White Roses
The new camping site was by far the most beautiful the Sunrise Camp Fire
club had ever occupied, even bearing in mind all its former history.
With wagons and their burros the girls, Mrs. Burton, and their guide had
followed a trail leading from the old site near the Painted Desert to the
new. They had preferred the long trek, although the nearby railroad would
have covered the distance in a few hours.
Yet in this part of the country how easy it is to forget modern
civilization if one will, since half a century ago the Grand Canyon
itself was still unexplored.
Here their tents were pitched in a portion of the world’s garden, while
only a short distance away was the most gigantic wonder in stone.
In less than three-quarters of an hour the little party of seven, who had
been drinking tea, arrived at their present home, involuntarily stopping
a few yards from the tents for the purpose of enjoying the picture before
them. They had come through half a mile of pine forest after leaving the
neighborhood of the cliffs and now found themselves encircled by pines on
all sides. In only a few places was there a clearing through which one
could get a vista of the far horizon, but in one of these clearings the
new Sunrise camp had pitched their white tents.
In front of the tents the grass was soft and thick and of a deep bluish
green. To the left a miniature hill was broken by a narrow fissure down
which a tiny, clear stream trickled into a small lake below that was only
a little larger than a big circular mirror. As a matter of course the
pool had been christened the “Wishing Well.” The name is indeed time
honored, but then wishing is perhaps the oldest and at the same time the
youngest occupation in the world.
A few scrub trees and bushes grew along the ground between the pines, yet
the air was altogether filled with the pine tang and fragrance. In many
nearby places there were the brilliant early autumn flowers of the
western plateaus.
As a beacon light to the home-comers, as well as for domestic reasons, a
large fire was burning at a safe distance from the tents. Through the
trees the sunset colors turned the scene to rose and gold.
For the moment there chanced to be no one in sight save Marie Papin, Mrs.
Burton’s maid, and Mr. Jefferson Simpson, the Camp Fire guide.
So near the fire were they standing and so absorbed in their conversation
that, although they must have noticed the return of the little party,
neither turned to speak to any one of them.
In the reflection of the firelight the two figures made an interesting
and not an ordinary picture. The contrast between them was striking. For
once Marie had discarded her conventional maid’s costume of black and was
wearing a white muslin dress as only a French woman can wear white,
changing it from simplicity to coquetry.
Moreover, the rough-and-ready outdoor costume, ordinarily adhered to by
Mr. Simpson, had been set aside for a conventional attire, or possibly
this was his impression. Yet Mr. Simpson did not appear conventional.
As they reached their own tents Polly Burton nodded significantly to
Peggy and Bettina. Then she waited outside when they disappeared inside.
“I wonder if Tante’s surprise, which we were to hear on our return, had
anything to do with Marie and Mr. Simpson?” Peggy demanded, as she began
changing her costume for the more ceremonial one worn at dinner. She was
looking reflective and at the same time a little annoyed—an expression
characteristic of Peggy Webster under some conditions. She did not enjoy
romantic problems.
Bettina laughed. She knew that Peggy had an instinctive prejudice against
the romantic in any and all its forms. Not only Bettina, but Peggy’s
family and many of her friends often wondered why Peggy should be so
different in this from other girls. Moreover, how would she ever meet her
own romance when her hour came, if she had so intense a shyness at its
very suggestion among other people?
A number of times Bettina had been aware that their Camp Fire guide felt
more than an ordinary interest in Marie. Yet the thought of an affair
between the young French woman with her ideas of life and the big
uncultured miner had seemed impossible. They were farther apart than the
two poles, since, in the end, the poles being reached bear many
resemblances. If Mr. Simpson had been rich, there might have been another
story. However, some theory had to be worked out to explain Mr. Simpson’s
wish to continue as the Sunrise Camp Fire guide.
True, he was a soldier of fortune who, according to his own story, had
played many parts. However, each member of the Camp Fire club appreciated
his superiority to the task he had undertaken of being their courier,
guide, man of all work, doing a hundred and one tasks for a group of
something less than a dozen women. Even if he had fallen upon evil days
and accepted the work as a temporary occupation or amusement—for he
appeared to consider his tasks more amusing than laborious—there were
many other more dignified and lucrative occupations in which he could
have engaged.
