It was seven o'clock and they were all dressed and waiting for the
surprise. For some reason they had had an idea it might come walking on
two legs up the street or else riding in a hansom cab, and the four
young girls had stepped onto the balcony outside their window. An
occasional passer-by in that quiet quarter looked up with admiration at
those four bright, eager faces watching each newcomer below. Their
dainty muslin frocks gleamed softly white against the pink brick walls
of the old house. Miss Campbell in a beautiful blue marquisette stood
just inside the window with a mysterious little smile on her face.
The young girls did not hear the light tap on the door nor notice that
she had turned to open it.
"Come in," she whispered. "I haven't told them yet, although it was
really very hard to resist their pleadings."
A woman tiptoed into the room. She was tall and dark and very beautiful,
so beautiful that Miss Campbell blinked her eyes for a moment as if she
had been looking at the sun. The visitor's arms were filled with
flowers.
"I have brought you each a bouquet," she whispered. "I remembered, Miss
Campbell, that you always loved forget-me-nots, and they will just match
your dress to-night. Will you wear these for me?"
Miss Campbell's exclamation of pleasure drew the attention of the
watchers on the balcony to the visitor. They peeped shyly in through the
window. Here was the surprise at last! A vision in a beautiful white
dress, her arms filled with violets and roses! But who was she?
"Have you really forgotten me?" she cried, putting the flowers on the
table and stretching out her hands.
They waited for one brief, embarrassed moment. Then Nancy cried
joyfully, "Mrs. Cortinas!"
"Not 'Mrs.'--'Maria,'" corrected the beautiful young woman. "Maria
Ruggles Cortinas. Now, do you know?"
It was indeed Maria Cortinas, whose box of jewels Billie and Nancy had
once so faithfully guarded.
Those of you who have read the first of these stories, entitled "The
Motor Maids' School Days," will recall the adventures that befell the
four young girls after they came into possession of that mysterious
package. You will remember, too, Maria's mother, the wonderful old
Spanish woman, Mrs. Ruggles, who kept the sailors' inn on the shore.
Maria was not only gifted with beauty. She possessed a splendid voice
and was now an opera singer of much renown in Europe. But not Billie
herself could have been more modest than was this fortunate young woman.
"Maria Cortinas!" they cried, enchanted with her graciousness and
beauty.
"May I not kiss you all around?" she said, proceeding to do so and
leaving a bouquet in the hand of each young girl as she embraced her
warmly.
"How good it is to see you again," she said, "and how sweet to hear the
voices of my own home people. Oh, but I am lonesome for West Haven
sometimes, and for my old home. I never seem to remember that South
America ever existed."
"And your mother?" asked Billie.
"Dear mother can hardly wait to see you," she answered. "I am homesick
sometimes, but she is homesick always. Sometimes I try to make her go
back and open her inn again and cook. You know she always loved to
cook."
It seemed very fine to the girls and Miss Campbell, too, that Maria
Cortinas was not ashamed that her mother had cooked many a big dinner
for West Haven picnic parties which drove down to the inn. Would they
ever forget that wonderful dinner they had eaten at the old inn during
the famous Hallowe'en house party at the St. Clairs'?
"But where is your mother?" asked Nancy.
"She has been laid up with rheumatism for weeks. The London climate
doesn't seem to agree with her, but she will stay here while I am
singing."
"Are you singing in London?" they cried.
"In grand opera at Covent Garden," put in Miss Campbell solemnly.
"A grand opera singer?"
Maria Ruggles Cortinas actually blushed like a schoolgirl before their
wondering faces.
"I hope you will forgive me," she laughed.
Elinor took her hand and looked reverently into her face.
"I have always wanted to know a grand opera singer," she said. "I always
thought it would be like knowing a goddess. They seem so far above
everything, so big----"
"They are certainly big, dear," laughed Maria, kissing her.
"And are we to hear you sing to-night?" asked Mary.
