bettina bit her lips to hide their smiling, not altogether displeased by

this information.

"We have reached Broadway, haven't we? I am so much obliged to you, as

here comes our bus. It would be odd, wouldn't it, if by chance we

should both know the same Captain Burton. My Mr. Richard Burton was in

France in the service of the Red Cross and did live in Washington for a

time after his return to this country. He does not use his title at

present, since he has given up his Red Cross work, although many persons

continue to call him Captain Burton. Of course there may have been any

number of Captain Burtons in the army. I have no idea that we can

possess any acquaintance in common. Good-by and thank you."

*CHAPTER V*

*RENUNCIATION*

At the door of Mrs. Burton's private sitting-room, which was slightly

ajar, hearing voices inside, Bettina paused. She had changed her wet

outdoor costume for a simple dinner dress, but did not wish to disturb

any visitor, knowing that her Camp Fire guardian saw only intimate

friends at this hour and in this room. The room in which Bettina was

standing at present was the ordinary reception room.

Mrs. Burton was speaking and an instant later Bettina caught the sound

of her own name.

"I did not dream, my dear, that Bettina could be so selfish and

unreasonable. I confess I _am_ deeply disappointed in her! Save that

she told me what she wished with her own lips, I could never have

believed she could be so inconsiderate of you."

Then a voice followed which surprised Bettina, although it was the one

voice with which she was more familiar than any other.

"But, Polly, perhaps you do not understand Bettina. She never before

has seemed either selfish or unreasonable. And if she now appears

inconsiderate of me, the fault probably is mine. Bettina should have

had a more serious-minded mother, one who would not have asked her to

waste her gifts and her beautiful, generous nature in a society

existence. I have been talking with Anthony since Bettina came to you.

He seems unusually severe and for the first time I can recall is annoyed

with his 'Slim Princess,' the title he used to bestow on Bettina.

Anthony declares that Bettina should wish to be with me beyond any other

possible desire and that she particularly needs my influence. This I am

afraid is not true. I have been struggling to make Anthony see, and you

must recognize this as an excuse for Bettina, Polly, dear, that her wish

at present is merely an inheritance from Anthony. For as long as I can

remember Anthony has been working to better conditions for people whom

he considers less fortunate than himself. This has kept him many years

in political life, when often his own desire has been to retire. Now

Bettina simply is longing to express the same ideal in the work that, as

a young girl, she feels herself by nature fitted for. I have been

standing in her way, I am afraid the selfishness has been mine, although

at first I was unable to see the situation in this light. I am so proud

of Bettina and so wanted her to be with me in order to introduce her to

the brilliant and charming friends Anthony and I have acquired in our

years in Washington."

"You are an angel, Betty!" Mrs. Burton responded.

Her companion laughed, for the first time her voice revealing a happier

tone.

"Polly, there is only one human being in this world possessed of fewer

angelic attributes! That person is your famous self. It is ridiculous

and not in the least fair of you to be so critical of Bettina. I

presume you have forgotten that when you were a girl you

disappeared--was it for over a year?--from all of us who cared for you.

At that time you deliberately set out to try your fortune in so

reprehensible a career as the stage. Now if Bettina had chosen so

undesirable a profession as yours, I might be unhappy. The work she

wishes to do is constructive and unselfish. I went to call on Miss

Merton, the friend Bettina made last summer who interested her in social

settlement work. She has a very different impression of Bettina from

the one you seem to have acquired as her Camp Fire guardian. She is a

remarkable woman and I never wish to forget what she said to me. She

even agreed that Bettina should remain this winter with me and do what I

planned for her, yet she believes that Bettina has a wonderful

personality and unusual gifts and that one day she will do work that may

be of permanent value. Under the circumstances it is I who have failed

Bettina. In the future she will remember and find it hard to forgive

me."

"Mother!" there was a little rush as Bettina entered the room. An

instant after her arms were about her mother and her cheek resting

against her beautiful soft hair.

"I have been playing eavesdropper outside the door for the past ten

minutes and so heard Tante villify my character and your defence of me.

She isn't to be trusted, is she, dearest?"

Bettina glanced toward her Camp Fire guardian. There was a little flash

of understanding between them.

Immediately Mrs. Burton rose from her chair.

