THE IRISH MINUET
The Travelers presented “The Knight of the Northern Sun” at the Hamilton
Concert Hall on the evening after that of the re-opening day of college
following the Easter vacation. Lucy Warner had asked and received
President Matthews’s hearty permission to use the hall for the Norse
play and afterwards for any other attractions which Page and Dean might
wish to offer.
The Norse play was the most ambitious drama the Travelers had yet
undertaken. They had gone to great trouble and pains to costume and
produce the play inexpensively, but with realism. Nor was the audience
which crowded the large hall to the doors composed entirely of students.
Since the presentation of the first show by Page and Dean almost two
years previous, interested citizens of the town of Hamilton and
residents of Hamilton Estates had shown flattering eagerness to obtain
seats for Page and Dean’s shows.
Augusta Forbes scored heavily as Godoran, the Norse hero, who, until he
met the fair Nageda, boasted that he had looked earnestly at no woman’s
face save his mother’s. Doris was the lovely, golden-haired Nageda, who
fell in love with Godoran at sight but was carried off as a hostage by
barbarian hordes on the day of her initial meeting with her hero.
The play netted the dormitory fund over a thousand dollars. Augusta and
Doris stepped into the spot light of campus admiration and were fêted by
their friends for upwards of a week afterward. Marjorie attended the
presentation of the drama with her mother, Jerry, Miss Susanna and
Jonas. It was her mother’s last evening at the Arms and this sad
knowledge put her in a rather forlorn mood. Then, too, she could not
help thinking of Hal. She had suggested the title of the play as a
result of seeing the costume of polar knight Hal Macy had worn at the
merry-making in Sanford on Christmas Eve. Now she saw Hal as the knight,
rather than Gussie.
She wondered vexedly why she always thought of Hal in connection with
the sentimental. It was because he had told her he loved her, she
supposed. She watched fascinatedly the progress of the play and listened
with half impatient sadness to the impassioned words of love which
Katherine Langly, who knew nothing about love, had put into the mouth of
Godoran.
Following the play and her mother’s departure for Sanford, Marjorie
returned with conscientious interest to the work of the biography. Since
the love story of Brooke Hamilton had entered into it she had
revolutionized her whole idea of the plan. Now she plunged once more
into the journal, working at it diligently. She tried to use every
sentence of it which did not touch too personally on the side of the
great man’s romance which belonged to him and not to the world.
After a time it seemed to her that she knew every line of the journal by
heart. She worked steadily on through the bright spring weather until
she had arranged the delicate matter to suit her critical mind. Miss
Susanna was greatly pleased over Marjorie’s arranging of the sentimental
part of her great-uncle’s history. She had taken a notion to edit the
garden letters herself, and the two friends worked together in the study
at the long library table, each with the same fond spirit toward the man
in the portrait.
On the campus Leila Harper in fancy had ceased to be a post graduate.
Instead she was living through an exciting period of Irish history as
she rehearsed the heroic part of Desmond O’Dowd. As the time drew near
for the presentation of the Irish drama she grew more pleased with the
work of the cast than she had ever been with that of any other group of
actors whom she had formerly used in her plays. Vera, as Mona of Lough
Gur, the Irish maid from County Limerick, promised to be the chief
attraction.
One thing to perfect her production Leila lacked. She needed a real man,
one with an exceptionally sweet tenor voice to sing words to the minuet
tune that accompanied the Irish minuet she and Vera were to give in the
first act of the play. As the hero it was really Leila’s place to sing
the quaint words as she danced. Not being possessed of a tenor voice she
could not carry out this part of the program. She decided after much
thought to place a singer in the wings to voice the pretty Irish words.
Next difficulty was to obtain the singer. Following a brief season of
despairing calculation as to whether a church singer in Hamilton might
not undertake the solo, Leila hit upon another plan that brought a true
Cheshire cat grin to her keen Celtic features. She hastily mailed a very
ragged piece of Irish music to Hal Macy with a short accompanying
letter, and buoyantly awaited results.
Leila’s plan to bring Hal from Sanford to sing behind the scenes for her
on the night of her play was not entirely one of self-interest. She had
often thought Marjorie was nothing less than a sleeping beauty slated to
awaken suddenly from a dream of life to reality and a lover’s kiss. She
had long guessed for herself that Hal loved Marjorie. She had also been
the only one besides Marjorie who had seen Hal’s heart-broken expression
as he had stood before Marjorie’s portrait.
Of late Leila had shrewdly thought she had noticed signs of
absent-minded dreaming on Marjorie’s part which might or might not have
to do with Hal. Miss Susanna had decreed that Marjorie might tell the
original Travelers of the journal if she wished. Leila had listened to
Marjorie’s sad account of it and her wistful remarks afterward with her
head on one side. She had there and then made up her mind to try out an
experiment of her own upon Hal and Marjorie.
