LUELLA AND HER MOTHER ARE MYSTIFIED
THEY had not long to wait. They heard the elevator door slide softly
open, and then the gentle swish of silken skirts. Luella looked around
just in time to be recognized by young Mr. Grandon if he had not
at that moment been placing a long white broadcloth coat about his
mother’s shoulders. There were four in the party, and Luella’s heart
sank. He would not be likely to ask another one. The young man and the
gray-silk, thread-lace woman from the other dining-table were going
with them, it appeared. Young Mr. Grandon helped the gray-silk lady
down the steps while the handsome stranger walked by Mrs. Grandon. They
did not look around at the people on the piazza at all. Luella bit her
lips in vexation.
“For pity’s sake, Luella, don’t scowl so,” whispered her mother; “they
might look up yet and see you.”
This warning came just in time; for young Mr. Grandon just as he was
about to start the car glanced up, and, catching Luella’s fixed gaze,
gave her a distant bow, which was followed by a courteous lifting of
the stranger’s hat.
[Illustration: “‘SOMEWHERE I HAVE SEEN THAT WOMAN,’ EXCLAIMED LUELLA’S
MOTHER”]
Aunt Crete was seated beside Mrs. Grandon in the back seat and beaming
her joy quietly. She was secretly exulting that Luella and Carrie had
not been in evidence yet. She felt that her joy was being lengthened by
a few minutes more, for she could not get away from the fear that her
sister and niece would spoil it all as soon as they appeared upon the
scene.
“I thought Aunt Carrie and Luella would be tired after their all-day
trip, and we wouldn’t disturb them to-night,” said Donald in a low
tone, looking back to Aunt Crete as the car glided smoothly out from
the shelter of the wide piazza.
Aunt Crete smiled happily back to Donald, and raised her eyes with a
relieved glance toward the rows of people on the piazza. She had been
afraid to look her fill before lest she should see Luella frowning at
her somewhere; but evidently they had not got back yet, or perhaps had
not finished their dinner.
As Aunt Crete raised her eyes, Luella and her mother looked down into
her upturned face enviously, but Aunt Crete’s gaze had but just grazed
them and fallen upon an old lady of stately mien with white, fluffy
hair like her own, and a white crêpe de chine gown trimmed with much
white lace. In deep satisfaction Aunt Crete reflected that, if Luella
had aught to say against her aunt’s wearing modest white morning-gowns,
she would cite this model, who was evidently an old aristocrat if one
might judge by her jewels and her general make-up.
“Somewhere I’ve seen that woman with the gray silk!” exclaimed Luella’s
mother suddenly as Aunt Crete swept by. “There’s something real
familiar about the set of her shoulders. Look at the way she raises her
hand to her face. My land! I believe she reminds me of your Aunt Crete!”
“Now, mother!” scorned Luella. “As if Aunt Crete could ever look like
that! You must be crazy to see anything in such an elegant lady to
remind you of poor old Aunt Crete. Why, ma, this woman is the real
thing! Just see how her hair’s put up. Nobody but a French maid could
get it like that. Imagine Aunt Crete with a French maid. O, I’d die
laughing. She’s probably washing our country cousin’s supper dishes at
this very minute. I wonder if her conscience doesn’t hurt her about my
lavender organdie. Say, ma, did you notice how graceful that handsome
stranger was when he handed the ladies into the car? My, but I’d like
to know him. I think Clarence Grandon is just a stuck-up prig.”
Her mother looked at her sharply.
“Luella, seems to me you change your mind a good deal. If I don’t make
any mistake, you came down here so’s to be near him. What’s made you
change your mind? He doesn’t seem to go with any other girls.”
“No, he just sticks by his mother every living minute,” sighed Luella
unhappily. “I do wish I had that lavender organdie. I look better in
that than anything else I’ve got. I declare I think Aunt Crete is real
mean and selfish not to send it. I’m going in to see if the mail has
come; and, if the organdie isn’t here, nor any word from Aunt Crete,
I’m going to call her up on the telephone again.”
Luella vanished into the hotel office, and her mother sat and rocked
with puckered brows. She very much desired a place in high society for
Luella, but how to attain it was the problem. She had not been born for
social climbing, and took hardly to it.
