“MUCH ADO.”
“Yes, Irma,” said Sidney, sitting in the study shortly after dinner.
“Considering the fact that there were about half a dozen witch costumes
last night, the decision of the judges that Shirley Harcourt’s costume
was the most original was nothing short of ridiculous. But that would
not annoy me at all. What I feel provoked about is that those girls
so evidently made it up to get me to wear the same sort of suit that
Shirley did. I couldn’t get much out of Hope, when I asked her again
about it; but she certainly told me that Caroline described a costume
that would be just the thing for me!”
“I can scarcely believe it, Sidney. Shirley Harcourt is not that sort
of a girl; and if Caroline suggested it, I don’t see that it involves
Shirley at all.”
“Oh, all right, Irma. But I think what I think. My, how cold it is
tonight! I wanted to go down to the lake, but there is frost in the air
and the wind is unpleasant.”
“You must be taking cold, Sidney. I was out and did not notice it at
all.”
A light knock came at the door of the study. Irma went to the door and
opening it, found Shirley Harcourt there. “Why, how do you do, Shirley;
come in,” Irma said.
Soberly Shirley entered with a return of Irma’s greeting. Hesitant she
stood within the room, seeing the girl in the pretty, blue negligé,
who sat on the other side of a central table. Sidney had just had time
to turn her back before Shirley came in. “I wanted to speak to Sidney
Thorne just a moment, Irma,” Shirley continued. “I had reason to think
this morning that I had offended her and I want to ask her what is
the matter. I am very willing to apologize, if I have done anything,
without knowing it.”
Shirley paused and looked at the shining hair, one well-shaped ear, and
a cheek fair and pink with only the natural tints of youth. But Sidney
made no move.
Irma stood quietly. She knew that it must have taken an effort on
Shirley’s part to say that she was willing to apologize. But Sidney,
listening, thought that Shirley knew well enough. She had not yet been
addressed. She would not turn around until she was.
Shirley looked at Irma, but Irma, puzzled and annoyed, did not know
what to do. She started to speak and then stopped, and Shirley, wishing
that she had not come, smiled at Irma as she opened the door again,
stepping outside. “It was a mistake to come, I see,” said Shirley.
“Thank you, Irma; good night.”
Irma closed the door and without a word to Sidney went into the bedroom
which she and Edith occupied. There she moved around for some time
before coming into the study again. Taking the same chair by the table
which she had occupied before Shirley knocked, she resumed her study.
With the ringing of the gong for study hours to begin, Fleta and Edith
came in, full of life, hoping that they didn’t interrupt, but it was
most important to tell the latest news, that the “Water Nymph” was
going to be married at the Christmas Holidays.
It was a relief to Irma when they came. She was not enjoying her silent
companion, though silence was better than speech if speech should
take up the subject of the call. But Sidney knew that for once in her
life, at least, she had been discourteous. Of that Irma very likely
disapproved. She would say nothing. It was a relief to her, as well,
when the other girls joined them.
Shirley had found that Hope had little recollection of what she had
said to Sidney. “Why, Caroline,” she replied to Caroline’s questions,
“I was trying to help Sidney about her decision. I remembered your
describing a cute one, and I had the impression that it was one you had
seen somewhere. I knew that you were wearing something else. So I told
Sidney about the painted cats. Mercy, what have I done? I never even
thought of it that night, for we had witches in the senior stunt and I
supposed that it was Sidney’s idea, though I did hear her say that she
would not have a part in the performance.”
“It’s just that Sidney may think Shirley had some hand in it. I only
want to let _you_ know that Shirley did not _even_ know that Madge had
_shown_ me the costume when she did.”
“If you want me to say something to Sidney,--” Hope began.
“Not yet, Hope, and perhaps not at all. Haven’t you heard Sidney say a
_word_?”
“I have scarcely seen Sidney at all. I can’t quite understand,--did you
say that Sidney has been _blaming_ you girls for her having something
just like Shirley’s?”
“Hope, you dear little goose! You are too broad-minded yourself to take
all this in. Just keep quiet about it. If we call you in as witness,
tell the truth!”
“I certainly can do that, Cad. I wish that Sidney weren’t quite so
proud.”
“Sid would not be herself if she were not proud. What a pity that we
can’t all be Standishes of New England!”
“You are a sad case, Cad Scott,” laughed Hope. “Good luck to you.”
So it came about that Shirley decided to go directly to Sidney,--with
the embarrassing results. Had she persisted, it is most likely that
Sidney would have entered into conversation with her. But Shirley’s
pride came in there. It had been hard to go to Sidney’s room. She could
not stay where she was not wanted. Thinking about it, she concluded
that it was, as Madge said, “much ado about nothing.” “Just go right
on, Shirley. If Sidney is mad about anything, you have shown that you
are ready to make it right. That is enough. If it were any other girl
than Sid you would not care. I believe that you are twins!”