In due time Hal’s answer returned. Yes, he would be pleased to help her
with her play in any way he could. He would make it a point to keep out
of sight until after the performance. This Leila had also requested. He
had learned the Irish song and thought it very pretty. Leila was tempted
more than once to tell Jerry. She triumphantly fought off the desire and
cannily kept her own counsel.
Now wholly engaged in what promised to completely outdo “The Knight of
the Northern Sun,” Leila paid little attention to anything else. As she
worked steadily and patiently toward perfecting the various actors in
the difficult Celtic characters they were to represent she did not dream
that she had already been selected as an object for honor.
Leslie Cairns had determined that Leila should receive her gift, and her
father’s, of a theatre on the last day of chapel. Leslie had always
remembered and been impressed by the various honor citations which she
had witnessed when a student at Hamilton. She believed that Leila would
prefer to be honored in the company of her fellow students in chapel
than at the regular Commencement exercises. She argued that the gift she
wished to offer Leila was germane to the traditional side of the
college.
While Leila was carrying on a lively correspondence with Hal, Marjorie
was wondering now and then why she had not heard from him. With Hal so
much in her mind of late it was not strange that she should notice his
delay in writing. She had written him over a month ago. He had not
written to Jerry, either. Perhaps he had been away, or had been ill. No;
if he had been ill Jerry’s mother would have mentioned it to Jerry in a
letter. Marjorie realized, all of a sudden, that she had grown quite
concerned in the matter. She chided herself for being silly, and
dismissed Hal from her thoughts—until he happened to walk into them
again.
“Say, have you heard from old Hal lately?” Jerry asked her on the
evening of Leila’s play, as the two girls were dressing for the event.
“Because I’m going to wear my turquoise necklace I happened to think of
him. He gave it to me, you know.”
“I’ve wondered myself why he hasn’t answered my last letter.” Marjorie
stood before the long wall mirror surveying herself with a critical and
unenthusiastic eye. She was dressed in the shaded violet frock of
Chinese crepe which she had owned for five years and which was still a
la mode. She had worn it only on rare occasions. It was still fresh and
charming as on the night when she had worn it as a freshman to the
Beauty contest. Leila had begged her to wear it “in honor of your Celtic
friend and Irish playwright,” she had laughingly stipulated.
“He’s probably away on a business trip for the governor.” Jerry
delivered this opinion as she poked her arms into her white fur evening
coat. “Don’t forget your violets.” She patted the huge bunch of scented
purple beauties at her own corsage.
Marjorie turned from the mirror. She took her own bunch of violets from
the water, dried the stems and pinned them on. The faint exquisite
perfume of them all but brought tears to her eyes. She thought of
Angela, of Brooke Hamilton, of how they had loved violets. And then—back
went her mind to the winter day when Hal had stood before the portrait
of a girl who wore violets.
“I’m going for a long, long walk tomorrow,” she announced. “My head is
full of cobwebs. I shall let the fresh air sweep it clear. I hope there
will be a good old high wind blowing. I’ll love to walk out and fight
with it.”
“I’ll go with you. Bean. Never believe you can lose me.”
“I look upon you as a permanent fixture,” Marjorie graciously assured.
“Make the most of me tonight. I’m going to leave you tomorrow. I happen
to remember that I can’t be always with you.” Jerry trailed out the
remark in a melancholy tone. “I like the permanent fixture idea, but I
can’t be it. I have to go the round of the campus houses tomorrow and
see what I can gather up for the auction. There are times when I wish I
were not quite so necessary to Hamilton,” was Jerry’s regretfully modest
ending.
“You don’t know what you are talking about.” Marjorie gave a funny
little chuckle. “First you said I couldn’t lose you. Then you said just
the opposite.”
“I know it. I seem to be like that, don’t I?” Jerry beamed foolishly
upon her lovely chum.
Marjorie got into her own evening coat, a springtime affair of pale
tinted silk and lace, and the pair paraded downstairs arm in arm.
Jerry’s nonsense had served to restore Marjorie’s lighter spirits to
normal light-heartedness. During the short ride in the limousine to
Hamilton Concert Hall an energetic conversation occupied the attention
of all three. It concerned the library which was to be presented to the
dormitory girls when the dormitory should be completed.
Miss Susanna was determined that the students who were now the dormitory
seniors should be present the next fall when the dormitory would be
finished and opened. She had just announced her intention of defraying
the railway expenses of the graduate “dorms” wherever they might be.
All three were also happy over Guiseppe Baretti’s present to the
dormitory. He had long announced his intention of giving the “dorm a
nice present.” A few days previous he had sent for Robin and Marjorie
and solemnly informed them that he wished to take the expense of
furnishing the dorm with the best grill room that money could secure. “I
buy all for it; all,” he declared with an inclusive spread of the arms.