"I am going into my room to dress for dinner, Betty. I don't know what

Bettina's idea of you may be, but I am convinced that you are

unreasonable and inconsiderate. I have merely seen your side of this

question because of my affection for you. In return you tell me that I

have no true appreciation of your daughter and that I have chosen a

profession for which you feel not respect while Bettina's choice is

altogether admirable."

Mrs. Burton's eyes were lowered and her cheeks flushed as she moved

toward her own door.

"Polly dear, I haven't wounded you? Please don't be angry with me, you

never have been in all these years."

There was no reply. Bettina whispered, "Don't mind Tante, mother. I

think she really intended to force you to defend me. Certainly I am

grateful to her. Besides, she needs your criticism this winter, now her

play is such a success and she no longer has Aunt Patricia or her Camp

Fire girls to keep her in order. As for all those foolish, delightful

things you said about me, I shall remember them always, although of

course they are not true. When are you going home? I want to go with

you, I mean to be the most popular debutante in Washington this winter.

The other foolish dream of mine can wait."

Mrs. Graham shook her head.

"No, Bettina, now I understand how you feel, I really don't desire you

to do anything except what you wish. Don't leave us, please, Polly, not

for a few moments, I want to talk to you. You can't be offended. Miss

Merton suggests that Bettina take some special courses in social work

this winter and that she come to her for practical experience in the

work two or three times a week.

"I won't be lonely, I'll run over to New York frequently to see you

both. And remember, Polly, that you promised me that you would come to

me in the spring, no matter if your play is the greatest success in New

York. You assured Richard and me that you would not try your strength

by a too long engagement. Besides, you have never seen our 'House by the

Blue Lagoon'. Bettina and I have given the place this title. It was

Anthony's anniversary gift to me. The house is on an island in the sea,

but there is an arm of water that has cut its way into the land that is

blue as the Bay of Naples. You'll bring as many of your Sunrise Camp

Fire girls with you as you can induce to come. This shall be my reward

that you and Bettina both care more for what you are pleased to call

your careers than for me. I shall try to persuade Aunt Patricia to join

us. She must have relented by that time."

Mrs. Burton shook her head.

"Never, dear! But of course I am coming to you. I lie awake at night

and dream of the happy time we shall have together when the winter's

work is past. 'The Blue Lagoon', the very name is magical."

*CHAPTER VI*

*THE BOX PARTY*

The group of people entered the box nearest the stage a few moments

before the curtain was to ascend.

In the effort to find places there was the usual brief confusion; in the

end the youngest of the girls was seated in the chair next the

footlights, with two other girls in the adjoining chairs, the chaperon

and a fourth girl behind them, while a little in the background were

three young men.

"Mother, do take the outside chair; I am afraid you will not be able to

see properly, Bettina Graham suggested.

"Besides, Mrs. Graham, we wish the handsomest member of our box party to

occupy the most conspicuous place."

Betty Graham arose to change places with her daughter.

"Never mind, David, I am perfectly willing to allow you to talk to

Bettina rather than to me, without such arrant flattery which is not apt

to make you popular. Besides, as I have not seen Mrs. Burton's new play

and am deeply interested, I do not wish to be interrupted. I am afraid

you young persons may wish to talk."

"There will be little danger of conversation once the play is started,"

a third voice interposed, "I have seen it three times and found it as

absorbing the last time as I did the first."

Bettina Graham turned toward the speaker.

"I am glad you were able to come with us to-night, Mr. Burton. Do you

remember that you were the first person in New York to mention, 'A Tide

in the Affairs' to me? In any event, mother, you need not fear we shall

be guilty of such bad manners as to attempt to talk while the

performance is going on even if we dared. It is odd that I don't know

the story of the play, but then I have done my best not to find out so

as not to affect my pleasure."

Dressed in a new evening gown of pale green chiffon, which had been her

mother's gift since her arrival in New York, with a silver girdle and a

fillet of silver wound about her fair hair, her cheeks flushed with

excitement, Bettina Graham had never been more beautiful.

At least this was the impression she made upon two of the three young

men who were members of the same party; the third was too absorbed in

his own train of thought and in his excitement over seeing Mrs. Burton

act for the first time to pay any particular attention to any one of the

four girls. Such interest as Allan Drain had expressed had been for

Mrs. Graham, who was his especial friend.