"No, not to-night. Some of the others. I never sing two nights in
succession. That is why I could not join in the search for you last
night. I was singing, and I knew nothing about what had happened until I
got home and mother told me."
"Do you live here, too?" asked Billie.
"Yes. Mother loves this old house and I do, too. It's so much more
private and quiet than a hotel. We have been coming here for years."
"And it was you who was singing this morning?" demanded Nancy.
"Very likely. I am always singing."
So it turned out that Maria Ruggles Cortinas, who had sung "Aida" before
a brilliant audience the night before, was the near neighbor of the
Motor Maids, and was entertaining them at dinner that very evening.
"Shall we sit down and wait here until the motor comes?" suggested
Maria. "It's not quite time yet. I told them to call at half past seven.
People dine very late here."
The girls drew their chairs in a circle about the singer and watched her
as if she were a curiosity. Certainly she was not their idea of what an
actress was like. She was tall and quite slender through the hips, but
with a singer's chest splendidly developed and a throat full and white
like a column. Her black hair was arranged as plainly as possible in a
low roll on the back of her neck. Her eyes were large and dark, her nose
straight and well shaped; her mouth rather large, with a generous curve
to the lips; her chin full and rounded. But it was not only her features
that made Maria beautiful. There was something else, a certain
graciousness and charm of manner, a lovely smile which radiated her
face,--these things alone would have made almost any one beautiful. So
Billie was thinking, when the motor car was announced.
Presently they found themselves rolling through the streets of London in
a big touring car, in the late twilight which lingers in England long
after the sun has set. They became part of a stream of carriages and
motor cars filled with people in evening clothes. The whole world of
London seemed to have dressed itself up for dinner. At last they drew up
in front of a great hotel. A lackey opened the door of the car and they
followed Maria into a splendid restaurant where all the women were
dressed in decollete gowns and the men in evening clothes.
It was a brilliant scene to the young girls, the flowers and music and
the soft-footed waiters gliding about. Miss Campbell and Maria exchanged
smiling glances over their serious faces. An obsequious head waiter, who
evidently knew Maria well, bowed them to a table as if they had been six
royal princesses. Not one of our Motor Maids was free from a slight
feeling of stage fright. But in a few moments they were eating their
soup and talking as gayly and naturally as they ever had around Mrs.
Ruggles' own table in the Sailor's Inn near West Haven.
"Are there any Lords and Ladies here, Maria?" asked Nancy.
"Lots of them," said the singer, smiling. "The room is full of them. And
there's a Russian Prince over at that table," she added, indicating a
slender young man with a high pompadour and such brilliant black eyes
that they gleamed like coals of fire as he glanced about.
All the party, even Miss Helen Campbell, craned their necks to see the
Russian prince.
"Girls," exclaimed Mary suddenly, startling them by her unusual
vehemence, "look, girls, the man with the Prince! Would you ever have
known him in the world in those clothes?"
Sitting at the table with the Russian was a man strangely familiar and
yet unfamiliar to Miss Campbell and the Motor Maids. He was very old,
quite small and dressed in the most correct evening clothes. He had a
large shaggy head set on rather a small, delicate body.
"Mr. Kalisch!" they exclaimed, loud enough for Telemac himself to hear
them across the room. He turned his head in their direction, recognized
them instantly and hurried over to their table.
"It is good to see you again," he exclaimed cordially, shaking hands
with each one, and giving Maria a low foreign bow. "I have been lonely
for my young friends since I reached London. But I am always sorry when
a journey is over. It's like reaching the end of a good book."
"Our journey has just commenced to be over," began Billie. "You didn't
know that we were lost, Nancy and I, and spent the night at Miss Felicia
Rivers' in the slums?"
Telemac's face suddenly turned perfectly crimson. Then the color faded
as quickly as it had come. It was only for the mere fraction of an
instant, but to Billie he appeared like a man who had received a shock,
when he said slowly:
"You spent the night where?"
"At Miss Felicia Rivers' lodging house," repeated Billie.
