BETWIXT TWO
"And you knew it all the time!" Daisy Bell cried indignantly. She sat
curled up on her bed, her soft, pretty hair let down about her
shoulders, her arms folded across her chest as if she would shut out any
pleading tone from her heart, if indeed it was her heart whose racing
pulsation could decide for her, and keep or banish a guest.
"Not all the time," corrected Helen. "She told me a little of her story,
told it briefly, I mean, and left me to infer the rest; explained _why_
she wanted an education, and the almost accident of her coming here. She
seemed so lonely at Christmas-tide when so many of you were away in
happy homes, having delightful times with plenty of love and joy and
good cheer. Well, I felt rather lonely as well."
"And then I came back to you with a heart full of love, and she had
crept in. Why didn't you tell me----"
Daisy's voice trembled and she loosened one hand to wipe her eyes. Helen
was much moved.
"There really was nothing to tell. We had made no vows, exchanged no
promises, broken no rings," with a scornful little laugh. "I set her
straight on two or three points, I scolded her a little, yes, I just
did, and I wanted her to mix with, and be more like other girls. I don't
believe you, with joyous homes and brothers and sisters, can understand
the lonely life she has led."
"As _you_ can," with a touch of girlish sarcasm.
"Yes, as I can. I have a kindly uncle and aunt, who have cared for me
since father died, and a lot of cousins growing up into commonplace men
and women. There are dozens of tender ties, but no real sympathy with my
desires. Aunt thought I knew quite enough, and so I would for some
lives. The longing and desire for other things, better things, helps me
to understand her. But it was only a week or ten days ago--some
strictures of the girls made her very unhappy----"
"She shouldn't have listened. The old adage is a good one," with a
scornful laugh.
"She could not help it. I think some of the girls have not treated her
kindly, they have even been rude. And it was mean to try to set her age
so much farther on, and to call her an old maid."
"She doesn't look young."
"She will have a guardian for almost two years longer. I suppose in law
you have to give your exact age. Some of the people I love best are very
far from young."
"I suppose you love a great many!" with an emphasis as bitter as her
tender voice could make. She could put anger in it, but bitterness never
could be part and parcel of it.
"I love a few. I am not very rich in friends. But I know I am capable of
loving a good many people for different qualities."
Helen stood up very straight. She was growing tall rapidly. There was
firmness and character in every line of her face, and in her tone as
well.
"I don't care for the thousandth part of anyone's love. And you said you
would love me the best of anybody----"
"And so I did and do when you are not"--foolish, she was going to say,
but she paused. "Oh, Daisy, can't you see it is the individuality, the
qualities in a person that you love. And no two are alike. You are very
dear and sweet. But I dare say _you_ loved girls last year when I was
not here, and when I am gone you will love someone else. I don't ask you
to love me best of all, for there are, no doubt, more charming girls and
Miss Craven did not demand that of me. It was because she seemed so glad
of a little crumb, and I knew no one loved her----"
Helen's voice had a break in it. She went on taking down her hair,
putting away her necktie and handkerchief, then hung her skirt in the
wardrobe. Would she ask Daisy to read with her? "Let not the sun go down
upon your wrath." But she wasn't even angry, only indignant at what
looked to her like injustice.
"Daisy," she began presently, "if someone told you a story, incidents
out of her life that you knew were given in a burst of confidence, under
the impression that you would not repeat it, should you feel duty bound
to rehearse it to your friend. I did not promise, but I felt it was her
business. Mrs. Aldred knew it; Miss Grace, too, I dare say, but they did
not explain it to the school."
"It was nothing disgraceful. And the girls surmised--why, I think it
would have been better explained," and Daisy roused up a little.
"What right had any girl to surmise? It was admitted that Mrs. Aldred
would not have taken in anyone with dishonorable antecedents. And if my
father had been a criminal of any sort, could I have helped it? But Mrs.
Aldred knew there was nothing except a neglected girlhood which she has
been trying in the kindliest manner to remedy. When a girl surmised
anything, she was willing to give color to what she did not know was
true. It seems to me that is very near a falsehood."
