THE APOLOGY.
"Well, Flo, I've hit it!" exclaimed Marion to Florence, as they were
sitting together in their room Thursday afternoon.
"What do you mean?--hit what?"
"Why, I mean I've hit upon a plan; no, not exactly a plan;--I have
decided what my apology shall be."
"Oh!" said Florence, "do you know just what you are going to say?"
"No, not precisely; that is, I have not yet settled upon any exact form
of words, but I have got my ideas together, and I really think it will
be something quite out of the common line."
Florence looked up inquisitively, for Marion's face or voice by no means
expressed the repugnance which she had heretofore shown whenever she had
spoken of the coming apology. In fact she looked rather triumphant, and
a little, amused smile played about the corners of her mouth, as she
bent over her work.
"Now, Mab," exclaimed Florence, "I know you are up to something! Do tell
me what it is that evidently amuses you so much?"
"Oh, nothing particular," replied Marion; but in a tone which said
plainly enough that there was something very particular indeed.
"Now, Mab, you needn't tell me!"
"That is exactly what I don't mean to do," provokingly replied Marion.
"Oh, don't be disagreeable! You know I am positively dying with
curiosity; so out with it!" and Florence tossed her own work on to the
bed, and, catching hold of Marion's canvas, threw it behind her, as she
established herself on her friend's lap.
"Well, I'm sorry, my dear; but if your life depends on my telling you
anything particular to-day, I am afraid you will come to an early
grave."
Florence laid her hands on Marion's shoulders, and looked steadily into
her eyes. Marion met the look with a confident, amused smile, and
exclaimed, "Well, Flo, you look as sober as a judge. I really believe
you think I meditate murder; but I assure you Miss Stiefbach's life is
in no danger from my hands."
"I'll tell you just what I do think, Marion. I believe you are going to
refuse to apologize, and if you do, you will be worse off than you've
been yet;" and Florence really looked as serious as if she were trying a
case in court.
"No, Flo, you needn't trouble yourself on that score. I mean to
apologize before the whole school, and M. Béranger to boot,--just as old
Stiffy ordered."
"Well, I am glad of it! Not glad that it _must_ be done, you know; but I
was afraid you would try to get rid of it in some way; and I know that
would make matters worse."
"No, I don't mean to get rid of it; I shall do it in the most approved
style. Come, get up, miss; you're awfully heavy!"
Florence jumped up, considerably relieved, but still a little suspicious
of her friend's intentions. At that moment Julia Thayer came into the
room.
"O girls! you here?" she exclaimed. "I've been hunting for you
everywhere."
"Well, I don't think you hunted much; we've been here ever since lessons
were done," replied Marion.
"Take a seat, Miss Thayer, and make yourself at home," said Florence.
"Thank you, I was only waiting to be asked. Now, Marion, do tell me;
have you decided what you are going to say to-morrow?"
"It is no use asking her; you can't get anything out of her. I've just
tried my best."
"What! don't you mean to tell us, beforehand?"
"No."
"Not a word? not a syllable? Well, I do declare! I tell you what it is,
Flo, she means to astonish us all by some wonderful production."
"I suppose most of the girls _will_ be astonished, for I don't believe
they know there is to be any apology at all."
"No, I don't think they suspect it," said Julia. "So much for knowing
how to hold one's tongue."
"Well, Julia, I guess this is the first time you could be accused of
that," laughingly replied Flo.
"That is a libel! Who held their tongue about Aunt Bettie's doughnuts, I
should like to know?"
"Another rare instance," mischievously put in Marion; "put it down,
Julia, you'll never have another chance."
"But, girls, what do you mean?" cried Julia, in a deprecating tone. "Do
you think I run and tell everything I know?"
"No, dear, not a bit of it," replied Flo; "you are not quite so reserved
as Marion, but I never heard any one accuse you of telling what you
ought to keep to yourself, or, as the boys say, of 'peaching.'"
"There, Julia, don't look so forlorn, for mercy's sake!" exclaimed
Marion. "You are so delightfully easy to tease; but I confess it was a
very poor reward for your silence of the past two days, which (she
added with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes) I know must have almost
killed you."
Julia and Florence both laughed outright at this rather equivocal
consolation, and at that moment the supper-bell rang.