Then, with Nancy's assistance, she related the history of their
adventures.
"And you got safely away?" said Telemac.
"Yes," they answered, mindful of their promise to Marie-Jeanne.
"What an experience for two young girls just arrived in London!" he
exclaimed. "And you saw nothing, heard nothing while you were there?"
"Yes, we saw and heard things, too," replied Nancy, "but nothing of
importance."
"What time was it when you escaped?" he asked.
"Oh, somewhere between four and five o'clock."
"Did you ever hear of Miss Rivers' Lodging House, Mr. Kalisch?" asked
Billie.
"How can I tell?" he answered. "London is full of such black holes as
that."
But Billie in her heart had a conviction that Telemac knew Miss Felicia
Rivers' lodging house very well. She couldn't explain why the thought
had come to her or what difference it made if the strange man was
acquainted with the wretched place; but she felt that he did not wish to
appear to know it.
"How did you finally find your way back?" he asked.
"Marie----" began Nancy, and then stopped. If Marie-Jeanne had only not
bound them over to secrecy! It was so difficult to tell the story and
leave out the most interesting half.
"Another lodger, a girl, helped us," said Billie.
Telemac left them, promising to call at Westminster Chambers in a few
days, and presently they finished dinner and with many other diners
rolled away in motor cars to the opera.
"I feel like a real society belle," said Nancy, bridling with pride.
"I feel like a princess," observed Elinor.
"Of course you do, Lady Clara Vere de Vere," put in Billie.
"After we get into our box," began Maria, "perhaps,--in the first
intermission, you may,--I'm not at all certain, mind you, but you may
meet a real live lord. How would you like that?"
"A lord!" they repeated.
"Yes, he is a friend of mine and he often comes into my box on nights
when I go to the opera to hear other people sing."
"Is he handsome?" demanded Nancy.
"Very, I think."
"Does he own a palace?" asked Mary.
"No, not a palace," answered Maria smiling. "He's counted poor as the
world goes here, I believe. But he has an old place in Ireland somewhere
he's very proud of. However, his title and his ruined castle are only a
small part of him. He is really a very fine man. He has asked me to
visit his place in Ireland, and I do hope he will come to the box
to-night, because I have concocted a wonderful scheme; and if it turns
out as I wish, it will concern all of you. But here we are at the
theater."
The four girls were not very intimate with grand opera. On one memorable
occasion a company of great singers had given one performance in West
Haven. "Lohengrin" was the opera, and as luck would have it, "Lohengrin"
was the opera to-night. Many people smiled up at their eager faces
looking down from the box, half awed, half bewildered at the brilliant
audience. Miss Campbell and Maria sat in the back talking together.
It was very much like a dream:--tier after tier of private boxes were
filled with parties of men and women, all very handsome and very
beautifully dressed; the air hummed with conversation, like a bee-hive;
from the pit, which seemed a great distance away, an occasional laugh
floated up through the haze of talk; and through all sounded the noise
of many instruments "tuning up."
Suddenly a slender, nervous-looking man emerged from somewhere
underneath the stage and walked over to the leader's stand in front of
the orchestra. Immediately the entire audience burst into applause. The
leader bowed, seized his baton, the lights went down, a hush fell over
the place, and the overture began.
"The leader's baton has a light in it like a fairy's wand," exclaimed
Mary, forgetting where she was.
Maria smiled and touched the young girl's cheek lightly with one finger.
"Lots of people think it is a fairy's wand," she whispered.
How the music throbbed and thrilled! It went up and up in a great
crescendo. Elinor shivered and closed her eyes. When she opened them
again the curtain was slowly rising. As the opera proceeded she was lost
to the audience, lost to her friends, to everything except the story of
Elsa of Brabant.
Nancy listened to the music, but her eyes were busy, also, looking at
the beautiful dresses of the ladies in the boxes adjoining.
"Last night," Billie was thinking, "we were two beggar girls dressed in
rags, and to-night we are sitting in a box at the grand opera. I can
hardly believe I am not dreaming."