Daisy had heard more sneers than Helen. Her face burned with a pained
consciousness. She really felt ashamed that she should have half
believed the positive untruths. Gossip and ill-nature without any
foundation--how despicable it looked. How could they have been amused
over it?
"I don't see why she shouldn't have been willing to let us all know she
was so rich," Daisy said in a sort of extenuation for the girls.
"I think it was because she wanted to do her hardest work unnoticed, for
one thing, and she doesn't seem at all proud of the money though it is
honorably obtained. She is very timid because she realizes her own
deficiencies. I can't help feeling things would have been better with
her if that Mrs. Howard had been her guardian's wife. Think, she's
nineteen years old and no one has ever given her a bit of love,
until----"
The great clock in the hall rolled out ten in its ponderous tones.
"Oh, good gracious!" Daisy jumped lightly from her bed. Helen put out
the light and went on with her undressing. There could be no reading.
She did not say a word, but knelt down presently.
It was hard to know just what was right and best. She had a feeling that
she ought to go over to Daisy, since she had given the offense--it was
not an offense on her part--but she could say, "I am sorry we quarreled
when we meant to be such dear friends." She repeated "Our Father, who
art in heaven," and then she remembered the man who prayed for wisdom,
and who chose wisdom.
Two soft arms were around her neck and a tear-wet cheek was pressed
against hers.
"I've been a horrid, miserable, selfish little wretch! I do wonder if
you can ever love me any more? But I want you too, even if you must
love her some. I'm sorry----"
Helen kissed her a dozen times. "You little darling, I love you a
hundred times better than before, if such a thing were possible. And I'm
glad not to have any break. Run to bed, little midget, or we shall have
to confess to talking out of time."
Then they said good-night again, and so the first difference was made
up, but Daisy's jealous heart was not quite comforted.
There was a difference in the demeanor of most of the girls toward Miss
Craven, though few would have admitted the money had anything to do with
it. Miss Bigelow simply repeated Mrs. Davis's remark, that the girl
would be very rich. No one could say that she was loud or presuming, or
that her retiring manner was an evidence of pride. She went her way as
quietly as before. She acknowledged all the little politenesses in a shy
sort of way, but she was hard to get on with. She would only talk in
monosyllables, except to Helen Grant.
"She has the key to unlock her tongue," Miss Mays said. "Helen is the
sort of girl who will always be looking for fresh fields and pastures
new. I like her immensely, but I couldn't help feeling as if I was only
one of the many to her."
Such little speeches with the utmost apparent good nature fell heavily
on Daisy Bell's heart.
There were many things to attend to beside school-girl differences,
which were always happening among pupils. Easter was late, and then
every day counted to those who expected promotion as well as the
graduates.
Still there were some splendid rambles over on the other side of the
river, some rowing parties, delightful lessons in out-of-door botany,
and, oh, the plans for summer! There would be eight graduates among the
boarders, seven from the day scholars. Miss Reid was going abroad for a
year at painting, Miss Downs to study music at Leipsic, Miss Bigelow to
enter an art school in New York, three to go to college, one to be
married. Most of the Senior B would step into the A division, and every
class would be pushed up.
Helen could have gone in the higher division at Easter. She had studied
not only with a will, but an eager interest in so many things that she
wondered how girls could dawdle along. Still, if they had no aim, if it
was merely to get through these intervening years, looking forward to
pleasure, society, and marriage, perhaps it _might_ be sufficient. Her
future was rather doubtful, even to herself. There were suggestions
about the more weighty studies from Mrs. Van Dorn, as if Helen would
hardly need them. But she did it because she liked them. She wanted to
go to the foundation, to know on just what her structure stood, there
was nothing negative about her. One day Miss Grace said:
"Miss Grant, you would make a most excellent teacher. You are so direct
and so simple, you waste no time, and you evince so much interest in the
branches you like. I see your influence on two pupils, Miss Bell, who is
a sweet, bright girl, but not in love with study, and mother and I feel
really indebted to you for your interest in Miss Craven. When she can
once venture out of her shell with the consciousness that she is not so
different from the others, the Rubicon will be passed. I do believe she
will do it. I am counting a good deal on next year."
