ANOTHER PARTING
To Martine the return to Boston after Christmas was far from cheerful.
Not only was she still under the shadow of the parting with her father,
but she began to feel that the approaching departure of Brenda would be
rather hard to bear.
While her mother was spending a day or two with friends outside the
city, Martine had to stand by and watch Brenda bidding good-bye to her
family and friends. Her trunks were packed. The walls and mantelpieces
were denuded of many little pictures and ornaments; for at the last she
had decided that it was wiser to take some of her more personal
belongings with her to make her new abode more homelike.
"I haven't taken a thing that you or your mother would need," Brenda
explained; "only the little presents that have special associations for
us. Your mother wrote me that she had a box or two of her own ornaments
and pictures coming, so that she, too, could be reminded of home."
"Well, I wish our boxes were here now. It makes me so homesick to see
those empty places on the wall. I don't see how you can be so cheerful."
"But everyone has been so kind. I didn't know how much everyone cared
for me. So much has been done for me the past two weeks that I have
hardly had time to pack. Arthur went back to Washington in despair
yesterday. He is to join mother and me in New York. He said if we should
try to start from Boston we'd never get off. Some one would plan some
special function just to detain us."
"I wish that we _could_ detain you."
"You couldn't do it now," rejoined the optimistic Brenda. "After all,
when a thing is finally settled, I believe that I really love change. I
shall miss Lettice and my other little niece--she's a dear if she is
only a baby--but you know I have a niece and namesake in California, and
my mother and father say they will come out in March--so there will be a
very short separation."
"And what about me?" asked Martine, in much the same tone she had used
when Brenda first spoke of going away.
"Oh, you? Why you are better off than you have been for years, with your
mother to take care of you--and Lucian so near--"
"And no guardian," wailed Martine, in mock sorrow. "Don't flatter
yourself that you can get rid of me so easily."
"I shall write you and think of you. You will still be my ward, no
matter where I am. There, there," as Martine leaned over her to touch
her lips gently to her forehead. "Don't act as if we were parting
forever. Maggie's red eyes are a constant reproach to me. So please wait
until I am out of sight before you bid me good-bye."
In spite of her optimism Brenda was far from happy in leaving Boston,
her friends, and her pretty apartment, even for a limited time.
Sometimes she thought that the various functions in her honor made her
going all the harder.
Nora Gostar, who had taken Julia's place at the head of the Mansion
School, gave a tea to which were invited all the former pupils. Not all,
naturally, were able to attend, for some of the girls were in situations
from which they could not be spared.
"I wish we had a picture such as they give with patent medicines
'before' and 'after' taking," said Brenda. "I can assure you it would be
worth framing and taking to California. Do you remember what an untidy
little creature Luisa was when she first entered the Mansion School, and
how thin and forlorn Gretchen looked, and Maggie, who always lost her
head when she had an order given her, and Haleema--why isn't she here
to-day?"
"Oh, Haleema--haven't you heard? She has gone to Lowell to live. Her
husband is a prosperous rug-merchant and he is very proud of her ability
as a housekeeper. He has promised to contribute something toward sending
her younger sister here for a couple of years."
"I knew she had married," replied Brenda, "but I had not heard of her
removal to Lowell. It's delightful to know how well most of these girls
have turned out. Even Mrs. Blair admits that the Mansion School is a
useful institution."
"Yes," said Nora, laughing. "She gave us a handsome donation this year.
We accepted it gratefully as conscience money for her not letting Edith
work with us."
"Nora!" cried Brenda, impulsively. "You are a wonder! Of all our four,
you are the one best fitted to shine in society. But here you go on with
this work as meekly as if there were nothing else for you to do."
"There was no one else to take Julia's place this year," replied Nora,
quietly, "and it would have been a great pity either to let the school
run down or to allow Julia to give up her year in Europe. What fun she
will have when she goes with the Eltons to Greece, and I am sure that
when she comes back next year we shall all be the better for her trip.
She will have so much to tell us."
"Nora, you are a brick!" cried Brenda. "You never have been abroad
yourself, yet you never utter a word of envy for anyone else's good
time."
"Besides," continued Nora, "you are wrong about my shining in society. I
doubt if I should really care for it, even if I had the money to keep up
that kind of thing. You wouldn't wish me to be like Belle, reported in
all those silly newspapers as visiting Mrs. This at Lenox, and being the
admired of all who saw her with Mrs. That at Newport, and sitting in the
front row, as at the Horse Show, in a gown that was perfectly _chic_.
Oh, no, I hate that kind of thing, and I sympathize with Edith for
refusing to be a mere society girl, such as her mother would like her to
be. But we shouldn't be here by ourselves, for you are the special
guest, and all the girls, old and new, wish to shake hands with you and
hear you talk."
In a moment Brenda was again the centre of an admiring group, for all of
whom she had a bright smile and a word that really meant something,
while they all took note of her dress and little trinkets, and felt
doubly pleased that a person of such elegance should show an interest in
them.