As Robert Burton had seen Bettina only four times before this evening,

his opinion was hardly of the same critical value as David Hale's, whom

Bettina had met and known intimately several years before in France.

Robert Burton, however, had never made any effort to find out why

Bettina Graham had attracted him since the first moment of their

unconventional meeting. To analyze his own wishes had never been his

habit. Accepting her half laughing challenge, he straightway had gone to

call upon the Mr. Richard Burton, who was her host, and discovered him

to be the Captain Burton he had known in France.

Telling the story of his accidental meeting with Bettina he had asked to

be properly introduced and Captain Burton had been glad to agree. He

knew something of Lieutenant Robert Burton's war record and also that

his father was a prominent New York lawyer; but particularly he liked

the young fellow's straightforward fashion of setting out to accomplish

his design.

Twice in the past week Robert Burton had called to see Bettina and been

introduced to her mother and Mrs. Burton. This evening he had been

invited to be a member of their theater party. For the same pleasure

David Hale had come from Washington.

"Some night you hope to be sitting in the theater like this, Allan, and

have Mrs. Burton produce your first play. I wish you luck. Suppose in

the spring you make us a visit at my 'House by the Blue Lagoon'. Mrs.

Burton will be with me, resting, and perhaps we may be able to persuade

her to read the play you are working on this winter. I shall always

feel responsible for the loss of your poems,[*] although Mary Gilchrist

was actually the guilty person," Mrs. Graham declared, leaning a little

back in her chair and turning her head to speak to the young man behind

her. "I still hope some day to make things up to you, or perhaps Mrs.

Burton may."

[*] See "Camp Fire Girls at Half Moon Lake."

Allan Drain flushed. He was a tall fellow with strong features and

reddish gold hair which he wore fairly long. A student of medicine, he

was in reality only interested in writing. He had met the Sunrise Camp

Fire girls, their guardian and Mrs. Graham during the past winter which

they had spent in the Adirondacks.

"You have fully repaid me for any loss by your friendship," he answered,

with a slight huskiness of voice. "To hope that Polly O'Neill Burton

will ever be interested in my poor efforts at play writing is too much

to expect, yet if it is possible I shall come for the visit with the

greatest pleasure. There is nothing I should so enjoy."

A hush at this moment preceded the raising of the curtain. Out of sight

of the audience an orchestra began the strains of an Irish melody famous

half a century ago.

A suppressed quiver of excitement passed through the small group of Camp

Fire girls.

In her seat nearest the stage Sally Ashton bit her lips to hide their

trembling, feeling her cheeks suddenly flame. She had been scarcely

aware of the conversation going on about her, or that the eyes of a

number of persons in the audience had been admiringly turned toward her.

She wore a dress of rose-colored net with no trimming save a broad satin

girdle of the same shade.

Vera and Alice Ashton were in white, Mrs. Graham in an amber satin with

a string of topazes about her throat, her wonderful auburn hair

exquisitely arranged, her skin of a beautiful warm clearness, was more

lovely than the girl of years before.

Waiting to see the curtain rise she was the Betty Ashton of long ago,

who had been one of the first persons to believe in the genius of the

girl, Polly O'Neill, always her dearest friend.

"I have not seen Polly act for so long a time, Bettina, I am almost as

excited as if this was her debut night. Yet Polly is sure enough of her

laurels these days!" Mrs. Graham whispered.

Then the curtain rose.

The first scene disclosed a small cabin set on a green hillside with a

miniature lake in front.

A girl in a green skirt, a white blouse and a green velvet bodice is

seen seated on the grass near the water. She is slowly crooning a love

song with the words scarcely audible.

Finally becoming impatient, she rises and wanders about, a frown on her

face, a pathetic droop to her slim figure.

"Mrs. Burton looks about sixteen, doesn't she? Younger than any one of

you!" David Hale murmured.

Bettina paid not the slightest attention to his remark, and scarcely

heard it, as at this moment a second figure entered the stage, a boy who

is about to set forth on a journey; one recognizes this from his costume

before any words are exchanged. He has come to say good-by.

The first act is devoted to their farewell. One learns that the girl is

to be left behind with an old aunt who has been her foster mother, while

the boy goes to the United States to seek a fortune for them both.

