A WOLF IN SHEEP'S CLOTHING
EVERY day since the first of November there had been a letter for Ida in
the Sherman's post-office box, under cover of Lloyd's address. Lloyd had
grown to dread the afternoon walks with the school, for she was in a
flutter of nervousness from the moment they came in sight of the
post-office until the letter was safe in Ida's possession. There was
always the fear that Betty might get to the window first, or that she
might catch sight of the envelope, addressed with many flourishes in a
big, bold hand; or that that letter might be the only one, as it often
was, and Betty might wonder why Lloyd's face should grow so red when she
answered, "No, nothing for us this time."
It was easier to manage after the weather turned cold enough to furnish
an excuse for carrying a muff, but even then she fancied that Miss
Mattie looked at her curiously sometimes, when she thrust the daily
letter hastily out of sight without a second glance. She never went
through the performance without wishing that it might be the last time
that she should be placed in such an uncomfortable position; but
afterward she always reproached herself for making such a wish. It
seemed a very poor friendship that could not stand a little test like
that. It was such a small thing to do when the happiness of her friend's
whole life was at stake.
Then she had her reward in the evenings, when Ida, with her arms around
her, whispered her undying gratitude, or read her extracts from her
letters, which gave her glimpses into a romance far more beautiful than
the "Fortunes of Daisy Dale," or the "Heiress of Dorn," or any of the
others they had read since.
A sort of circulating library had started since the rainy night the
Shadow Club read its first volume. Ida had a pile of paper-covered books
in her closet which she pronounced fully as interesting as the one she
had read aloud; so "Elsie's Wooing," "Fair but False," and the "Heiress
of Dorn" began passing in turn from the covers of Katie's geography to
Kitty's, and from Lloyd's history to Betty's and Allison's. They read at
recess, they read before school, and more than once some exciting
chapter proved too interesting to be laid aside in study time for the
work of the hour.
After a few volumes of such tales, Betty became fired with an ambition
to write one herself, and soon became so absorbed in her pastime that
she could think of little else. Eugene was the name of her hero, and
Gladys was the maiden who combined all the beauty and virtues possible
for one mundane creature to possess. The whole club was consulted as to
the colour of her eyes and hair, and many points about which the little
author was undecided. They came in time to regard Eugene and Gladys as
real personages, in whom they had a family interest. Lloyd had bits of
the story read to her sometimes when they were getting ready for bed.
Betty lost interest in everything to such an extent that she ceased to
be sociable, and spent most of her time alone, dreaming out different
scenes in the story, which filled her mind to the exclusion of even her
lessons.
One afternoon, near the middle of November, Lloyd, hurrying through the
lower hall with an open letter in her hand, met the president.
"Oh, Doctah Wells!" she exclaimed. "I was just going to yoah room. Heah
is a note mothah sent you in the lettah that came to-day. She has
written for some things she needs, and wants Betty and me to walk up to
Locust aftah school with a message to the servants about packing them,
if you'll excuse us from the regulah promenade."
"Certainly," he answered, glancing over Mrs. Sherman's gracefully
written request.
"But Betty has such a bad cold," continued Lloyd, "that the matron
thinks she oughtn't to go out to walk to-day, and it's lonely going back
home by myself, when it's all shut up. May I take Ida Shane with me
instead? She's nevah seen Locust from the inside, and I'd love to show
it to her. You know," a little smile dimpling her face as she spoke, "I
can't help being proud of the old place."
"You have good reason," said the professor, smiling back at her kindly.
"It is certainly a beautiful old homestead. Yes, I have no objection to
Ida's going with you."
"Oh, thank you!" cried Lloyd. She hurried up the stairs to Ida's room,
calling excitedly as she reached the door, "Yes, he says you may go.
Hurry and put on your things so that we can have as long time as
possible up there."
Betty had gone into the matron's room in her absence. It took Lloyd only
a moment to slip into her hat and coat. Then catching up her muff and
thrusting it under her arm, she started back to Ida's room, buttoning
her gloves as she went. Ida had taken down her hair and was deliberately
rearranging it before the mirror.
"Oh, what did you do that for?" cried Lloyd, half-impatiently. "It
looked all right as it was. We're not going to see any one but the
servants. There's no use wearing your best hat." She glanced at the mass
of velvet and plumes lying on the bed. "Just pin your hair up any
fashion and stick on your mortar-board. That'll do."
"Shut the door, please," said Ida, in a low tone. "I have something to
tell you." She bent nearer the mirror, drawing the comb through the
fluffy pompadour. "We _are_ going to see some one this afternoon.