"I am glad if I help ever so little," returned Helen with shining eyes,
as a soft color transfused her fair face. "And since one and another
has been very good to me, I ought to pass the kindness on to someone
else."
"'Freely ye have received, freely give.' I am glad that purpose has
taken root. There are so many things we can give that only cost us a
little trouble, and do more good than the bestowal of money. It is one
of the greatest lessons of life."
Miss Aldred smiled upon her pupil, and a warm glow sped through Helen's
frame.
"Then I have my mind quite set upon teaching some day. Perhaps I take
that from my father, who was a teacher. I saw so little of him, but this
year I've wondered a good deal what he really was like, and if we should
not have been splendid friends on these lines. I believe he was
disappointed about my not being a boy, and it's funny"--with a bright
merry laugh. "I've never wanted to be a boy at all. I think girls are
nicer."
"The loveliest being to me is a fine, broad, sweet-minded, cultured
woman, and I am very glad she is beginning to be thought of as the ideal
woman. You have many years before you reach real womanhood, which comes
later and is richer than it was twenty years ago. But you are taking
some excellent steps along the way."
"Oh, thank you for the praise," said Helen pressing her hand.
If the steps were not in Latin and French she could go bounding along,
she thought. In that respect she did not inherit her father's facility
nor his love for the abstruse and difficult.
"I suppose I am superficial," she said to herself ruefully. "But why
shouldn't one delight in the things one loves best?"
That was one charm about Miss Craven to her. She reveled in poetry. The
other girls were full of nonsense chatter in the spare half hours, but
they two often slipped away under some tree and read and discussed.
There was a fund of romance in each one, though temperament and
surroundings had been so different, the one so afraid to express her
inmost thought, the other so fearless, not even minding being laughed
at.
Every day seemed more crowded with all things.
"I'm glad I don't have to think about a graduation gown, or any gown,"
laughed Helen. "My clothes come ready-made, and all I have to do is to
put them on."
"But wouldn't you like to choose sometimes?" asked one of the girls. "I
shall choose my graduation gown and my wedding gown."
"Oh, no you won't. Graduation gowns have to be pretty much alike, and
wedding gowns must be in the prevailing fashion. In fact, I think there
is very little you _do_ choose in this life. There's someone just in
front always who lays down the law, and though you may think you will
get your own way you find oftener it is the way of someone else."
"If I had my way I wouldn't come back to school."
"If I had my way I would come back to school ten years," exclaimed
Helen.
"You are enough to tire anyone to death with your everlasting study
plans. Thank heaven for vacation, say I."
There were some plans, indeed a great deal of planning about that. Each
girl had a different desire.
Helen had written her monthly letter regularly. Sometimes she had nice
chatty replies from Mrs. Van Dorn; at others, Miss Gage had written.
They had been spending a month at Paris, now they were going to London,
and then to some country houses. And early in June came a letter
disposing of Helen's summer. She would return to Hope and spend the time
between Mrs. Dayton and her uncle. "We do not know what may happen
another year," she wrote; "and you are too young to be going about
anywhere else."
Of course that was what she had expected to do, would be glad to do. She
did want to see all her old friends again. Uncle Jason's letters had
been rather queer and formal, Jenny had written twice all about herself
and Joe.
Daisy came in bright and smiling. She, too, had a letter.
"I've been telling mamma such lots about you, and I asked her to let me
invite you to spend a fortnight with me, and here it is. Just listen."
A very delightful invitation to be sure. Helen's heart beat high for a
moment.
"Well--are you struck speechless?" a gay light dancing in her eyes.
"You are very good, just lovely, but I do not know as I can accept, I am
to go home----"
"Only two weeks out of nine! Surely you can spare that!"
Helen considered. "I will consult Mrs. Aldred before I decide," with
gentle gravity.
"I really do not see what she has to do with it. Your aunt and uncle
would be the ones to decide. Don't you want to do it--to see what sort
of a home I have? It would be just a splendid time. Mamma is half in
love with you. I am almost jealous again."