"Mother," Bettina said softly when the curtain had fallen, "don't you

think Tante makes the parting between herself and her lover too tragic?

It seems to me perfectly natural and there is no special reason for

being unhappy, yet just because of her gift for expressing emotion she

seems the most pathetic figure in the world as he goes away and leaves

her."

Mrs. Graham smiled and shook her head, but made no effort to conceal the

tears in her eyes.

"Perhaps you are right, Bettina, I don't know. Polly did not believe

you Camp Fire girls would care for her play. It begins in a more

sentimental age than the present one. Fifteen years elapse, remember,

between the first and the second act. Perhaps the modern girl would not

regard the separation from her lover so seriously; she has more

interests, more occupations, and sometimes I wonder if love may not mean

less to her; I am not sure.

"The girl whom Polly portrays is left utterly alone, save for the old

woman, who, we have learned, is harsh and querulous. She has only her

dream and her affection."

Talking to Bettina alone, Mrs. Graham discovered that, as the applause

died away, the other members of the box party were listening to her

little speech.

"I agree with Bettina," Alice Ashton interposed.

"See here, Mrs. Graham, if you believe in sentiment don't look for it

among girls these days," Robert Burton protested. "If you want to know

the kind of impression that parting scene of Mrs. Burton's inspires, ask

any one of the three fellows in your party to-night. If I cared for a

girl and was compelled to leave her for an indefinite length of time, I

tell you I should expect her to feel as the heroine does in this play.

If she didn't feel that way, I would not believe in her love."

Mrs. Graham arose.

"I'll leave you to argue the point without me. I want to speak to Mrs.

Burton for a few moments and she asked that no one else come behind the

scenes until the performance is over."

Immediately David Hale slipped into the chair beside Bettina, while

Robert Burton moved forward to talk with Sally Ashton who seemed apart

from the others. Allan Drain joined Alice and Vera.

"It cannot be possible, Bettina, that you are not returning to

Washington to spend the winter," David Hale remarked in a low tone of

voice. "Your mother spoke of it to me and then said perhaps you would

explain to me yourself."

Bettina flushed, as the subject was not an altogether happy one and she

was a little annoyed at its introduction at this instant.

"Why no, I believe not, anyhow not for some time. A group of the

Sunrise Camp Fire girls has taken a little apartment together in New

York and we are planning to work and study here. We are not to be with

our Camp Fire guardian. In fact we are not even to have a chaperon with

us permanently. You remember Miss Patricia Lord; one is not apt to

forget Miss Patricia. She has a house near Boston and is to appear now

and then to see how we are getting on. Alice Ashton and Sally, and Vera

Lagerloff made the plan for the winter originally and are allowing my

little English Camp Fire girl and me to join them. I am to do some

studying, but what I shall like much more, I am to work in one of the

settlement houses on the East Side. I shall try to organize new Camp

Fire clubs, as I don't believe there are many of them in that

neighborhood."

David Hale stared at his companion incredulously.

"You cannot mean you prefer a winter of this kind to making your debut

in Washington, where you would be invited everywhere! I don't suppose

it occurs to you, or that it makes any difference, but I am bitterly

disappointed?"

"Oh, you will have mother and Marguerite Arnot who will more than

compensate for my absence. You know I long have hated the prospect of

having to come out in society. I am too serious, I suppose, although I

realize this is not an attractive trait of character. But, David Hale,

do you recall how much you used to talk to me of your ambitions for the

future in the days we knew each other in France? Well, I don't see why I

am not allowed an ambition of my own even if I am not gifted. I have

always been more interested in the Camp Fire organization than the other

Sunrise Camp Fire girls. Now I see an opportunity to enlarge its

influence along with other work I am undertaking. Mother did not

approve at first, but she is an angel and has finally agreed. You see

she was once upon a time a Camp Fire girl herself."

At Bettina's indifference to his point of view David frowned.

"Well, your mother is right; the new girl is hard to understand, even if

one happens to belong to her generation; that is, hard for a fellow like

me! I--"

Bettina was not paying a great deal of attention. In the alcove at the

front of the box Sally Ashton and Robert Burton were laughing and

talking together, Sally wearing her usual demure expression which could

change to sudden gaiety. Evidently her companion admired her.