Friday morning every girl was in her seat precisely as the clock struck
nine; for it was French day, and consequently only the second appearance
of M. Béranger, and the novelty of having him there at all had by no
means worn off.
He entered the room, shortly after, and, having politely wished Miss
Stiefbach and her sister good-morning, was about to pass into the
anteroom, when Miss Stiefbach detained him.
"Excuse me, M. Béranger, but I must trouble you to remain here a few
moments."
M. Béranger bowed with his usual grace, and Miss Stiefbach continued:--
"I regret to say (she did not look as if she regretted it at all) that a
circumstance of a most painful nature has lately taken place in this
school. One of my young ladies has done that which makes me deem it
necessary to exact a public apology from her. As you were indirectly
concerned in the matter, I think it proper that the apology should be
made before you. Miss--"
"But, madame," hastily interrupted the astonished Frenchman, "I cannot
imagine; there must be a meestake--I am a perfect stranger; if you will
have the goodness to excuse me, I shall be one tousand times obliged;"
and the poor man looked as if he himself was the culprit.
"It is impossible, monsieur," decidedly replied Miss Stiefbach; "one
particular clause of her punishment was, that it should be made in your
presence. Miss Berkley, you will please come forward."
During the above conversation a most profound silence had reigned
throughout the room; the girls, with the exception of the initiated
three, had looked from one to another, and then at the group on the
platform, with faces expressive of the most intense astonishment,
proving how wholly unsuspicious they had been; but as Marion's name was
pronounced a light broke in upon every one, and all eyes were turned
upon her as she left her seat.
Miss Stiefbach stood with her hands folded over each other in her usual
stately attitude. M. Béranger looked infinitely annoyed and distressed,
and twirled his watch-chain in a very nervous manner. Miss Christine had
retired to the extreme end of the platform, and was trying to appear
interested in a book; but her face had a sad, pained look, which showed
how fully her sympathies were with her pupil.
Florence Stevenson buried her face in her hands; she could not bear to
witness her friend's disgrace. Marion advanced quietly up between the
rows of desks, and as she stepped upon the platform turned so as to face
the school.
She never looked lovelier in her life; a bright color burned in her
cheeks, and her eyes, always wonderfully beautiful, glowed with a
strange light; but the expression of her face would have baffled the
most scrutinizing observer. Calm, quiet, perfectly self-possessed, but
without a particle of self-assurance, she stood, the centre of general
observation.
Presently she spoke in a full, clear voice: "Miss Stiefbach, as M.
Béranger evidently does not know how he is concerned in this matter,
perhaps I had better explain the circumstances to him."
Miss Stiefbach bowed her consent, and Marion, turning towards the
bewildered Frenchman, thus addressed him:--
"M. Béranger, last Wednesday morning, as I, with two of my companions,
was in my room, which is in the front of the house, my attention was
attracted towards a gentleman who was coming down the street, and I
immediately called my two friends to the window that they might get a
good view of him. Our interest was of course doubly increased when we
saw the gentleman enter this garden. His whole appearance was so
decidedly elegant (here M. Béranger, who began to see that he was the
subject of her remarks, colored up to the roots of his hair) that we
could not help giving our opinions of him, and _I_ applied to him the
word 'swell,' which in itself I acknowledge to be very inelegant; but my
only excuse for using it is, that in this case it was so very
expressive."
M. Béranger, despite his embarassment, could hardly conceal a smile,
while a suppressed murmur of amusement ran round the room. Miss
Stiefbach looked hard at Marion, but her face was composed, and her
manner quietly polite; she was apparently perfectly unconscious of
having said anything to cause this diversion.
"While we were talking of him, Miss Stiefbach entered the room, and must
have, unintentionally of course, overheard our comments, for the first
intimation we had of her presence was this remark, which she made
standing directly behind us: 'Young ladies, allow me to see; perhaps I
can inform you.' And now occurred the remark which it was so exceedingly
improper in me to make, and which justly gave so much offence to Miss
Stiefbach." (Here Marion turned towards her teacher, who, as if to
encourage her to proceed, bowed quite graciously.) "I was standing on
the seat in the window, and consequently had the best view of the
gentleman. In the excitement of the moment, regardless of the difference
in our ages, and only remembering that we were impelled by one common
object, I asked her to _jump_ on to the seat beside me. Miss Stiefbach,
for that rudeness I most sincerely ask your pardon. It was wrong, very
wrong of me; I should have stepped aside, thus giving you an excellent
opportunity of gratifying your desire to look at what is rarely seen
here,--a handsome man."