So Bettina reflected, as she followed Peggy’s example in getting dressed.
They had not finished when a slim figure slipped in to their tent
uninvited.
Her expression was slightly apologetic as she seated herself upon the
edge of a cot, drawing one foot up under her and flinging her hat aside,
as a girl frequently does when beginning a confidence.
However, the newcomer was not a girl. Instead she was the Camp Fire
guardian and hostess of the Sunrise club in Arizona at the present time,
and also in their recent camping experience upon the edge of the Painted
Desert, Mrs. Richard Burton, the famous actress, known to the public as
Polly O’Neill Burton.
“Sorry my surprise for this evening has not developed, or rather that it
has developed in an unexpected fashion,” she began, speaking
enigmatically and shrugging her shoulders, half chagrined and half
pleased.
“Perhaps you girls know from experience that I am more nervous over
playing chaperon than any other Camp Fire guardian duty. But I must
confess I never expected to be troubled by Marie! She and I have traveled
together for years without Marie’s having a single love affair so far as
I have been told. And then appears Mr. Simpson, the last person to be
suspected in the light of a lover.”
Mrs. Burton’s lips twitched and her eyes shone with an amused light.
“I like Mr. Simpson very much. Really I am afraid Marie is not good
enough for him as she is behaving so absurdly,” she ended inconclusively.
“Tante, what are you talking about? Certainly you never betray your point
at the beginning of a story as so many people do,” Peggy demanded, still
frowning, but approaching nearer the lady on the cot.
Mrs. Burton laughed.
“Sorry, Peg, but, perhaps, remembering your prejudice against love
affairs, I forbore to tell you several days ago that Marie and Mr.
Simpson became engaged on the last night of our journey to camp. You may
recall that Mr. Simpson took a number of you girls out for a walk after
we had pitched tents for the night and after Marie had me safely stored
away in bed. I was surprised at the time at her wishing to go with you,
as Marie and outdoor exercise are not enamored of each other. Then Marie
came in late, after you girls had gone to bed, and told me her news. We
were planning to have a party tonight and announce the engagement. I sent
hundreds of miles for a cake and white roses,” Mrs. Burton concluded
mournfully.
Bettina Graham was twisting her yellow-brown hair into a single braid
about her small head—a difficult performance before a six-inch hand
mirror which she held in one hand while twisting with the other.
Nevertheless she stopped.
“Well,” she inquired, “didn’t the roses arrive?”
Mrs. Burton nodded. “Oh yes, but Marie has broken her engagement. Mr.
Simpson confided to me that he thinks it is on account of his new
clothes. He insists that Marie thought he would look like one of her
Broadway heroes as soon as he discarded his western outfit. Assuredly he
does not. Funny that he gave me this information quite good-naturedly,
with an amused twinkle in his eyes! Of course Marie declared this untrue.
She now announces that she could not make up her mind to leave me;
besides life in the West could never satisfy her. She believes she must
have been unduly influenced by the September moon at the time of her
acceptance of Mr. Simpson.” Mrs. Burton shook her head in reflection.
“The laws of attraction between human beings are perhaps the strangest of
all laws. Remember my oracular speech, children; you may find it useful.”
At this moment she got up stiffly, as persons do after sitting in an
awkward position for any length of time.
Peggy had continued frowning.
“How silly Marie is! I do think she has behaved abominably. I simply
can’t understand how people can be so ‘changy’ about serious matters,”
Peggy concluded, her cheeks again coloring with annoyance.
Remembering her own uncertainties on this same subject and concerning the
acceptance of the husband whom she now adored, Mrs. Burton suddenly felt
less vexed with Marie than she had a few moments before.
“All people are not alike, Peggy dear, for which we should be thankful.
Anyhow there are at least two widely different varieties, the
‘Sentimental Tommies’ and the ‘Grizels’ of this world. One had a good
many minds inside of one mind and they all have to be pleased. Then there
are fortunate people like you and Grizel dear, who have only one
beautiful clear mind to make up without doubts and backslidings.
“Now I must depart to get ready for dinner. At least we have the
consolation of the cake and the roses. Mr. Simpson insists that he will
appear at his engagement party, even if there is no engagement and no
bride. But Marie, of course, has retired in tears.”