Meantime the motor-car rolled smoothly over the perfect roads, keeping
always that wonderful gleaming sea in sight; and Aunt Crete, serenely
happy, beamed and nodded to the pleasant chat of Mrs. Grandon, and was
so overpowered by her surroundings that she forgot to be overpowered
by the grand Mrs. Grandon. As in a dream she heard the kindly tone,
and responded mechanically to the questions about her journey and the
weather in the city, and how lovely the sea was to-night; but, as she
spoke the few words with her lips, her soul was singing, and the words
of its song were these:
“Must I be carried to the skies
On flowery beds of ease,
While others fought to win the prize
And sailed through bloody seas?”
And it seemed to her as they glided along the palace-lined shore,
with the rolling sea on one hand, and the beautiful people in their
beautiful raiment at ease and happy on the other hand, that she was
picked right up out of the hot little brick house in the narrow street,
and put on a wonderfully flowery bed of ease, and was floating right
into a heaven of which her precious Donald was a bright, particular
angel. She forgot all about Luella and what she might say, and just
enjoyed herself.
She even found herself telling the elegant Mrs. Grandon exactly how she
made piccalilli, and her heart warmed to the other woman as she saw
that she was really interested. She had never supposed, from the way
in which Luella spoke of the Grandons, that they would even deign to
eat such a common thing as a pickle, let alone knowing anything about
it. Aunt Crete’s decision was that Mrs. Grandon wasn’t stuck up in the
least, but just a nice, common lady like any one; and, as she went up
in the elevator beside her, and said good-night, she felt as if she had
known her all her life.
It was not until she had turned out her light and crept into the great
hotel bed that it came to her to wonder whether Luella and Carrie could
be meant by the ones in the hymn,
“While others fought to win the prize
And sailed through bloody seas.”
She couldn’t help feeling that perhaps she had been selfish in enjoying
her day so much when for aught she knew Luella might not be having a
good time. For Luella not to have a good time meant blame for her aunt
generally. Ever since Luella had been born it had been borne in upon
Aunt Crete that there was a moral obligation upon her to make Luella
have a good time. And now Aunt Crete was having a good time, the
time of her life; and she hugged herself, she was so happy over it,
and thought of the dear stars out there in the deep, dark blue of the
arching sky, and the cool, dark roll of the white-tipped waves, and was
thankful.
Luella and her mother had gloomily watched the dancing through the open
windows of the ballroom; but, as they knew no one inside, they did not
venture in. Luella kept one eye out for the return of the car, but
somehow missed it, and finally retired to the solace of cold-cream and
the comforts of the fourth floor back, where lingered in the atmosphere
a reminder of the dinner past and a hint of the breakfast that was to
come.
As the elevator ascended past the second floor, the door of one of the
special apartments stood wide, revealing a glimpse of the handsome
young stranger standing under the chandelier reading a letter, his face
alive with pleasure. Luella sighed enviously, and in her dreams strove
vainly to enter into the charmed circle where these favored beings
moved, and knew not that of her own free will she had closed the door
to that very special apartment, which might have been hers but for her
own action.
The next morning Luella was twisting her neck in a vain endeavor to
set the string of artificial puffs straight upon the enormous cushion
of her hair, till they looked for all the world like a pan of rolls
just out of the oven. She had jerked them off four separate times, and
pulled the rest of her hair down twice in a vain attempt to get just
the desired effect; and her patience, never very great at any time,
was well-nigh exhausted. Her mother was fretting because the best
pieces of fish and all the hot rolls would be gone before they got
down to breakfast, and Luella was snapping back in most undaughterly
fashion, when a noticeable tap came on the door. It was not the tap of
the chambermaid of the fourth floor back, nor of the elevator boy, who
knew how to modulate his knock for every grade of room from the second
story, ocean front, up and back. It was a knock of rare condescension,
mingled with a call to attention; and it warned these favored occupants
of room 410 to sit up and take notice, not that they were worthy of any
such consideration as was about to fall upon them.
Luella drove the last hairpin into the puffs, and sprang to the door
just as her mother opened it. She felt something was about to happen.
Could it be that she was to be invited to ride in that automobile at
last, or what?
There in the hall, looking very much out of place, and as if he hoped
his condescension would be appreciated, but he doubted it, stood
the uniformed functionary that usually confined his activities to
the second floor front, where the tips were large and the guests of
unquestioned wealth, to say nothing of culture. He held in his hand
a shining silver tray on which lay two cards, and he delivered his
message in a tone that not only showed the deference he felt for the
one who had sent him, but compelled such deference also on the part of
those to whom he spoke.
