"I am going to remind you of that tomorrow evening," Dick said quietly.
"I am confident now that Miss Sutherland will come off victorious."
Dolly was glad that a bevy of girls surrounded them just then, demanding
all the latest information with regard to the contests on tomorrow. She
slipped away from her companion soon, and managed to hold him at a
distance until the next afternoon, when the great events came off. The
best places for seeing had been reserved for the seniors and their
friends, so when Dolly took her place by her mother, it was not at
all strange that Dick Martin should be seated on the other side of her.
On the opposite benches were the friends of the other competitors, and
college flags and college cries were much in evidence. Cornell and
Vassar seemed particularly confident, and as Dolly heard their shouts
and noticed their jubilant flags, she grew despondent.
Beth was sitting just back of her. "Don't give up before we fairly
commence, Dolly. We have just as much right to shout as they have. Mary
did magnificently this morning."
"And don't forget that you are to take a walk with me this evening,
and I'll tell you then what I want you to do for me." That was Dick
Martin.
"Oh, don't you know that tonight we give a supper to the visitors from
the other colleges? I can't go with you possibly."
"I mean to have my walk either before or after; you shall not snub me
in that fashion."
But Dolly pretended not to hear. Her eyes were on the smooth stretch of
road in front of her. They were jumping, yes--Mary was not as good at
that as she was at running.
Dolly slipped her hand into her mother's.
"It is a very good thing that such events as this come only once in a
lifetime. I am too excitable to stand the strain equably like Constance."
"Once in a lifetime is quite enough, I'll agree," said Mrs. Alden,
looking rather anxiously at Dolly's flushed cheeks. "I shall be glad to
have you safely at home, where I can keep you quiet and have you rest."
"Yes, Mother," said Dolly, not really hearing a word of what Mrs.
Alden was saying. "Oh, look! Wasn't that splendid of Mary? Do cheer
her, Mr. Martin. Louder! Louder yet! Mary has gone farther than any of
them, but I am afraid of Miss Smith of Vassar. That is she now! Oh!" A
despairing note in her tone as Miss Smith made a better record than
Mary had done. "How dreadful! But Mary has won us a second at least,
and that is really more than I dared hope."
"Cheer up, then. There are two more chances for you."
"We do not stand the slightest chance in the boat race, and I am afraid
that Mary cannot do any better in the running. Still I am grateful for
what she has won for us. We shall not be disgraced, at least."
"Now watch!" as the runners lined up in position. "I have a
presentiment that you will feel jubilant when this race is over."
And it became evident, almost from the first second, that Westover would
win. Mary's pride was fully roused. She knew how anxious her class was
to come off victorious in one of the contests at least, and she did her
very best, but her best was needed, for Cornell was very close behind her.
The cheering and yelling were almost deafening. Really, Mr. Alden said,
it was quite as bad as one of the Harvard football games. He didn't see
to what the girls' colleges were coming, if this sort of thing continued.
But Dolly and Beth, to whom his words were addressed, heard not a
syllable of his raillery. They were too intent on waving their flags
and cheering Mary. Westover had covered herself with glory, and Dolly
could go home tomorrow with not a wish ungratified.
Fred hurried up to his people. "Mary saved the day for you, didn't she?
She is having a regular ovation down by the Oaks. Shall I take you to
her, Dolly?"
"Yes, yes, I am wild to see her and thank her. The idea of Mary's being
the one to come to the rescue so nobly. I always knew she was a dear! You
need not save my seat for me, Mother, I would rather not see the boat
race at all, we stand no show there."
And Dolly whisked down from her high seat of honor as president of the
class, and ran in search of Mary, whose father and mother could not
comprehend the importance of all the athletic contests, but who were
nevertheless filled with very pardonable pride at their daughter's
triumph.
When Dolly reached the Oaks, Mary had disappeared, and the most diligent
search in grounds and rooms failed to reveal her.
Dolly wandered back disconsolately just in time to hear the crowd
cheering for Wellesley, who had won the boat race, with Vassar a close
second.
"They can have their victory, and welcome," Dolly said contentedly to
Dick Martin, who joined her just then. "We have all we want. I must go
now and see if the tables are all in readiness for tonight."