The perfect absurdity of Miss Stiefbach's jumping up in a window with a
party of wild school-girls, for the sake of looking at a handsome man,
or indeed for her to look at a man at any time with any degree of
interest, could only be appreciated by those who were daily witnesses of
her prim, stately ways. It certainly was too much for the gravity of the
inhabitants of that school-room.
[Illustration: MARION APOLOGIZES.]
M. Béranger bit his lip fiercely under his mustache; Miss Christine
became suddenly very much interested in something out in the back yard;
and the school-girls were obliged to resort to open books and
desk-covers to conceal their amusement.
Marion alone remained cool and collected, looking at Miss Stiefbach as
if to ask if she had said enough.
Miss Stiefbach's face was scarlet, and she shut her teeth tightly
together, striving for her usual composure. The sudden turn of Marion's
apology, which placed her in such a ridiculous light, had completely
disconcerted her, and she knew not what to do or say.
If Marion's eyes had twinkled with mischief; if there had been the
slightest tinge of sarcasm in her tone, or of triumph in her manner,
Miss Stiefbach would have thought she intended a fresh insult; but
throughout the whole her bearing had been unusually quiet, ladylike, and
polite. There was no tangible point for her teacher to fasten on, and,
commanding herself sufficiently to speak, Miss Stiefbach merely said,
"It is enough; you may go to your seat."
Even then, if Marion's self-possession had given way, she would have
been called back and severely reprimanded. But it did not; she passed
all her school-mates, whose faces were turned towards her brimming with
laughter and a keen appreciation of the affair, with a sort of
preoccupied air, and, taking her books from her desk, followed M.
Béranger into the anteroom.
At recess the girls with one impulse flocked round her, exclaiming, "Oh!
it was too good; just the richest scene I ever saw."
"What do you mean?" coolly replied Marion.
"Why!" exclaimed Sarah Brown, an unencouraged admirer of Marion's, "the
way you turned the tables on Miss Stiefbach."
"Indeed, Sarah, you are very much mistaken; I simply apologized to her
for a great piece of rudeness."
And Marion turned away and ran upstairs to her own room, where Florence
and Julia were already giving vent to their long pent-up feelings in
only half-suppressed bursts of laughter.
As Marion made her appearance it was the signal for another shout; but
she only replied by a quiet smile, which caused Julia to ejaculate in
her most earnest manner, "I declare, Marion, you don't look a bit
elated! If I had done such a bright thing as you have, I should be
beaming with satisfaction."
"Well, Julia, I don't think I _have_ done anything so very smart. To be
sure I have had my revenge, and the only satisfaction I've got out of it
is to feel thoroughly and heartily ashamed of myself."
"Marion Berkley, you certainly _are_ the queerest girl I ever did see,"
exclaimed Julia.
But Florence, who knew her friend best, said nothing, for she
understood her feelings, and admired her the more for them.
Marion had been determined to make her apology such as would reflect
more absurdity on her teacher than on herself, and in that way to have
her revenge for what she rightly considered her very unjust punishment.
She had succeeded; but now that her momentary triumph was over, she
sincerely wished that it had never occurred.
The next day she went to Miss Christine, and told her just how she felt
about it, and that, if she advised her to do so, she would go to Miss
Stiefbach and ask her forgiveness. But Miss Christine told her, that,
although she heartily disapproved of her conduct, she thought nothing
more had better be said about it, for Miss Stiefbach had only been half
inclined to believe that Marion could _intend_ a fresh impertinence.
And so there the matter ended; but Marion could never fully satisfy her
own conscience on the subject.
She wrote a long letter to her mother, telling her the whole thing from
beginning to end; and received one in reply, gently, but firmly,
rebuking her for her conduct.
But the next day came four pages from her father, full of his amusement
and enjoyment of the whole matter, and highly complimenting her on what
he called "her brilliant coup d'état."
No wonder Marion's better nature was sometimes crushed, when the inward
fires which she longed to extinguish were kindled by a father's hand.