_Edwardo is in the Valley._"
Lloyd dropped her muff at this surprising announcement, but Ida went on,
calmly. "I've been expecting him for several days. He comes to
Lloydsboro sometimes to visit his cousin. I've lain awake nights trying
to arrange some way to see him. This is a thousand times better than any
way I could think of. I'm the luckiest girl that ever lived to have such
a friend as you to plan for me, Princess."
"I don't know what you mean," exclaimed Lloyd. "I haven't planned
anything."
"No, not intentionally, but look how easy you have made it for me to
have an interview. He'll be on the watch for the seminary girls to pass
by the store, for I was to manage to leave a note there for him, telling
him where I can see him. All I have to do now is to signal him to
follow, and we can have a good long talk at Locust while you are giving
the servants their orders. You don't mind, do you?" she asked, as Lloyd
continued to stare at her without saying anything.
"No. Oh, no! Of co'se not," answered Lloyd, with a confused laugh. "Only
it makes me feel so que'ah to think that I'm really going to see him.
It's just as if Lord Rokeby or the squire's son had stepped out of the
book. I feel as if I were in a book myself since you told me that. This
is the way it would be on the page, if we could stand off and read about
ourselves: 'And Violet's little friend led the way down the long avenue,
and there on the threshold of her home, after months of cruel
separation, the reunited lovers kept their tryst.'"
Ida laughed happily. "You'll have a book written before Betty is
half-started if you go on at that rate. Now tell me. Do I look all
right?"
She was settling the big picture-hat in place over her soft hair as she
anxiously asked the question. Lloyd regarded her critically, tipping her
head a trifle to one side as she looked.
"Put your hat a hairbreadth farther over your face," she exclaimed.
"There! That's lovely. Oh, Violet, that shade of velvet is _so_ becoming
to you. It's just the colah of yoah eyes. I nevah saw you look so
beautiful."
A becoming pink flushed Ida's cheeks. She bent her head over the bunch
of violets pinned on the lapel of her coat. "It's dear of you to think
so," she said, "and it's dear of you to send me these violets every
week. These are unusually sweet. I'm so glad I have a fresh bunch for
to-day--this happy day."
Lloyd took the keenest delight in watching the graceful girl sweep down
the hall ahead of her. From the plumes of the picture-hat to the hem of
her stylish gown she thoroughly satisfied Lloyd's artistic instinct for
the beautiful. She gave her arm an adoring little squeeze as they passed
down the stairs together.
Out on the road she glanced up at Ida again. Happiness had not made her
radiant, as it did Daisy Dale, but there was a soft light in the violet
eyes which made Lloyd think of a picture she had seen of a vestal maiden
on her way to guard the holy altar fires.
Lloyd's heart began to beat faster as she realized that every step was
taking them nearer to Edwardo. She pictured him again in her
imagination, as she had done so many times before. She would know that
pale, serious face with its flashing eyes anywhere she might meet him,
she was sure.
Neither of them spoke as they hurried along the path through the lower
part of Clovercroft and pushed open the woodland gate. But as they
stepped up on the platform in front of the depot, Lloyd said, "Let's
cross the track heah, and go up on the othah side of the road. Then
we'll not have to pass the waiting-rooms. There's always so many people
loafing around the window of the telegraph-office."
Instinctively she felt that while a little girl like herself would
attract no attention, Ida in her long sweeping dress that she held up so
gracefully, and the big hat drooping over her pretty face, and the
stylish fur collar, and the violets on her coat, made a picture that any
one would turn to look at twice. She could not bear to think of the bold
glances that might be cast after her by the loafers around the depot. It
seemed to her little short of sacrilege, although she could not have
put the feeling into words, for any eyes but Edwardo's to rest upon her
as she went on her way to this meeting with that vestal-maiden look upon
her face.
"Very well," assented Ida. "You know we want to stop at the store. I
want to get some chocolate creams if they have any fresh ones."
[Illustration: "HE HELD IT ASIDE FOR THEM BOTH TO PASS THROUGH."]
Lloyd's heart gave a frightened thump as she remembered that it was in
the store that Edwardo would be watching presently for the seminary
girls to go by. It was half an hour earlier than they usually passed,
but there was a possibility that he might be there. In less than a
minute she might be face to face with the live hero of a real romance.
It was with an odd feeling of mingled relief and disappointment that she
glanced around the store and saw only familiar faces. A young man whom
she knew by sight was perched on the bookkeeper's high stool at the back
of the store, so absorbed in the Louisville evening paper which the last
mail-train had brought out that he did not look up. A small coloured boy
stood patiently by the stove waiting for his coal-oil can to be filled.
One of the clerks was tying up a package of groceries for Frazer to
carry over to Clovercroft, and the other was showing ginghams to Mrs.