"I just heard Miss Newby declare that everything had been done, so I
hope you will walk down to the end of the grounds with me. Can't you
do that, Dolly? I have been trying to get a moment with you for a long
time. I must go back to Boston at eight o'clock, and this is my last
opportunity to talk with you."
[Illustration: "Aren't you going to say anything to me, Dolly?"]
"Well," with an unaccountable hesitation in her manner. "I suppose
that a class president ought not to run away like this, but if you will
not take me far--"
"I want to take you all along life's journey, Dolly. Is that too much
to ask? You know what I hope to do, what my plans are and how I am
longing to do a little good in the world. Will you help me? I think I
have cared for you ever since the first time we met. Aren't you going
to say anything to me, Dolly?"
Dolly's brain was in a whirl. How could she tell? Yet, did she want
him to go off and never come back? No, no, she knew she could hardly
endure that. And Dick, not knowing what her silence meant, and fearing
that a bitter disappointment was in store for him, leaned down to look
in her face. Dolly smiled up at him tremulously, and Dick had the answer
he wished, although no words were spoken.
* * * * *
Late that night Dolly sought out her mother for a word. "I could not go
to sleep tonight without telling you, Mother, but--"
"I understand, Dolly, Dick has spoken, hasn't he? I knew that he would,
for he wished to do so a year ago, but I think he feared a refusal then.
We have known his feeling for you for a long time, Dolly dearest, and
I know that he will make your life very happy. But he must let you stay
with us for a long time yet."
"Of course," said Dolly hastily. "Of course, why, I would never,
never go off from you now. Dick will not be through with his medical
studies for two or three years yet. You will have me at home a long
time, Motherdie."
"We can't have you too long, Dolly; we would like to keep you always,
but that is impossible, evidently."
And then Dolly turned consoler, and there was a long, long talk, despite
the fact that it was in the wee small hours, and that they were all to
take a railroad journey that day.
Dolly got up at last reluctantly enough, but she stopped even then when
she reached the door.
"Mother, did you notice Fred late last evening? What was the matter with
him? He looked so grave and sober."
"He has not told me anything at all, Dolly, but I imagine that he has
spoken to Mary."
"Oh, Mother, couldn't he see for himself that Mary cares nothing for
him? The poor boy!"
"I am sorry for him, dear; I feared that he would speak too soon, but
it was best to say nothing. Fred will not give up easily, and in time
Mary may come to appreciate him. Now she does not give a thought to
anything beyond her plans and her work."
"I do not believe that she will ever change," and Dolly went to her
room with her own new joy tinged with sadness as she thought of Fred's
disappointment.
* * * * *
It is more than two years later. The class of '09 had been holding a
reunion in New York. A number of the members lived in that city, and
others were within easy access of it. So Constance had proposed that
there should be semi-annual reunions at her home for as many as could
come. Several of these reunions had been held now, and the girls enjoyed
them, perhaps even more than the yearly gatherings at Westover during
Commencement week, when they did not really have time to compare notes
and gossip, as they liked to do, over all the little happenings of the
past year.
This time there seemed even more news than usual to be talked over
and discussed. Sarah Weston would sail the next week for India as a
missionary, Grace Egle was studying medicine, Ellen Terence and Kate
Seaton were doing work on New York newspapers, and were doing it well,
too. Margaret had run off for a day from the well-known college in which
she had a good position; Mary was there, too, but after the holidays
she would go west, for she had accepted the chair of Biology in a new
woman's college just started there. One of the girls was singing in a
fashionable church, though, when she used that adjective, Beth protested
vigorously.
"I think that it is horrible to speak of a fashionable church. I know
that it is often done, but a church that merits such an adjective cannot
be a church in the true sense of the term."
There had been some lively talk on the subject after Beth's remark,
and the girls had enjoyed it, for it seemed like the old days at
Westover, when they were constantly picking each other up and holding
conversational tilts.
Another of the class was doing lyceum work as a public reader. Still
another had opened a kindergarten, and many more, like Beth and Dolly,
were filling quietly and efficiently the little niches at home which
sadly needed them.