“Then I do this. What you want buy. You give me the list ev’ry week. I
buy for the dorm same I buy for me. This don’ cost me half’s much it
cost the dorm.” His offer was accepted with the same deep gratitude
which it seemed to Marjorie that the Travelers owed almost everyone.
The orchestra pit of the hall looked like a florist’s shop. As the trio
entered the fragrance of roses and violets was wafted to their nostrils.
“Um-m. All the actors are in line for a donation,” muttered Jerry. “I
hope our offerings to the bunch haven’t been side tracked.” The
Travelers had gathered up among themselves a goodly sum of money for the
purpose of honoring the members of the cast with flowers. Vera’s dainty
pen and ink were all gone before the Hamilton Arms detail reached there.
“Miss Mason said to tell you that she had saved some sketches for you,”
was the comforting assurance that met the party at the door. The message
was delivered by a sophomore who was doing usher duty.
Seats of honor well up front had been reserved for the mistress of the
Arms and her bodyguard. Seated in the brilliantly lighted room, the
perfume of flowers on the air, the pleasant, well-bred murmur of subdued
voices in her ears Marjorie thrilled to it all as she had always
vibrated to the social side of Hamilton College.
She loved to think of herself as a part of it, alive and moving along
with that busy, mind-profitable life. She was glad that she had such
clever, wonderful friends. Not one of her chums but that had specialized
in some particular talent or craft. She alone was the only one who had
no hold on the fine arts beyond being an appreciative worshipper of
those who were talented. Thus her thoughts ran until the rise of the
curtain on “Desmond O’Dowd.”
From then on she thought only of the play itself. Leila herself had
arranged the most of the setting for the first act. The opening scene
was laid in the old-fashioned hall of an Irish country house of early
eighteenth century. Desmond O’Dowd, the hero, whose free thinking and
free speech had placed him in disfavor with the Earl of Claflin, had
come to Claflin Eyrie, the earl’s home, in the hope of seeing Mona, the
earl’s niece. He wished to say goodbye to her before joining a
revolutionary political party which he believed to be the only one
working for the good of Ireland.
It was during this act that Leila and Vera were to dance the Irish
minuet of which the Hamilton girls were so fond. The play opened with a
number of young men and women of Mona’s acquaintance gathered for a
little evening party. The high-waisted, comparatively simple costumes of
the young women were dainty foils for the dark knee trousers, square cut
coats, silk stockings, fancy low shoes and lace falls of the young men.
Shoulder length hair, ribbon-tied, formed a part of the picturesque
dressing of the young Irish gentlemen of this period.
After a gay little dance in which the whole company joined, came the
entrance into the hall of Desmond. Leila played the part with true
Celtic intensity and understanding. Vera who took color from constant
association with Leila, was no less convincing in the role of dainty
Mona. Marjorie leaned forward in her seat breathlessly waiting for the
moment to come which would introduce the minuet. She had seen it danced
by the two a number of times and never tired of it. She was particularly
fond of the charming setting of words that went with a part of the tune.
The minuet had special music which Leila had brought from Ireland and
which was very old.
“Leila can’t sing the words this time,” Marjorie whispered to Jerry.
“She was grumbling to me about it not so very long ago. She can’t sing
like a man and she doesn’t care to sing them in her own voice.”
The pleading, persuasive voice of Desmond to Mona, saying: “Just one
dance, acushla. Tomorrow I’ll be far away across the lakes and with only
the thought of you and your love to keep my poor heart from breaking.”
Marjorie breathed a long sigh of anticipatory pleasure as the
preliminary strains of the minuet rose from the orchestra pit where
Phillys Moore was conducting her own capable ten piece orchestra. With
the usual number of deep, courtly bows the minuet began. Followed the
gradual advance down the center of the pair of dancers. The odd, dainty
stepping, dignified in its deliberateness. Each step in perfect accord
with each note of the music combined to make a poetry of motion
difficult to describe. Then—From somewhere off stage a voice suddenly
began to sing:
“Down the center little one,
Life for us has just begun:
Down the center, step together,
Only you and I are one forever.
Colin he is watching me,
His love you can never be,
Step together, part we never
Sweetheart wee.”
It was a high, sweet tenor voice, vigorous of tone yet giving the Irish
lilt the true lyric delicacy necessary to the rendering of any Irish
song. Marjorie listened to it, entranced, yet with the vague impression
that she had heard it somewhere before.
“Forward, forward,
Higher, sweeter, sounds the measure,
You for me, my small white treasure
You for me, for now and aye, love.”