Walton's Barbry.
"Be with you in a moment, please," called the first clerk as the girls
entered. Lloyd stopped in front of the show-case near the door, and
began idly examining the various styles of jewelry and letter-paper
displayed within. She had almost decided to invest in a certain little
enamelled pin which she knew would delight Mom Beck, and take it up to
her as a surprise, when Barbry stepped beside her with a polite greeting
and an inquiry about her grandfather's health.
While she was still talking with Barbry, Ida came up flushed and
excited. She thrust her bag of chocolates into her muff, and, catching
up her skirts, said, hurriedly, "Come on, I'm ready."
Lloyd started at once to follow her to the door, but looked back to nod
assent to Barbry's last remark, and in turning again almost ran into the
young fellow who had been reading at the bookkeeper's desk. He was
hurrying after Ida to open the door for her. He held it aside for them
both to pass through, and a flush of displeasure dyed Lloyd's face as
she saw the admiring glance he cast boldly at Ida.
"He needn't have gone so far out of his way to have done that,"
exclaimed Lloyd, as they started up the road toward Locust. "It was the
clerk's place to open the doah, and he nearly knocked him down, trying
to get there first."
"Who?" inquired Ida, innocently. She was several steps in advance, and
could not see Lloyd's face.
"That horrid Mistah Ned Bannon. I can't bea'h him. Papa Jack told mothah
she must nevah invite him to the house, undah any circumstances, because
he wasn't fit for Betty and me to know, and--"
She stopped abruptly, for Ida turned with a white, pained face.
"Oh, Lloyd!" she cried. "How can you hurt me so? Don't believe any of
those dreadful things you hear about him!" Then, seeing from Lloyd's
amazed expression that she failed to understand the situation, she
added, in a distressed tone, "_He_ is _Edwardo_."
If Ida had struck her on the face she could not have been more amazed.
She stood staring at her helplessly, unable to say a word.
"I must be dreaming all this," she thought. "After awhile I'll surely
wake up and find I've had a horrible nightmare."
But the distress in Ida's voice was too real to be a dream. She was
biting her lips to keep back the tears. After one look into Lloyd's
dismayed face she turned away and began moving slowly on toward Locust.
Lloyd walked beside her, mechanically. She could not shake off the
feeling that she must be in a dream. From time to time she cast a
half-frightened glance toward Ida. She felt that she had wounded her so
deeply that nothing she might say could ever make amends. When she saw a
tear course slowly down her cheek and splash down on the bunch of
flowers on her coat, she clasped her arm impulsively, saying, "Oh,
Violet, deah, _don't_ cry! I wouldn't have hurt you for worlds. I didn't
have the faintest idea that _he_ was the one."
"It isn't so much what you said," answered Ida, controlling her voice
with an effort, "but I'd counted so much on your friendship for him. And
now to know that people have prejudiced you against him before you've
had a chance to meet him and find out for yourself that they're
mistaken--" She stopped with a sob. "Under all his wild ways he's good
and noble and true at heart, and it isn't fair for everybody to condemn
him for what he has done, and stand in his way when he's trying so hard
to do better."
One little hand in the muff was bare, and Lloyd saw the gleam of the
pearl on it as Ida took out her handkerchief and dabbed it hastily
across her eyes. It brought back all that scene in the moonlighted
orchard, and Ida's blushing confession: "He says that is what my life
means to him--a pearl. That if it wasn't for my love and prayers he
wouldn't care what became of him or what he did. Do you blame me for
disregarding aunt's wishes?" And again as on that night the Little
Colonel's heart swelled with an indignant "No!" Again she arrayed
herself beside her friend, ready to do battle for her against the whole
world if necessary.
Wonderfully comforted by Lloyd's protests of sympathy and understanding,
Ida dried her eyes and looked back over her shoulder, saying, "He's not
in sight yet. I told him not to start for fifteen minutes, and then to
come the long way, around through Tanglewood, so nobody could think he
was following us. That will give you time to show me over the house."
As Lloyd swung open the entrance gate and started down the long avenue,
a queer feeling crept over her that she could not have expressed had she
tried. It seemed to her that the old trees were almost human, and
stretched out their bare branches toward her with an offering of
protection and welcome that was like the greeting of old friends. Yet
at the same time she felt the silent challenge of these old family
sentinels, and involuntarily answered it by a slight lifting of the head
and a trifle more erectness of carriage as she passed. They seemed to
expect it of her, that she should walk past them, as all the Lloyds had
walked, with the proud consciousness that none could gainsay their
countersign of gentle birth and breeding which spoke even in their
tread.
