"THERE'S SOMETHING WRONG!"
In the sunny embrasure of Mrs. White's morning room Trude Romley sorted
over the mail that Pepper, the butler, had brought in. So gay and
colorful was the room itself with its cretonnes, its soft tinted walls,
its singing birds, in wicker cages, that it seemed a part of the
fragrant garden that crowded close to the French windows. A tiny
fountain splashed azure blue water over delicately sculptured nymphs; a
flowering vine trailed around the windows.
The mail arranged, Trude sat back in the cushions of a great wicker
chair and with a long breath of delight enjoyed the beauty around her.
Each day Edgeacres enraptured her anew and roused in her a wonder as to
why it should be her lot to be there. "It ought to be Vick or Issy,"
she would apologize to the nodding flowers or to Mitie, the yellow
warbler.
And as might be expected Trude had found innumerable ways of making
herself useful to Mrs. White as an expression of her gratitude. There
were telephone calls she could answer, letters she could write,
shopping she could do, ordering, she even conferred with old Pepper and
Jonathan, the gardener. She drove with Mrs. White in the afternoon and
served tea to the callers who flocked to the house from the nearby
summer hotels.
"I do not know how I ever got along without you, my dear," Mrs. White
had said more than once. "What do you do to make yourself so
invaluable? It seems as though just to look at you one leans on you!
Even Pepper is saying 'Miss Trude thinks this and Miss Trude thinks
that--'"
Her benevolent interest in her husband's wards, a certain pride in
saying to her friends: "My husband, you know, is looking after the
daughters of Joseph Romley, who was a college friend of his," had grown
into a real fondness for Trude. "I have never appreciated the dear girl
when she's been with us before," she declared to her husband. "I
suppose it was because we were in town, then, and I was too busy to get
acquainted with her. Why, she's really pretty. And she makes such a
slave of herself to her sisters! She hasn't any life of her own. I
don't believe they appreciate it, either. It's a shame she doesn't
marry some nice young man--" Mrs. White's kind always found virtue's
reward in the proverbial "nice young man."
Mr. White agreed with her on every point but this. "If she deserted
that household it would fall! She's the only one that isn't like her
father."
"Then she must find someone who'll take the family with her," Mrs.
White asserted determinedly. But having no godmother's fairy wand she
had not been able, during the summer weeks, to bring the prince to
Edgeacres; her husband's acquaintances were too bald and round to play
the part of princes.
Trude had not minded the dearth of young men. Since her unhappy
experience on a former visit she was glad of that dearth. The serenity
of the summer, the relaxation and rest from responsibilities had
brought a lovely freshness to her face, a brightness to her eyes that
was not all a reflection of the brightness about her. The sheer luxury
of loafing, of not having to think out petty problems or worry one
single minute was all her old-young heart now asked. Once in awhile, of
course, she fretted because Isolde was not enjoying Edgeacres with her,
or getting to know how really nice Aunt Edith White was. Where Vick and
Sidney were concerned she had no remorse for Vick was seeing new lands,
doubtless conquering them, and Sidney was happy at Cape Cod; but she
could not help thinking that Issy must be working too hard at the
Deerings--getting up early in the morning and typing all through the
hot day and doubtless fussing over the housework and the small babies
as well.
Trude thought of the mail. Again there had been no letter from either
Issy or Sidney! Sidney really _ought_ to write. Perhaps it _had_ not
been wise to let her go off alone with relatives of whom they knew
nothing!
Suddenly a postmark on one of the letters on the little table at her
elbow caught her eye. Provincetown. Trude caught it up apprehensively.
That letter might be from their Cousin Achsa! She turned it over and
over, wishing she might open it.
"Good morning, my dear! I get up with the birds myself and find that
you're up before me!"
Trude laughed, to cover her anxiety. "I told Jonathan I'd inspect his
new beds this morning."
"There, didn't I say you were supplanting me in Jonathan's esteem? But
he only wants you to admire them and smile at him. He knows you know
nothing about gardens, even though you are a very wise young woman! Ah,
the mail--is there anything there worth looking at before breakfast?"
"Two cards, three advertising envelopes and--and two personal letters."
Trude held out the two letters, her heart beating in her throat.