“De lady and gen’leman says, Will de ladies come down to the private
pahlah as soon aftah breakfus’ as is convenient, room number 2, second
flo’ front?” He bowed to signify that his mission was completed, and
that if it did not carry through, it was entirely beyond his sphere to
do more.
Luella grasped the cards and smothered an exclamation of delight.
“Second floor, front,” gasped her mother. “The private parlor! Did you
hear, Luella?”
But Luella was standing by the one window, frowning over the cards.
One was written and one engraved, a lady’s and a gentleman’s cards.
“Miss Ward.” “Mr. Donald Ward Grant.”
“For the land’s sake, ma! Who in life are they? Do you know any Miss
Ward? You don’t s’pose it’s that lovely gray-silk woman. Miss Ward.
Donald Ward Grant. Who can they be, and what do you suppose they want?
Grant. Donald Grant. Where have I, why—! O, horrors, ma! It can’t be
that dreadful cousin has followed us up, can it? Donald Grant is his
name, of course; yes, Donald Ward Grant. It was the Ward that threw me
off. But who is the other? Miss Ward. Ma! You don’t——!”
“Luella Burton, that’s just what it is! It’s your Aunt Crete and that
dreadful cousin. Crete never did have any sense, if she is my sister.
But just let me get speech of her! If I don’t make her writhe. I think
I’ll find a way to make her understand——”
Luella’s expansive bravery beneath the row of biscuit puffs seemed to
shrink and cringe as she took in the thought.
“O ma!” she groaned. “How could she? And here of all places! To come
here and mortify me! It is just too dreadful. Ma, it can’t be true.
Aunt Crete would never dare. And where would she get the money? She
hasn’t a cent of her own, has she? You didn’t go and leave her money,
did you?”
“No, only a little change in my old pocketbook; it wouldn’t have been
enough to come down here on, unless she bought a day excursion. Wait.
I did leave five dollars to pay the grocer bill with. But Crete surely
wouldn’t take that. Still, there’s no telling. She always was a kind of
a child. O, dear! What shall we do?” The mother sat down on the tumbled
bed beside the tray of Luella’s cheap trunk.
“Well, we must do something, that’s certain, if we have to run away
again. It would never do to have those two appear here now. Mercy!
think of Aunt Crete in her old black and white silk sitting next table
to that lovely lady in gray. I should simply sink through the floor.”
“We can’t run away, Luella,” snapped the practical mother. “We’ve paid
for our room two weeks ahead. I didn’t want to do that; but you thought
if Aunt Crete should get any nonsense into her head about our coming
home, we could tell we’d paid for the room, and that would settle it
with her. So now it’s done, and we can’t afford not to abide by it.
Besides, what good would that do? We couldn’t afford to go anywhere but
home, and that would be as bad as it was in the first place. We’ve got
to think it out. If I just had hold of Crete a minute, I’d make her fix
it up. She’d have to think some way out of it herself without any of my
help, to pay her for her stupidity in coming. I can’t understand how
she’d do it.”
“I didn’t think she’d dare!” glared Luella with no pleasant expression
on her face.
“I’ll tell you what we’ll have to do, Luella,” said her mother. “We’ll
slip down those stairs in the back hall. I went down one day, and they
go right out on the piazza that runs in front of the dining-room. We’ll
just slip in the back door, and get our breakfast right away. It’s
getting pretty late. You better hurry. They’ve likely come up from
town on that very early train, and they’ll sit and wait for us. We’ll
ring for a messenger bell-boy, and send down a note that my ankle is
so much worse I can’t come down-stairs, and you can’t leave me. We’ll
say: ‘Mrs. Burton and Miss Burton regret that they cannot come down as
requested; but Mrs. Burton is confined to her bed by a sprained ankle,
and her daughter cannot leave her. Miss Ward will have to come up.’