"Oh, I can't think of anything more delightful," Helen cried eagerly,
and Daisy did not need to doubt the pleasure illumining her face. "But
Mrs. Van Dorn has planned----"
"Oh, write to her and tell her how much you want to come," beseechingly.
"There would hardly be time."
"It would be nicer to take you home with me, but you could come
afterward."
"Why yes. However, I will see what Mrs. Aldred thinks."
"Oh, go at once. I want to write back," exclaimed Daisy impatiently.
Mrs. Aldred looked up from the pile of reports on her table, and said in
a pleasantly inquiring tone, "Well?" then listened, but there was a tint
of perplexity in her face.
"I had a note from Mrs. Van Dorn by the last steamer also. She seems
very well satisfied with your progress, only she is rather exigent
about the French, and I wish you would do all you can at it during
vacation. But she is very explicit about the summer. I think she prefers
that you should spend it in Hope."
She had been rather more than explicit, and said she did not approve of
such young girls visiting about. Mr. Castles would send a trusty person
for Helen and see her safely on the train for Hope.
"Do you not think I might write to her about it for a visit later on?"
"Yes, you could. But Mrs. Van Dorn is certain of her own wishes in any
matter, and generally has good reasons. I do not imagine a visit like
this would do you any harm, but you are young, and I _do_ suppose you
owe your own people some respect. I think I should accept the fiat."
Helen felt bitterly disappointed. She did not dream her girlish
enthusiasm about Daisy Bell had been one of the factors in this command,
as it really was, that Mrs. Van Dorn did not want any girl to gain a
strong influence over Helen, but she need not have felt suspicious, as
the influence was all the other way.
It had come like a sudden vision, and now it was quenched in bitter
regret, with the unappeased want back of it.
"I do object to indiscriminate visiting for such young girls. If Mrs.
Van Dorn were here and could see just the kind of girl Miss Daisy is, it
would be different, but I suppose, if she thought at all, it was about
the generality of girls, who sometimes are quite lawless in their own
homes. Since you have accepted her direction for the next two years, it
is best to do it cheerfully," advised Mrs. Aldred.
"Yes, I _do_ owe her that much," returned Helen in a convinced tone, if
the disappointment had not all gone out of it.
Then Daisy and she had an unpleasant disagreement about it, and Helen
felt sorrier than ever.
Juliet Craven's happening was a comforting one for her. Mrs. Davis had
gone abroad with a clear conscience. Her friend, Mrs. Howard, was to
look after the ward who was neither woman or child.
Then came the rush of examinations, the excitement to know who had
passed, and what the marks were, and the graduation exercises which
began at three in the afternoon and were to end with a lawn party in the
moonlight.
Some of the pupils were secretly mortified at not attaining a higher
rate, a few really did not care, and they were not sufficiently above
the ordinary to make a mark anywhere. Some others were a credit to the
training and culture of Aldred House, and went their way with a grateful
remembrance of their teacher friend and her admirable daughter.
Helen had a part in the singing, there was some excellent playing,
recitations, and essays. The house was crowded, it was one of the summer
events at Westchester. There were congratulations and good wishes, and
an evening of unbounded delight, as many of the young people were
invited, and for this evening the youthful masculines, among them a
number of law students, were welcomed.
Was it only a year ago Helen Grant had recited Herve Riel in the old
schoolhouse at Hope Center? Oh, how many things had happened since then.
Why, it was like a fairy story. She could hardly believe it herself.
She recited it again out on a corner of the lawn, and before she was
half through her audience had doubled, and listened with flattering
attention. The young son of Mr. Danforth, just home from college, was
standing near.
"That's enough to inspire one," he said. "I shall take one line back
with me and recall the very ring of your voice:
"Sirs, believe me, there's a way.'"
Helen flushed with pleasure. She had not given up her old hero, though
there had been new candidates for her favor.
Then followed the partings the next morning. Some would be for life
perhaps. Every graduate counted on coming back to Aldred House some day,
but there were many chances and changes and more than one was never to
see it again, only hold its happy times in remembrance.