Her mother's return to her place and David Hale's vacating it,

distracted Bettina's attention; moreover, the bell was ringing to

announce the second act of the drama.

Fifteen years have gone by, but now for the first time the traveler, who

had departed as a boy, is returning to the Irish village high up among

the lakes and hills.

The report has come back that he has become wealthy and the village is

preparing to welcome him. Hovering on the outskirts of the crowd one

discovers the girl, no longer young, with whom he had parted many years

before. She has not heard from him in a decade. Still she is

interested and anxious to know if he will remember her, or if by any

chance he may still care a little. She never has forgotten. Some

misunderstanding may have divided them, which a few words, a touching of

the hands, a meeting of the eyes may explain.

The hero returns. He has forgotten and even fails to recognize the girl

who represented his youthful romance, is shocked by the change in her

when she recalls herself to his memory.

At the close of the act she goes back to the little cabin and the lake

and the green hillside, where she has lived alone these ten years, the

old aunt having died.

The pathos of the years of waiting has departed. The meeting in the

village has ended an old illusion.

In the third and last act the heroine has established herself in a

picturesque little house in the town, where she has gathered about her

many friends. She is witty and gay, her clothes are pretty and

fashionable. In the lonely years she has read a great deal and has

interested herself in politics. The friends and admirers she might have

had, save for her faithfulness to a memory, are discovered around her,

among them the man, who so easily had forgotten his plighted word. In

the end he proposes a second time and is refused.

"Love has no value without faith and I have no faith in you;" with this

line the drama closes.

"The play is delightful and Polly reveals all her gifts of laughter and

tears, nevertheless it leaves one dissatisfied," Mrs. Graham insisted,

as she allowed Allan Drain to help her with her coat. "Allan, in your

new play give us a happier ending."

"My dear mother, what a sentimentalist you are! I could not imagine a

more delicious climax. My sex is avenged!" Bettina replied. "Come, let

us go back behind the scenes and offer our congratulations!"

[Illustration: "My Dear Mother, What a Sentimentalist You Are."]

*CHAPTER VII*

*THE APARTMENT*

The sitting-room was scrupulously clean. The Camp Fire candles,

representing work, health and love were on the mantel, but unlighted; a

small fire was burning in the grate.

At one side stood a tea table with the arrangements for tea-cups and

saucers, the tea kettle and alcohol lamp. At the moment the room was

empty.

Then a door swung open and a girl entered wearing a ceremonial Camp Fire

costume, her strings of honor beads and insignia of the highest rank,

but over her dress a blue apron which came up to her throat and down to

her ankles.

Her hair was carefully arranged, parted at one side and drawn smoothly

down, yet little tendrils of brown hair had escaped and her face was

warmly Hushed.

Seating herself in a low chair she extended her feet toward the small

blaze.

"The girls are late this afternoon, just because there was a particular

reason why they should be early," she remarked in a maternal tone of

voice, a little absurd in view of her appearance.

During the past few months Sally Ashton had been presiding over the

small apartment in New York which sheltered a group of the Sunrise Camp

Fire girls.

Getting up, she now walked over toward the window. In the distance one

could catch a glimpse of the Columbia College buildings and in another

direction the dome of the great, unfinished Cathedral. The winter

afternoon was clear and cold.

Returning to her former place, after a glance at the clock, Sally drew a

letter from the pocket of her blouse and began reading it. This must

have been a second or third reading since the envelope had disappeared.

Nevertheless, the letter plainly occasioned her no happiness, for she

frowned, bit her lips and looked as if only a severe determination

against any display of weakness saved her from tears.

"I have not heard from Dan Webster in a month. Now he has written me

exactly one page which says nothing at all except that he is so busy and

so tired at the end of each day that any letter he could write would

only bore me. He is kind enough to hope we may meet in the spring in

the 'House by the Blue Lagoon.' And this when I was foolish enough to

think that Dan actually cared for me when we were together last winter!"

"I do wish I were not one of the persons who cares for only a few

people! No one understands, or believes this of me, save Tante, and she

is too busy this winter to be disturbed by Camp Fire confidences, even

though she remains our guardian. I wonder if she will be here this

afternoon? As for Dan, I suppose I must stop thinking of him in spite

of the fact that we are such old friends."