Mrs. White glanced at them indifferently. She turned one as though to
tear open the envelope, then stopped to play with Mitie. Next she gave
her attention to Pepper who appeared in the door to summon her to
breakfast. And all the time Trude's eyes were beseeching her to open
them--to open _one_ of them quickly.
Trude followed her into the breakfast room and sat down across from
her. After she had eaten her fruit Mrs. White took up the envelope that
was postmarked Provincetown and studied it while Trude waited.
"Why, that's from Laura Craig--a cousin of mine. I remember now she
said she was going to study in a summer school on Cape Cod. I hope the
girl's getting on. She's dependent upon her own labor." As she spoke
she spread out the sheet. A sketch dropped to the table.
Trude drew a long breath. She had not known how worried she was. She
wanted to laugh aloud now from sheer relief. Because she had to do
something she took up the sketch with a murmured: "May I?"
"Laura writes it's a little sketch she made in class. 'This will show
you I am improving. It's from life. It will give you an idea of the
delightful types we find around here, types that you will not find
anywhere else. These are two little vagabonds whom you see almost
anytime on the beach or around the wharves--as wild and free and
beautiful as the seagulls--'"
Mrs. White looked up from the letter to take the sketch and exclaimed
aloud at Trude's face. It had gone deathly white.
"My _dear_, what is it?"
For a moment Trude could not answer. She was staring at the sketch as
though she could not take her eyes from it.
"Read that again! These are types--you find these girls any time on the
wharves--wild--vagabonds! Oh, Aunt Edith that's--_that's_--_Sidney_!"
"Why, it _can't_ be, Trude. You said--"
Trude shook her head. "I can't help what I said. It's Sidney. I--know.
The likeness is true--there can't be anyone else who looks like Sidney!
But she's barefooted--and--and so--_slovenly_--and--_her hair_! She's
cut her beautiful hair!"
Mrs. White took the sketch forcibly from Trude. She frowned over it.
One of the girls certainly did look like Sidney as she remembered the
child from their one meeting.
"How do you explain it, Trude?"
Trude sighed heavily. "I can't explain it. There's something wrong
somewhere. And it's my fault, Aunt Edith. I--I consented--we all
consented to let Sidney go off down there just so that we could go
ahead with our own plans. But we thought--we felt _certain_ that these
cousins were very nice--I--I mean had a lovely home and were rich so
that Sidney might get something out of her visit that she couldn't get
at home. It sounds shameful to _say_ it."
"I understand, my dear. But what made you think so?"
"The--the letter this Cousin Achsa wrote. It _was_ a very nice letter!"
"Well, _I_ have always thought you could judge anyone's character and
background by a letter. There must be something wrong. This girl--"
pointing to the sketch, "is positively shocking! At least she would be
around here."
"I remember now something Sidney said--when she was begging us to let
her go away. 'I want to be different! I want to go somewhere where I
won't be Joseph Romley's daughter. I want adventure and to do exciting
things--' Those were her very words! I didn't take them seriously then,
but, oh, Aunt Edith, perhaps she meant them more than we guessed!" Poor
Trude rose quickly to her feet. "Aunt Edith, I simply _must_ go to
Provincetown at once. May I ask Pepper to find out about trains?
You'll--you'll understand, won't you? I can't be happy one minute until
I see the child. I feel that it's all my fault."
Mrs. White was all concern. She summoned Pepper and instructed him to
find out the first train; she sent her maid to Trude's room to pack her
clothes. And last she wrote a generous check.
"You may need it, my dear. It is nothing. Don't thank me. I wish I
could do more. Somehow your shoulders seem too young to carry so much
responsibility!"
So on the selfsame day that Sidney and the others set out upon their
adventure Trude was journeying to Cape Cod. She missed connections at
Boston and hired an automobile to take her to Provincetown, in her
heart thanking Mrs. White for the check that made this possible. Two
blow-outs delayed her journey so that it was midnight when she reached
her destination. She could scarcely hunt out the Greens and Sidney at
that hour. She took a room at the hotel for the night and sat for a
while at its window straining her eyes out into the darkness. The
howling of the wind intensified her apprehension; somewhere out in that
strange blackness that enwrapped her was her little sister. Perhaps
Sidney needed her that very moment!
Finally she crept into bed and fell into a troubled sleep. She did not
hear the running steps that passed under her window or the muffled
voices of excited men.