The voice sang on, seeming to grow more and more impassioned. The tender
import of the love words brought a quick veil of tears to Marjorie’s
eyes. It was all so real. The two lovers, surrounded in the very
beginning with unsurmountable difficulties, their brave attempt to defy
life and fate. Ardent Desmond pleading for the constancy of his “small
white treasure.” Then that voice, ringing, a thread of defiant laughter
running through its music.
Marjorie came back to reality in time to hear an excited voice in her
ear growling softly: “Old Hal. Now can you beat that. It is Hal that’s
doing the singing. I know it. That’s some of Leila Harper’s work.
Oh-h-h. Wait until I grab both of them. I’m going behind the scenes the
minute the show’s over. I’d go at the end of the first act, but I might
make a nuisance of myself. If Hal Macy knows what is good for him he
will march himself out front like a kind and loving brother.”
Marjorie heard Jerry’s words in a kind of pleased daze. She was
conscious of one emotion above everything else. She would be very glad
to see Hal. She wished he would soon come to them. But Hal did not
appear. Wily Leila had enlisted his services in helping with a mob scene
at the end of the second act. She needed him again to direct another
third-act ensemble where the revolutionists gather about their chief,
Desmond O’Dowd, in the haunted house at the foot of the Cragsmore cliff.
Leila knew precisely what she was about in keeping Hal from Marjorie.
She was certain both Jerry and Marjorie must have recognized his singing
voice.
When the final curtain had descended after Leila and the cast had been
surfeited with flowers and curtain calls, and after Leila had made a
speech of few and embarrassed words, Hal had still not appeared.
“Let him go.” Jerry had grown out of patience. “I disown him. I never
had a brother. I’ll will old Hal to Leila Harper for a stage hand. She
has kept him back on the stage and made him work. She—” Jerry suddenly
subsided with an articulate murmur.
Marjorie looked blank. She had never before thought of Leila Harper in
conjunction with Hal. How had Hal happened to know the words to the old
Irish song? Leila must have sent them to him by letter. No, she must
have sent the music for the minuet. She thought that he had not been in
Hamilton more than a few hours. Still he might have been on the campus
all day and she had never—
There she stopped. Leila was her most devoted friend. She was glad that
Hal had at last shown a preference for some one beside herself. Marjorie
stopped the thought process again. She found she did not wish to think
about Hal and Leila as being interested in each other. She wondered next
if they had been corresponding long. Leila had never mentioned in her
presence that she had received a letter from Hal. Leila had—
“Marjorie.” The sound of the voice whose tender cadences had lately
thrilled her was now speaking her name, and in the same ardent tone.
“Oh, Hal.” Involuntarily both hands went out to meet the strong warm
ones which clasped her slender fingers close.
“You gave us a positive electric shock,” complained Jerry. “How long
have you been here? Give an account of yourself.”
“Not very long.” Hal relinquished Marjorie’s hands slowly, deliberately.
She stood looking at him with an expression of sweet welcome which came
to him vaguely as something he had not hitherto seen in her face.
He had already warmly greeted Miss Susanna. She was now engaged in
conversation with Professor Wenderblatt, who had come up to speak to
her.
“There’s Lillian Wenderblatt over by the orchestra pit talking to Phil.
I must see her about the auction. Back in a minute.” Jerry had not
noticed any difference in Marjorie’s demeanor toward Hal. She left the
two together on general principles.
“Were you surprised to hear my voice before you saw me?” Hal asked with
a smile. He was trying to tell himself that he must not show Marjorie
that he loved her. She did not like that.
“Yes; I didn’t recognize it for a minute. I only knew it was
familiar—and beautiful,” she added with her charming lighting up of
feature.
“Thank you. How are you, Marjorie, and the biography? You are the
portrait girl tonight, aren’t you?” Hal was struggling valiantly to be
impersonal. He wished instead to say to this lovely violet girl: “I love
you. I love you.” The grace of her beauty was in his heart. The perfume
from the violets at her waist was a breath of sweetness to his hungry
soul.
“Yes, I am wearing my violet dress. I am well. The biography is
progressing very slowly.” Marjorie felt an odd little chill at Hal’s
pleasant inquiries.
“I’m going to the Arms with you,” Hal announced. “Miss Susanna insists
that I shall stay there tonight. I must be on my way tomorrow. I’m
planning a trip to Alaska. Expect to be gone all summer. I’ll go over to
the campus tomorrow before I leave and call on Leila. She certainly is a
grand old comrade.”
“I love Leila Greatheart, Hal,” Marjorie said loyally. “I’m so glad you
came here to help her with her play.”
“Aren’t you just a little bit glad to see me for myself, Marjorie?” Hal
could not resist putting this one question.
“You know I am.” Marjorie attempted to look into his face with her
old-time frank smile. She smiled, but the smile was one of shyness. Her
brown eyes rested on Hal only an instant. The rose deepened in her
cheeks. Hal looked at her, and wondered.
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