There was a little sound of a key scraping in a lock. Thrusting her

letter inside her pocket, Sally arose hastily.

"Sally, are we first to return home?" Bettina Graham's voice inquired.

"I was delayed at the Neighborhood House a quarter of an hour longer

than usual. Then I had to make a special effort to persuade the

children to allow Elce to come with me. We had been having a lecture on

birds and she attempting to reproduce certain of the bird sounds and to

teach them to the other children. I wish you had been with us. You

have not been lonely?" Bettina observed an unaccustomed expression on

the other girl's face.

As if slightly annoyed by the suggestion, Sally shook her head.

"No, certainly not; I am never lonely, I have had everything arranged

for our Camp Fire meeting and for tea afterwards for so long that I am

tired waiting."

"Very well, Elce and I will change into our Camp Fire costumes and be

with you in a few moments. I am surprised Vera and Alice are so late!

I hoped Tante and Juliet Temple would have arrived. By the way, Sally,

what do you think of admitting Juliet into our Sunrise Camp Fire? We

have known her so many months that I am convinced she and Tante must

both expect it, although they have not said so definitely. If we have an

opportunity before they arrive, suppose we discuss the question."

Bettina Graham's conversation had been continued from inside her own

bedroom, with the door opening into the sitting-room which adjoined it.

In fact the six-room apartment the Sunrise Camp Fire girls were sharing

for the winter, was so built that the three bedrooms and kitchen opened

into a single large room. This served as their dining-room,

sitting-room and reception room. A small room, apart from the others,

Miss Patricia Lord's room, could be used as a study the greater portion

of the time, since Miss Patricia was rarely in New York.

Only twice in the last few months had she appeared unexpectedly.

Confessing herself as satisfied with the life the girls were leading and

the work they were accomplishing, almost immediately she had returned to

her home near Boston, never at any time mentioning Mrs. Burton's name,

even to make an inquiry concerning her health.

The little apartment was comfortable. There were no signs of the wealth

and luxury with which in the past, during the periods when their

guardian was with them, Miss Patricia had surrounded the Sunrise Camp

Fire. This, Miss Patricia explained, was due to two reasons. The

erection of a home for French war orphans in one of the devastated

regions of France was absorbing more of her capital than she had

anticipated; moreover, she wished the girls to live simply and to resist

the temptation of the worldliness of the city she professed to abhor.

The front door of the little apartment now opened a second time.

Carrying several books under her arm and a package in her hand, Vera

entered.

"Sorry to have been delayed, Sally, but I had to go several places

before I could find the kind of cake you said you wished for tea. I

wanted to help you get things ready; you seem to do so much more work

these days than the rest of us in spite of our classes and Bettina's

social settlement."

"You are not the last, Vera. Where is Alice? I thought you would come

home together."

Vera smiled; there was a unique quality in her appearance which made her

interesting always, even if she were handsome to only a few persons. In

her large eyes with their heavy lashes, her wide mouth and irregular

nose there was a charm of character and intelligence more marked than

conventional beauty.

"Alice and I said farewell half an hour ago and she was to hurry home.

I saw her stop to speak to her cousin, Philip Stead, for a moment and I

suppose they have not been able to separate. Dear me, I hoped that

Alice and I were to remain eternal friends without masculine

interference, but these last few weeks Alice is failing me! She insists

that she is only friendly with Philip Stead because he is her cousin and

a stranger in New York, and lonely."

"Never mind, Vera, you may have me to take Alice's place. I shall never

desert you. I am through with all masculine friendships forever,

besides their being through with me!" Sally Ashton returned, thinking of

the letter she had just finished re-reading. At the same time she

extended her hand for the package.

"Thanks for the cake, but I did find time to make the kind Tante

specially likes! However, we will manage to get through with both. You

girls are becoming so learned as college students that I try to cling to

the few useful feminine arts which represent my only talents."

"And the greatest of us is Sally!" Bettina Graham exclaimed, coming into

the sitting-room, clad in her Camp Fire costume. "There is Alice at the

door. Suppose we light our candles and begin our Camp Fire meeting,

while she slips into her Camp Fire dress. Tante told us not to await

her arrival. She is too uncertain of coming. And besides I hope we may

have an opportunity to discuss the addition of Juliet Temple to our

Sunrise Camp Fire club. We have had this in mind for some time. Is it

our duty to add to our old group now so many of the original group have

vanished? Juliet Temple has lived in the same house with us and is at

present living with our Camp Fire guardian, so she seems the most

natural person to invite."