For the most part, college life had broadened all of the girls, so that
none of them were entirely content to lead a perfectly useless life of
fashion and gayety. Constance herself had gone into college settlement
work, just as she had planned to do long before.
After the rest of their classmates had gone, Mary and the "diggers"
(for the old name seemed still to cling to them) stayed for a cosy chat
with Constance. Beth and Dolly, indeed, would stay for a couple of days
longer.
They were sipping tea, which Constance had insisted on making, when her
sharp eyes caught the gleam of a new ring on Margaret's finger. "Who
gave you that, Meg? Are you keeping secrets from your crowd? I wouldn't
have believed it of you."
Margaret flushed richly. "I truly meant to tell you girls before I left
tonight, but it was not easy to tell someway. It is absurd to think of
it, but really, I am going, if nothing happens, to be Abby Dunbar's
sister some day."
"Margaret! how lovely! no, not that you will be her sister, but that
you will be Raymond Dunbar's wife, for he is as broad and generous and
fine as she is petty and narrow."
"I congratulate you with all my heart, Meg, and I am so glad that Abby
married that Englishman and will live abroad. Raymond is just the one man
in all the world that you should marry."
"Thank you a thousand times, girls," Margaret said heartily when she
had been duly kissed and hugged. "But you know really, that he is much
better and nobler than I. It is so, and you need not try to contradict
me. I thought at first that he was trying in this way to atone for his
father's youthful faults, but--"
"But you do not think so any more," Dolly said shrewdly, looking at
her friend's changing face.
"No, I do not," Margaret owned softly.
Constance looked around on the other faces. "Now I wonder if any more
of you are hiding weighty secrets. If so, confess!"
"How about our hostess, herself?" retorted Beth quickly.
Constance smiled serenely. "I have absolutely nothing to confess. I
feel like a grandmother, with all this talk of engagements and marriage
going on around me. I am outside of it all. Margery Ainsworth and I
will probably be the old, staid spinsters of the class; we have found
work enough to fill all our lives. By the way, Dolly, how long is Mr.
Martin going to consent to wait for you? You have been engaged a couple
of years now."
"More than that, and his patience seems about exhausted," Dolly
acknowledged with a frank blush. "So I presume that you will receive
our cards immediately after Christmas."
"It is your turn, now, Mary. What have you to say for yourself?"
Constance continued mercilessly.
"Absolutely nothing beyond what you already know. I have the position
which I have coveted all my life, so, of course, I am quite satisfied."
Despite Mary's words, however, there was a new tone in her voice,
which made Dolly resolve to catechise her later. Something had happened,
but Dolly could not make out what.
"Your turn now, Elizabeth," commanded Constance.
Dolly laughed mischievously. She alone knew that Beth really had some
news to tell. "Shall I spare your blushes and help you out, dear? She
has only been engaged two days now, so that she cannot carry her new
honors as sedately as--"
"As some people who have worn an engagement ring for two years and a
half," Beth interposed. "I'll tell my own story, Dolly Alden. Father
has offered to take Mr. Steele into partnership this summer, and--"
"And the daughter thought it such a good scheme that she is going to
do likewise," Dolly interjected, and then after the first burst of
astonishment was over, the girls had a long talk over their plans and
hopes.
It was a couple of hours later before Dolly found the quiet opportunity
that she wanted for speaking to Mary.
"Aren't you ever going to be good to Fred, Mary? He is one of the very
best boys in the world."
"I know it, and it doesn't seem fair to him that he should be wasting
his time and thoughts on me."
Dolly looked at her friend keenly. "You and Fred have some new
understanding. Aren't you going to tell me what it is?"
Mary looked troubled. "It is not an understanding at all, and I cannot
have you think that, or Fred either. I have promised to write to him,
and he says he will not take my final answer for a couple of years. It
does not seem fair to him--"
Dolly interrupted her with a kiss. "Don't worry your tender conscience.
Just leave it all to time, and to Fred. If he is contented, you can
afford to be."
And to herself Dolly added: "Fred has the wisdom of the serpent; Mary
cares more for him than she realizes, and he will win her in the end."
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End of Project Gutenberg's Dolly's College Experiences, by Mabel Cronise Jones