It was the first time she had been back to Locust since the beginning of
school, and Ida felt some subtle change in her as soon as they passed
inside the great gate. The Little Colonel's personality asserted itself
as it had not at the seminary. There she was Ida's adoring little
shadow, completely under the spell of her influence. Here, swayed by the
stronger influence of old associations, she was herself again; the same
well-poised, imperious little creature that she was when she first
coolly "bearded the lion in his den, the Douglas in his hall," and
brought the old Colonel to unconditional surrender.
Mom Beck came up from the servants' cottage and unlocked the house for
them, and after reading her the list of articles to be packed, Lloyd
left her in the linen-room and began a tour of the house. In the
pleasure of acting as hostess and showing Ida the attractions of Locust,
she would have forgotten that an unwelcome guest was on his way, had not
Ida's restless glances from every front window they passed, reminded
her.
The quarter of an hour was almost over when she led the way into the
long drawing-room, which she had reserved until last. "Of co'se it
doesn't look as it does when we are living heah. It makes such a
difference having the curtains down and the furniture covahed; but I
want you to see my harp." She I began slipping the cover from the tall
burnished frame.
"It belonged to my grandmothah Amanthis, and I am proudah of it than
anything I own. That's her portrait ovah the mantel. Isn't she
beautiful? Somehow I nevah can call her just grandmothah, as if she were
an old lady. She nevah lived to be one, you know. I always have to add
her name, Amanthis, and I think of her as she looks there in the
pictuah, the young girl she was when grandfathah first saw her, a June
rose in her hair and anothah at her throat. 'The fairest flowah in all
Kentucky,' he told me once. That's always seemed such a sweet romance to
me. She wasn't much oldah than you when he brought her here a bride. He
always talks about her when the locusts bloom, for they were in blossom
then, and the avenue was white with them."
Lloyd had expected more outspoken admiration from Ida when she showed
her the portrait, and was disappointed to have her barely glance up at
it, murmuring, "Yes, she is lovely," in an absent-minded way, and then
hurry to the window, exclaiming, "Oh, there he is. I can see him just
coming in at the gate."
Lloyd's glance followed Ida's, and, stepping back from the window, she
began hastily drawing the cover over the harp.
"Oh, don't put it on yet," said Ida. "I want to show it to him." Lloyd
hesitated an instant, then stammered confusedly, "But--but--oh, Ida, I'm
_so_ sorry, but don't you see, I can't ask him into the house."
"Why not?" cried Ida. "You promised on the way up here you'd do anything
you could for me."
Tears of distress gathered in the Little Colonel's eyes. It was
impossible to answer Ida's question without wounding her deeply, for it
was in this very room she had heard her grandfather say: "It's a pity Cy
Bannon's youngest boy is such a profligate. Why, sir, he isn't worth the
powder and shot that would put an end to his worthless existence. I
wouldn't let him darken my doors, sir!" And it was in this room also
that she had heard her father say: "No, Elizabeth, for the judge's sake
I'd like to show Ned some attention, and some families do receive him.
But his unprincipled conduct bars him out here. He's a fellow whom I
never could permit Lloyd to know."
Ida repeated her question. "Oh, Violet," cried Lloyd, "it's just
breaking my heart to refuse you, but I can't let him come in. It isn't
my house, and I've no right to when grandfathah and Papa Jack have both
forbidden it. But it's warmah on the poa'ch than it is in the house with
no fiah, and I'll put some chairs out for you, and wait for you in
heah."
"Won't you even come out and be introduced?"
"Oh, Violet, _don't_ ask me!" begged the Little Colonel. "I'd like to
for your sake, but I can't. I simply can't!"
"Why not? Are you going to let your father's prejudices stand in the
way? He doesn't know him as I do. He's just taken a dislike to him as
aunt has done on account of things he's heard. It's unfair! It's unjust
to condemn him on account of other people's mistaken opinions and
prejudices."
The Little Colonel wavered. Ida's absolute trust made it seem possible
that she might be right and everybody else mistaken. She peered out of
the window again. He was half-way up the avenue now, sauntering along at
a leisurely gait with a cigarette in his mouth.
"Besides," continued Ida, "nobody need ever know you have met him. It's
easy enough to keep it secret, so what's the difference--"
She stopped in the middle of her sentence, surprised by the change in
the Little Colonel's manner. She had drawn herself up haughtily, and in
her fearless scorn bore a strong resemblance to the portrait of the
soldier-boy in gray in the frame above her.
"I hope," she said, slowly, "that I have too much respect for the family
honah to do such an undahhanded thing as that. Do you think that I'd be
willing to be the only one of all the Lloyds who couldn't be trusted?"