As for little Mary, she had but one thought. With all her heart and soul
she was waiting for Lohengrin, the Silver Knight, who would presently
appear in his swan boat, far down the winding stream. At last the
curtain went down. There was a movement, a stir, a burst of conversation
and laughter, and she heard Maria saying:
"Lord Glenarm, let me introduce you to my young friends from home."
The four girls turned around quickly. It almost seemed to them that
Lohengrin himself must have made a rapid change from his silver armor to
evening clothes and walked into their box. But on second glance, they
saw that Lord Glenarm was older than the stage Lohengrin and much finer
looking, too. His brown hair was slightly gray at the temples; his gray
eyes had blue lights in them; he had rather a beaked nose and a fine,
square chin. He was very tall, and his shoulders stooped a little. The
girls could not tell why he reminded them at first of the tall blonde
young Lohengrin. Perhaps it was a certain seriousness in his face and
strength of purpose.
"It is a great pleasure always to meet young ladies from America," said
Lord Glenarm, shaking hands with each of the Motor Maids, as Maria spoke
their names. He had been presented to Miss Campbell, of course, first of
all.
"You will be especially interested in these girls, Lord Glenarm," Maria
continued, "because they are such enthusiastic motorists. This
remarkable child," she went on, indicating Billie, "runs her own car,
and last summer they motored across the American continent from Chicago
to the Pacific Coast. What do you think of that?"
"Is it possible!" exclaimed Lord Glenarm. "Across the prairies and the
Rocky Mountains and the great desert? You see, I know your country very
well. How did you do it?"
Billie blushed. She had never spoken to a real lord in her life before,
but this one seemed quite natural and like other people,--only handsomer
and more gracious even than most other people.
"Oh, we had lots of accidents," she said, "but we never thought of
turning back but once."
"And why was that?" asked Lord Glenarm with much interest.
"It was because Cousin Helen got so awfully hungry in Iowa."
The Englishman threw back his head and laughed as if he enjoyed it
immensely. The others laughed, too, and the ice was broken.
"I should never have imagined this fragile, dainty little lady had an
appetite," he exclaimed, turning to Miss Campbell.
"And why not, pray?" demanded Miss Campbell. "I can't exist on canned
tomatoes and soggy bread any more than any one else."
"We will see that you fare better in England, Miss Campbell," he said.
"You shall have squab and strawberries and Devonshire cream. Isn't that
what ladies like?"
"They like good beefsteak when they are hungry," said Miss Campbell.
"And riding in the open air all day is calculated to give one a pretty
fair appetite."
"The girls have brought their famous car with them, Lord Glenarm," put
in Maria.
"Oh, ho!" he exclaimed, "so you're going to tour the British Isles.
That's a mere bagatelle to such seasoned motorists as you, I suppose.
But when you come to Ireland, perhaps you'll stop and visit me. I have a
nice old place there."
"Is it a castle?" demanded Mary, who yearned infinitely to see a real
palace and a real castle.
"Yes, a jolly old castle."
"And we're to stay there?" cried Nancy in an ecstatic tone.
"If you will," answered Lord Glenarm.
"We shall be delighted," answered Miss Campbell.
"And Madame will come, too," he continued, turning to Maria.
"It depends on when they go," she answered. "I shall not be through here
for several weeks."
"We are just Gypsies," put in Miss Campbell. "We can make the visit
whenever it's convenient to you, Maria."
It was settled, then, that they were to visit Lord Glenarm, the time to
be agreed on later.
"I have cousins in Ireland," said Elinor proudly, just as the lights
went down. The young girl had always been just a little boastful of
those Irish cousins of hers. A glamor of mystery hung about them and she
had pictured them in her mind as being wonderful people. She had endowed
them with talents, put them in fine old homes and surrounded them with a
golden haze of romance.
Then the curtain went up, and presently the great second act of the
opera had begun, in which Elsa becomes the bride of Lohengrin.