So exact were the observations of her young admirers that before she had
actually left Boston a hat, a blouse, and a skirt were in process of
construction by the deft fingers of three of the girls who had taken
special note of the details of her attire at this Mansion tea.
Martine laughed heartily at Brenda's account of the girls at the
Mansion.
"I have promised Miss Gostar to go there once a week to give a lesson in
water color. It might seem a case of the blind trying to teach the blind
if I were to pretend to teach them much. But the aim is, I believe,
simply to give them an idea of colors. I wrote to Mrs. Redmond for
advice while I was away, and it pleased me immensely to have her say I
should probably do more good than harm by this little experiment."
"Of course you will do good. I have an idea that you could make things
very clear. In the weeks I lived at the Mansion I learned more than I
taught, for I am not a born teacher. But it was wonderful to see what
Julia and Miss South accomplished for their first class of girls. I
enjoyed my afternoon with the old girls far more than the farewell
reception mamma arranged for me, and infinitely more than that stiff
dinner at Mrs. Blair's last week."
"If people kill the fatted goose--or was it the fatted calf?--after you
reach San Francisco at the same rate they've been doing here, you'll
have indigestion."
"No danger, my dear. We shall just be nobody there. Mamma has explained
that I must not expect too much. Here everyone knows who I am--I mean
everyone I come in contact with. But it will be altogether different in
the West. We shall just be part of the great crowd of Easterners who
have left home to better their condition."
"Nonsense!"
"But that _is_ why we are going West,--because Arthur will get a larger
salary and have more rapid promotion. We are willing to give up the
things we like best, for a while, and live economically. Oh, dear." And
with her usual inconsistency Brenda did not try to straighten out the
quaver in her voice as she concluded with a futile smile.
"How I wish we could stay here!"
"Oh, how I wish you could!" moaned Maggie, appearing suddenly on the
scene, and the tear-stained face of the latter so amused Brenda that her
own melancholy ended in a burst of laughter.
When Brenda at last was really away, Martine and her mother began to
adapt themselves to the new conditions. The cook, of whom Brenda had
stood more or less in awe, gave warning promptly when she heard that
there was to be a change of mistresses. Maggie, after much tearful and
prayerful consideration, as Brenda put it, also decided not to stay with
Mrs. Stratford. Only her devotion to Brenda had led her to take this
place, as she really desired work that would occupy her simply during
the day. Her aunt, she said, was weak and lonely, and she wished to be
at home with her evenings.
Angelina, learning Maggie's intention, promptly presented herself as a
candidate for the vacant place. Mrs. Stratford hesitated, for Martine
had given her an exceedingly humorous account of the Portuguese girl's
peculiarities,--an account that did not tend to recommend her as a
reliable domestic.
"Of course, mother, she isn't a cut-and-dried housemaid," plead Martine;
"but she _is_ so amusing, and if we take her I am sure she will stay,
for she says she is perfectly devoted to me. I dare say she won't half
do the work, for she always has several irons in the fire. But I shall
not mind doing my own room, if we have Angelina, and in fact I'll have
to do it probably, as she is absent-minded and often forgets to do what
she should. But she loves waiting on table, and it's a great thing to
have a cheerful person in the house. _Do_ say you'll take her, mamma."
"There seems little chance of escape for me. From what Angelina herself
says, I should judge that you and she had already settled matters. I do
not wish to play the part of a tyrannical parent and so, to please you,
just to please you, Martine, I will engage Angelina."
"Thank you, mamma! You _are_ an angel. I always knew you were."
"I hope that Angelina is an angel in something besides her name, and I
wish that her name were less dressy. Would she care if I should call her
plain Mary?"
"Oh, mamma, not 'plain,' at any rate. I thought you understood that
Angelina _is_ rather dressy in her feelings. She takes the greatest
delight in her name. Please don't think of calling her anything else."
So Angelina remained plain Angelina, and on account of her previous
experience with Brenda, proved very useful to Mrs. Stratford. For a week
or two a succession of cooks passed in and out of the little kitchen,
until Martine's mother despaired of ever having the apartment in running
order.
In this emergency Angelina was only too proud to show what she could do.
She would not admit that she had ever learned anything from anybody.
"I'm a natural born cook," she would say; "and if I didn't consider it a
menial position, I would become a professional. It's on account of my
Spanish blood, I suppose, that I'm able to season things so well. You
know in Spain they like things hot and spicy."
"Spanish blood?" questioned Mrs. Stratford, as Angelina turned away.
"Aren't the Rosas Portuguese?"
"Yes, mamma, or they were until our war with Spain. Brenda explained it
all to me. During the war Angelina thought it would make her more
interesting if she called herself Spanish, and now she probably has
persuaded herself that she really _is_ Spanish. This amuses her and
doesn't hurt anyone else."
"But I don't like the idea of her being untruthful. This quality may
extend to other things."
"I hope not, mamma. But then we can watch her."
Lucian, when he heard of Angelina's Spanish proclivities, laughed
heartily.
"She _is_ worth watching," he said. "Each of us must keep an eye on
her."