Shirley laughed. “It isn’t my way to let things go, unless I’m sure
that the other side is altogether unjust. But I can’t help myself, it
seems. We’ll drop it.” Within herself Shirley decided not to avoid
Sidney, to speak if the opportunity given, but to go right along as
usual.
Shirley’s other school-mates were more friendly than ever after
the masked party. Without trying, Shirley was taking a position of
influence among the girls. She was consulted and sought. She joined one
or two clubs, but worked busily at her lessons, encouraged often by
the warm letters from her mother. Her father was too busy to do more
than to scribble a few lines of affection and advice upon her mother’s
letters.
In one of Miss Dudley’s letters she asked, “Have you remembered,
Shirley, that you were born in Chicago? I don’t know that we have
thought of it in connection with your going to school so near the city.
Your father was getting another degree at Chicago University, and your
mother was with your grandmother and me in a house that we had rented
for a while in Glencoe,--a very attractive suburb,--you must stop off
and see it some time.”
To this Shirley wrote, “If I’ve ever been told that I was born anywhere
else than at ‘home,’ I have forgotten it. I can’t say that I am pleased
to hear it particularly, though it does not matter so much where a
body was born, I guess, as who--whom she was born to! I’m certainly
glad that I belong to your family, Auntie. Can’t you come on at the
Holidays to see me?”
But Miss Dudley could not manage it. The fact was that she was taking
every spare cent to meet the expenses for her niece, though she had
indulged in an economical summer vacation. She would not tell Shirley
this. Let Shirley think that Auntie had plenty.
As the first term speeded to its close, Caroline had several
conferences with Hope Holland relative to Shirley, who was expecting to
spend the vacation at the school with several other pupils, for whose
benefit it would not be closed. Hope wanted Shirley at her home, but so
did Caroline, and the fact that Hope belonged to the Double Three made
it embarrassing.
“I don’t have to go over to Sidney’s all the time,” she said. “We see
each other all the time at school and Mother and Father and the boys
will want me there. I suppose I’ll have to go to Sidney’s parties,--not
that they will not be fine, as they always are, but I don’t see why I
should not invite Shirley.”
“If you do, Sidney will never get over it. I’ll tell you. You let _me_
invite Shirley and have her _part_ of the time. Then when you are not
in anything with the Double Three, or entertaining them yourself, she
can be with you.”
“If I have a party,” said Hope, with determination, “if I have a
party,” she repeated, “and Shirley is in Chicago, she will be invited.
Sidney can have a headache if she does not want to come!”
“Well, then, may I have Shirley?”
“Yes, on those conditions, that I have her part of the time, to stay
all night, you know.”
“All right. We’ll not quarrel, Hope. Shirley is such a big-hearted and
broad-minded girl, like yourself, Hope, that I couldn’t be jealous of
either of you if I tried.”
“That is because you are nice yourself, Cad, my dear.”
All of this was not imparted to Shirley. But she knew that she was
invited by both Caroline and Hope, and after a letter of permission
from her great-aunt, Miss Dudley, she accepted her invitations very
happily. When she heard that the Double Three were having a house party
at Sidney’s, she wondered about how things would be managed; for she
“felt it in her bones” that Sidney would not invite her to her home,
and she knew that Hope was a “Double Three.” But Shirley said nothing.
That could be handled by her hostesses, she knew. She would go and have
a wonderful time.
It had happened that Sidney’s parents had not driven to the school
that fall. It was Sidney’s second year. They were accustomed to the
separation as well as she. She spent one or two week ends in Chicago,
as well as the Thanksgiving vacation. Early in the year, also, Sidney
had asked Hope and Caroline not to speak of the strange resemblance
between Sidney and the then “new girl.” “If you write home about it,
Father and Mother will hear of it, and it will not strike them very
pleasantly I am sure,” said Sidney. And after some consideration Hope
and Caroline had promised, though Caroline had said, “We’ll not say
anything now, shall we, Hope? But if our parents ever do see Shirley
or hear about her, don’t flatter yourself, Sid, that we can muzzle our
fathers. Our mothers might hesitate to say anything, but if I know Dad,
he would be just as likely as not to mention it.”
“I suppose he would,” said Sidney, with a look and tone that made
Caroline want to resort to “primitive measures,” she told Hope. “If we
had been about six years old, Hope,” she said, “I would have slapped
Sidney Thorne and not regretted it.”
“Tut-tut, Caroline,” laughed Hope. “It’s a primitive society, indeed,
that can’t control its angry passions.”
None of the girls had forgotten all this, and now Hope and Caroline
expected to enjoy the surprise of their respective families upon their
first sight of Shirley. “You will not mind, will you, Shirley, if
anybody takes you for Sidney?” Caroline asked.
“I am used to it by this time,” said Shirley, “and _this_ time I shall
know why Chicago people, or some of them, think that they know me.”