"I am glad we are to keep together next year," exclaimed Daisy Bell.
"And I _do_ think I shall be a better student. The year following we
shall graduate together. And all the rest of our lives I hope we shall
be friends, even if we do have tiffs now and then."
Juliet Craven asked rather timidly if she might write to Helen.
"Oh, I should be disappointed if you did not. I count on it as one of my
pleasures," Helen returned warmly. There were other promises, several
of them not kept. And by twos and threes the group dwindled until at
dinner all the remainder were invited to the table of state as guests.
The next morning a thin, rather somber-looking man came with a note from
Mr. Castles. Helen's eyes were swimming in tears as she said good-by to
Mrs. Aldred and Miss Grace.
It was an uneventful journey until they reached New York. They stopped
at Mr. Castles' office, and he questioned Helen about her past year,
took her out to lunch, and then put her aboard her own train with
several papers and a magazine, and wished her a pleasant journey.
And pleasant it was, though she had a seat to herself. She could not
read, hardly look at the tempting array of pictures, there were so many
thoughts crowding in and through her mind. She had been very happy.
Schooldays were delightful. She wanted years and years of them.
Some ten miles before they reached Hope the passengers had to leave the
main line. She made her change without any difficulty, and saw that her
trunk was safely bestowed. Then on and on past farms and a few
straggling villages, when the train began to slow up and the conductor
called out--"North Hope."
Half bewildered, as if it were a strange place, she felt the conductor
take her arm. Then someone else grasped it, a rather tall figure with a
familiar face, and a delighted voice at his side exclaimed:
"Why, Helen Grant! You have grown almost out of recollection!"
"Oh, Mrs. Dayton! Oh, Mr. Warfield!"
That was all she could say at first. Mr. Warfield looked after her
trunk; Mrs. Dayton surveyed her from head to foot.
"You'll have to go in long dresses," she began in an amused tone.
"Oh, I don't want to grow up, Mrs. Dayton. I don't want to be a young
lady. Girls have such a good time, and in my heart and all over me I am
just a girl," she exclaimed vehemently.
"I am glad of that, too. Joanna wondered if you had forgotten how to dry
glass and china, and would be clear spoiled at boarding school. You
haven't changed a bit in looks, and your face isn't a day older, but you
are almost as tall as I. Just now I haven't but two or three boarders,
and I want all of you that I can have for the pure pleasure of the
thing."
Mr. Warfield soon joined them. Here was the library in which she had
taken such pleasure, the street with the stores, the window in which she
had seen her Madonna, and now she knew so much about the old ones and
their painters. A turn in this quiet street and here they were. She
would not have been startled to see Mrs. Van Dorn on the porch. There
were an old lady and an old gentleman, both silver-haired and placid,
she in an almost quakerish garb, but looking very sweet.
"You are tired and dusty, I know, and want a bit of freshening up. Mr.
Warfield is going to stay to dinner, and then you can have your talk.
His school just closed yesterday, and he goes away to-morrow. We have
almost quarreled about you; he hates girls' boarding schools and was
sure you would come back a niminy, priminy Miss with high heels and
trains and all that," laughing gayly.
"He doesn't know anything about Aldred House," Helen replied, amused.
"Here, you are to have a room to yourself, though I expect to-morrow
Uncle Jason will whisk you off. That old couple downstairs, Mr. and
Mrs. White, have Mrs. Van Dorn's room. And she's careering around Europe
like any young thing! She does surprise me. Now when you are ready come
down, for we are just dying to inspect you and see how much you have
changed."
Helen recalled the fact that a year ago she thought this the most
beautiful place imaginable. There was the tall, slim rowan-tree, full of
green berries that would hang out beads of red flame in the autumn, the
tamarack with its sprays of delicate leaves, the big, burly, black
walnut on the corner, the wild clematis and Virginia creeper, the prim
flower-beds.
"There will be plenty of time to look at them through the summer," she
thought, so she bathed her face, brushed her hair, shook out the pretty
_plisse_ shirtwaist she had in her satchel, tied a blue ribbon round her
neck and looked as fresh as a just opened flower.