"Why, Princess, I don't see what's changed you so suddenly," said Ida.
"I haven't asked you to do anything more than you've been doing all
along, by letting me use your post-office box."
"But I nevah would have done that" cried Lloyd, "if I'd have known who
yoah Edwardo was, and now I've found out that it is some one that Papa
Jack disapproves of, of co'se I can't carry yoah lettahs any moah."
"Oh, Princess, I thought _you'd_ stand by me against the whole world!"
sobbed Ida. "I had counted so much--just these few days he'll be here in
the Valley--on seeing him up here. I didn't think _you'd_ be
unreasonable and unjust. It seems as if it would break my heart to have
my only friend fail me now."
The tears were streaming down Lloyd's face, too, but she clenched her
hands and shook her head stubbornly. "No, tell him he can't come heah
again, and that he mustn't send any moah lettahs to my address."
Without another word Ida turned and walked out to the porch, where she
stood waiting behind the bare vines that twined the pillars for Edwardo
to come to her. All the pretty colour had died out of her face, and
Lloyd felt in a sudden spasm of remorse that she was responsible for the
tears in the beautiful eyes and the look of trouble on the face that
only a little while before had been aglow with happiness. The odour of a
cigarette floated in through the hall. Then Ida closed the door, and the
two sat down on the step outside.
Lloyd paced up and down the long room with her hands behind her back.
There was an ache in her throat. She was so miserably disappointed in
Edwardo, so miserably sorry for Ida. More than all, she was miserably
sorry for herself; for the friendship which she had counted one of the
most beautiful things of her life lay in ruins. For a moment she doubted
if she had done right to shirk the obligations it had laid upon her, and
wondered if it were not a greater sacrifice than her father ought to
expect her to make for him. The temptation pressed sorely upon her to go
to Ida and tell her she would stand by her as she had promised, and for
a few days longer, at least, be the bearer of their letters. She even
started toward the door; but half-way across the room some compelling
force drew her eyes toward the portrait of Amanthis, and she stood
still, looking into the depths of the clear, true eyes which had given
counsel to more than one troubled heart.
Years before, the old Colonel, standing with his head bowed on the
mantel, had murmured, brokenly, "Oh, Amanthis, tell me what to do!" and,
obedient to the silent message of that straightforward gaze, had started
off through the falling snow to be reconciled to his only daughter. And
now Lloyd, looking up in the same way, no longer had any doubts about
her duty.
"It wouldn't be right, would it!" she murmured. "_You_ nevah did
anything you had to hide. _You_ wouldn't stoop to anything clandestine."
She straightened herself up proudly, and wiped her eyes. "Neithah will
I, no mattah what it costs me not to!" Then she went on, brokenly, as if
talking to a living presence: "Oh, it's so pitiful for her to be so
deceived in him; for of co'se grandfathah and Papa Jack and her aunt and
everybody put togethah couldn't be mistaken. And I love her so much; I
wish mothah were here, or Papa Jack--but I'll promise _you_, Grandmothah
Amanthis, I'll nevah make you ashamed of me again. I wouldn't have
carried the lettahs if I had known, and you can trust me always aftah
this, for evah and evah."
It seemed to Lloyd that an approving smile rested on the girlish face,
and a red streak of light from the wintry sunset, stealing in through
the uncurtained window, shone across the June rose at her throat till it
burned for the moment with the live red of a living rose.
She slipped the cover on the harp again, and taking one more look around
the room at every familiar object grown dear from years of happy
associations, she closed the door softly and stole up-stairs to rejoin
Mom Beck. She felt as if she had been to a funeral and had suddenly
grown very old and worldly wise--years older and wiser than when she
started blithely up to Locust an hour or two before.
It was late when she and Mom Beck came down-stairs again. The sunset
glow had almost faded from the sky. They bolted the front door and went
out the back, Mom Beck taking the key again.
"Ida is waiting for me on the front poa'ch," Lloyd explained. "Good-bye,
Mom Beck. I'm mighty homesick to come back to you all."
"Good-bye, honey," responded the faithful old soul. "I'm going to bring
you some prawlines in the mawnin'. Ole Becky knows what'll cheer up her
baby."
Lloyd paused at the corner of the porch. "I think we ought to go now,"
she called.
"In a minute," answered Ida. "I'll catch up with you."
Lloyd walked on slowly by herself, down the avenue, through the gate,
beside the railroad track. She was in sight of the depot before Ned
Bannon struck off across a field and Ida joined her. She did not speak
as they hurried on toward the seminary, and Lloyd felt, with a desolate
sinking of the heart, that the old intimacy could never be resumed.