A few moments later, when the business had been disposed of, Alice

Ashton, continuing the subject Bettina had introduced, said slowly, with

the seriousness characteristic of her:

"I feel as you girls do about Juliet Temple. I never have really liked

her, although it would be difficult to say why. Perhaps it is because

she has been so reticent about her past history and revealed so little

interest in us. I feel that she does not especially desire to become a

member of our Sunrise Camp Fire. She only wishes it because Tante

wishes it and is our guardian. Possibly you girls may not agree with

me, but now and then I have been afraid that my own distrust is largely

jealousy. Juliet seems to have been able to make herself useful to

Tante in ways none of us has succeeded in doing. Of late she depends

upon her for a great variety of things."

Sally Ashton smiled.

"Good old Alice, of course we realize that we are jealous of Juliet

Temple! Are you actually only beginning to be conscious of the fact?

Now I for one am in favor of asking her to become one of our Camp Fire

girls for certain reasons I do not care to divulge at present. As I am

more candid than the rest of you, besides having a less agreeable

disposition, I want to say frankly that I shall be glad when for any

cause Juliet and Tante separate. Aunt Patricia has always disliked her

and believes she has interfered with their devoted relation. I think she

remains one of the reasons why Aunt Patricia refuses to be even friendly

with Tante, when she is eating her heart out with loneliness and hurt

pride. But goodness, there is the door bell and doubtless Juliet is

outside! A reflection on our Camp Fire to be caught gossiping! Now if

Tante suggests our inviting Juliet Temple to join our Sunrise Camp Fire

group, and if Juliet wishes it and can pass the requisite tests, I see

no reason we can offer for not including her. For a good many reasons I

think it may be wiser to learn to know her better. Please put fresh wood

on the fire, I'll open the door."

The following moment the Camp Fire guardian entered the room, followed

by Sally Ashton, Juliet Temple and a third girl.

*CHAPTER VIII*

*THE ENIGMA*

Half an hour after, seated at the tea table, Sally Ashton was presiding

over the serving of tea. She had agreed to relieve the Sunrise Camp

Fire guardian of the responsibility in order that she might be able to

talk more freely.

A few feet away, surrounded by the other girls, Mrs. Burton was

occasionally drinking her tea, but more frequently answering or asking

questions. Her custom was to devote one afternoon each week to the

ceremonial meeting of the Sunrise Camp Fire. Now and then her visits

were interrupted and until to-day she had not been present in several

weeks at one of the councils.

Dressed in exquisite taste in olive green, trimmed in an odd, oriental

embroidery of green and gold, her dark hair simply dressed, her health

entirely restored, the Camp Fire guardian appeared not more than ten

years older than the oldest of her group of girls.

"I can't tell you how glad I am that you came directly to us, Gill,

without even waiting to telegraph," she was saying at this instant,

speaking to the third girl who had entered the little apartment with her

only a short time before. She was in deep mourning.

"You will stay on here with us at least until you can make some

arrangement you like better," Bettina Graham added, slipping her hand

inside her companion's and looking at her with an expression of sympathy

and affection.

For the first time in their acquaintance Mary Gilchrist's eyes filled

with tears.

"I knew no one else would be so kind, or give me such help, so, as soon

after my father's death as I could arrange my affairs I started east.

But I did write and gave the letter to one of the men on the place to

mail. We are several miles from a post-office and I wanted it to go at

once. He must have forgotten, so the letter will probably arrive later.

"I have scarcely any relatives. My father left the farm in Kansas to

me. Some day I shall go back and try to become a successful farmer, but

when that time arrives I hope to take all the Sunrise Camp Fire home

with me. At present I felt that I could not live on in the big empty

house alone, so I left one of our men in charge and came to you. I know

I failed to live up to the ideals of our Camp Fire when we were together

last winter at Half Moon Lake, yet I believe you realize I shall try not

to fail again."