You write it on one of your visiting-cards, Luella, and we’ll send it
down as quick as we get back from breakfast. Hurry up. The only thing
about it will be that climb up three flights after breakfast, but it
won’t do for us to risk the elevator. Crete might recognize us, for the
elevator goes right by that second-floor front parlor. What I don’t
understand is how they got in there. It’s only rich people can afford
that. But, land! Crete’s just like a baby; hasn’t been out in the world
ever; and very likely she never asked how much the rooms were, but just
took the best she could lay eyes on. Or more likely it’s a mistake, and
she’s sitting in that little reception-room down on the office floor,
and thinks it the second floor because she came up such a long flight
of steps from the sidewalk. We’ll have to tell the bell-boy to hunt up
the fellow that brought up their cards, and take it to the same folks.
Come on now, Luella, and go slow when you turn corners. There’s no
telling but they might be prowling round trying to hunt us; so keep a
lookout.”
Thus by devious and back ways they descended to a late breakfast, and
scuttled up again without being molested.
Luella wrote the note on her card as her mother dictated, and a small
boy all brass buttons was despatched with careful directions; and then
the two retired behind their ramparts, and waited.
Time went by, until half an hour had elapsed since they came back from
breakfast. They had listened anxiously to every footfall in the hall,
and part of the time Luella kept the door open a crack with her ear to
it. Their nerves were all in a quiver. When the chambermaid arrived,
they were fairly feverish to get her out of the way. If Aunt Crete
should come while she was in the room, it might get all over the hotel
what kind of relatives they had.
Mrs. Burton suggested to the chambermaid that she leave their room
till last, as they wanted to write some letters before going out; but
the maid declared she must do the room at once or not at all. The
elevator slid up and down around the corner in the next hall. They
heard a footfall now and then, but none that sounded like Aunt Crete’s.
They rang again for the office-boy, who declared he had delivered the
message in the second floor, front, and that the lady and gentleman
were both in and said, “All right.” He vanished impudently without
waiting for Luella’s probing questions, and they looked at each other
in anxiety and indignation.
“It is too mean, ma, to lose this whole morning. I wanted to go in
bathing,” complained Luella, “and now no telling how long I’ll have to
stick in this dull room. I wish Aunt Crete was in Halifax. Why couldn’t
I have had some nice relatives like that lovely old gray-silk lady and
her son?”
Just then the elevator clanged open and shut, and steps came down the
hall. It certainly was not Aunt Crete. Luella flew to the door at the
first tap; and there, submerged in a sheaf of American Beauty roses,
stood the functionary from the lower floor, with a less pompous manner
than he had worn before. The roses had caused his respect for the
occupants of the fourth floor, back, to rise several degrees.
Luella stood speechless in wonder, looking first at the roses and then
at the servant. Such roses had never come into her life before. Could
it be—must it be—but a miserable mistake?
Then the servant spoke.
“Miss Ward sends de flowers, an’ is sorry de ladies ain’t well. She
send her regrets, an’ says she can’t come to see de ladies ’count of a
drive she’d promised to take to-day, in which she’d hoped to have de
ladies’ comp’ny. She hopes de ladies be better dis even’n’.”
He was gone, and the mother and daughter faced each other over the
roses, bewilderment and awe in their faces.
“_What_ did he say, Luella? _Who_ sent those roses? Miss _Ward_?
Luella, there’s some mistake. Aunt Crete couldn’t have sent them. She
wouldn’t _dare_! Besides, where would she get the money? It’s perfectly
impossible. It can’t be Aunt Crete, after all. It must be some one
else with the same name. Perhaps Donald has picked up some one here in
the hotel; you can’t tell; or perhaps it isn’t our Donald at all. It’s
likely there’s other Donald Grants in the world. What we ought to have
done was to go down at once and find out, and not skulk in a corner.
But you’re always in such a hurry to do something, Luella. There’s no
telling at all who this is now. It might be those folks you admired
so much, though what on earth they should have sent their cards to us
for—and those lovely roses—I’m sure I don’t know.”
“Now, ma, you needn’t blame me. It was you proposed sending that note
down; you know it was, mother; and of course I had to do what you
said. I was so upset, anyway, I didn’t know what was what. But now, you
see, perhaps you’ve cut me out of a lovely day. We might have gone on a
ride with them.”
“Luella,” her mother broke in sharply, “if you talk another word like
that, I’ll take the next train back home. You don’t know what you are
talking about. It may be Aunt Crete, after all, and a country cousin
for all you know; and, if it is, would you have wanted to go driving in
the face of the whole hotel, with like as not some old shin-and-bones
horse and a broken-down carriage?”
Luella was silenced for the time, and the room settled into gloomy
meditation.