"My dear Gill," Sally announced from her place of honor at the tea

table, "you have always taken the attitude that no one of us ever

committed a fault in our Camp Fire life together until you failed to

confess last winter to Allan Drain that accidentally you had thrown away

the manuscripts of his poems. You did confess finally so why not forget

the whole occurrence! Certainly you are to live here with us this

winter and occupy the room with me; Vera and Alice are together and

Bettina and Elce, so I have been alone. Tante is so occupied with her

work you will be less lonely with us and Miss Patricia I know will be

delighted."

"Nevertheless, Sally, don't you think Gill had best be with me for a few

weeks, or a few months, until she has rested?" the Camp Fire guardian

protested glancing at the girl in whom the past few months had wrought

such changes.

Gill's former air of almost boyish strength and vigor had vanished. Her

cheeks were sunken, her eyes had lost their gaiety, even the

characteristic light sprinkling of freckles, due to her constant outdoor

life, were gone.

Many weeks Mary Gilchrist had nursed her father with a completeness of

devotion that had left no opportunity for an hour away from him.

"No, certainly not, Tante; Gill will be a great deal better off here

with us. I am sure she would be lonely with you; you are so busy these

days and have so many strange people calling on you. There would be no

one with whom Gill could talk, or who would look after her as I shall.

I believe she needs being taken care of for a time."

Mrs. Burton glanced toward Sally, frowning.

"You forget, Sally, Juliet Temple lives with me, and Gill would not have

to be alone when I cannot be with her. Juliet takes wonderfully good

care of me and I am sure would enjoy transferring her services to some

one who has a better right to them. I am afraid I am growing lazy with

Juliet looking after my business affairs, writing my notes and seeing

that I am punctual for my engagements. In spite of my being a Camp Fire

guardian and struggling to conquer all my faults of character in order

to be a proper example to you girls, I am afraid punctuality remains an

effort. But Gill of course must do what she likes. I only wish her to

realize I want to have her, if she chooses to be with Juliet and me.

Juliet is not a member of the Sunrise Camp Fire, but may be some day."

The grating of a key in the front door lock prevented further

conversation at the moment.

Sally arose from the tea table.

"I wonder who that can be? No one has a key to our apartment except our

own family and no one is away from home!"

The instant later a familiar step was heard in the hall and then a tall,

spare figure entered the sitting-room.

"Aunt Patricia Lord, who dreamed you were in New York and how glad we

are to see you! Come and sit down and let me give you your tea at once,

I know it is tea you always wish after a journey!" Sally exclaimed,

putting her arms about the elderly spinster and embracing her.

"Sure and I do, my dear," Miss Patricia agreed, relaxing into a mild

Irish brogue, which with her was always a sign of especial satisfaction.

"And glad I am to arrive at a Camp Fire meeting. Perhaps it was my duty

to have let you know of my coming, but of a sudden I grew so lonely I

could not wait to see what mischief you were up to at present. If my

little room is occupied I'll go to a hotel to-night and come to see you

to-morrow."

Her usual sternness relaxed, Miss Patricia looked from one member of the

little group to the other. Suddenly her face stiffened and hardened.

The Camp Fire guardian had risen and was moving toward her with both

hands outstretched in a lovely, pleading gesture.

"Dear Aunt Patricia, surely you will speak to me? What have I done to

offend you so deeply? Do you realize that you have not replied to one

of my letters or allowed me to see you since we parted at Half Moon

Lake?"

"I realize it perfectly, Polly, and I refuse to speak to no one. How do

you do. You may give my love to your husband. Sally, if it is not too

much trouble I prefer to go to my room and have my tea there. Gill, is

that you? Come and kiss me, I was sorry to hear of your loss."

Miss Patricia was turning away when the Camp Fire guardian spoke a

second time.

"Don't go, Aunt Patricia, on my account. I will leave at once. Our Camp

Fire meeting is over and the girls will wish to talk with you. I wonder

if you know how it hurts me for you to be unwilling to remain in the

same room with me? Once I thought you cared for me--a little."

Without replying the gaunt figure moved away, Sally following her.

Bettina Graham put her arm about the younger woman.

"You are not to go, Tante, we will not allow it. Aunt Patricia is too

absurd and unkind! It would be difficult to forgive her, if one did not

appreciate that she is suffering more than any one else. Besides, you

promised to recite for us before you left."