NORA BECOMES INVOLVED IN DIFFICULTY
Luncheon was over--a wonderful luncheon, at which Nora had been treated
to so many strange, new dishes, that she began to feel more strongly
than ever that she must be living in a fairy tale. She had never before
even known of the existence of such things as “lobster à la Newburg,”
“chicken à la king” and “peach Melba.” And now they had gone out on
the piazza, where many of the hotel guests had already assembled, to
listen to the orchestra, and bask in the soft sea-breeze and glorious
sunshine. Nora was enjoying herself as she would not have believed
possible a few hours earlier. She stood by the piazza railing, letting
the wind blow her curls about her face, and listening to the gay
march, with which the musicians had begun their afternoon concert.
Mr. Crawford and the Carews were chatting with friends. Nora was just
beginning to wonder what had become of Reggie Starr, when she caught
sight of him approaching in her direction, accompanied by another boy
of about his own age and a girl possibly a year or two older. All
three were talking excitedly, and Nora had an uncomfortable conviction
that she, herself, was the subject of their conversation. She gave
Reggie a welcoming smile, but to her surprise it was not he but the
strange girl who was the first to address her.
“Kathleen Crawford,” she began, pausing in front of Nora, and regarding
her with flashing eyes, “I want to know something! Did you tell Reggie
Starr on the ship that you didn’t know Bobby and me?”
She was a tall girl, and there was such a determined, masterful way
about her, that Nora instinctively shrank back against the railing.
“I don’t know; I--I don’t think I did,” she faltered.
The girl turned indignantly to Reggie, who was looking red and
uncomfortable.
“What did she tell you, Reggie?” she demanded, sternly. “You asked her
if she knew us, and what did she say?”
Reggie did not answer, but moved uncomfortably from one foot to the
other, and glanced helplessly at Nora.
“Oh, shut up, Marjorie!” protested the other boy, who was evidently
Marjorie’s brother. “What’s the use of making a row about nothing?”
“It isn’t nothing,” maintained Marjorie, her voice beginning to
tremble. “Would you think it was nothing if somebody who was your best
friend only a month ago told another person she didn’t know you?”
“Oh,” cried Nora in genuine distress, “I’m so very sorry. Did you
really think--I mean am I really your best friend?”
Marjorie turned away, in wrath almost too great for words.
“Come, Bobby,” she commanded; “we don’t want to talk to people who
don’t want to know us.” And she flounced away, followed by her brother.
But Reggie remained standing by Nora’s side.
“I say!” he burst out indignantly, “what made you tell me you didn’t
know the Campbells? I didn’t mean to get anybody into trouble, but I
was talking about you, and Marjorie said you were her best friend, and
I was so surprised that, before I thought, I’d blurted out what you
said about not knowing them. I’m awfully sorry.”
Nora clasped her hands.
“I know it sounds dreadfully queer,” she said, “but you don’t
understand, and I can’t possibly explain. I don’t wonder that girl
thought I was horrid.”
“Well, it was all your own fault, if she did,” said Reggie, bluntly. “I
suppose you’ve had a row, and didn’t want to know her any more, but you
needn’t have told a fib about it.”
“I didn’t!” cried Nora, her quick, Irish temper rising at the
accusation. “I never tell fibs. I wouldn’t do such a thing.”
“I don’t know what you call the thing you said, then,” maintained
Reggie, whose temper was as quick as Nora’s. “You told me you didn’t
know the Campbells, and Marjorie Campbell says you were her best friend
only a month ago. Maybe you call it just imagination, but it’s----”
Reggie did not finish his sentence, for, with a stifled sob, Nora had
turned and fled.
She hurried on, blindly, through the open door, along the hotel
corridor, scarcely noticing in which direction she was going, until she
nearly collided with a lady and gentleman, who had just come out from
one of the card rooms.
“Hello!” exclaimed the gentleman, laughing; “why in such haste, young
lady? By Jove, I believe it’s the little Crawford girl, isn’t it, Ruth?”
“To be sure it is,” said the lady. “Don’t you remember us, dear?
Marjorie Campbell’s uncle and aunt. You came with Marjorie to have tea
in our studio one day last winter.”
“Did I?” gasped Nora. “At least I mean--I mean----” She paused in such
evident distress that her new acquaintances both felt rather sorry for
her.
“Never mind, dear,” said the lady, kindly. “I suppose you go to so
many places, and meet so many people, that it isn’t easy to remember
everybody. We heard from your father that you were expected, and
Marjorie has been so happy at the thought of having you here. Have you
seen her yet?”
“Yes,” said Nora, in a very low voice, and then she added
desperately--“Will you please excuse me? I want to go to my room, but I
don’t know where it is.”
“What is your number?” Mrs. Allen asked, but Nora--who had not noticed
the number on the door--could not tell her.
“Then I am afraid we shall have to go to the office to inquire,” Mrs.
Allen said, and she was so kind that Nora did not like to object. She
was longing for solitude, but solitude was not to be had just then, for
on their way to the office they met Mr. Crawford, who was coming to
look for her.
“Where have you been, Kathleen?” he asked, when he had greeted Mr. and
Mrs. Allen. “I thought I saw you talking to Marjorie Campbell on the
piazza.”
“I wanted to find my room,” Nora explained, humbly, “but I didn’t know
where it was, and the lady said it had a number.”
Mr. Crawford looked very much surprised.
“Of course the rooms are numbered,” he said. “Surely a little girl who
has been in as many hotels as you have cannot have forgotten that.”
Nora said nothing. Until that day she had never been inside of a large
hotel in her life, but how could she explain that to Kathleen’s father?
Mr. Crawford, however, did not appear to expect an explanation, or, if
he did, he said nothing about it, but he led the way back along the
corridor, to the room where Nora had left Sarah before luncheon.
“I have ordered a boat for four o’clock,” he said, pausing outside the
door. “It is just three now. Will you stay here with Sarah until I come
for you? I think a little rest will do you good.”
“Yes, I’d like to rest,” said Nora, eagerly. “I hope Sarah has gone
out, though. She said she might go for a walk this afternoon. I think I
should like to be alone by myself for a little while.”
Mr. Crawford looked at her long and earnestly. Then he took her hand,
and laid his finger gently on her pulse.
“I am afraid you are feverish, Kathleen,” he said, anxiously. “Are you
sure your head doesn’t ache?”
“Oh, no, not a bit; I feel very well indeed!” declared Nora. “I’m
always well, you know. I was never ill except when I had the measles.”
“And bronchitis, and malaria, and a few other things,” said Mr.
Crawford, smiling. “I am afraid you are not quite as well as you want
me to think, little girl. Your pulse is too quick, and your cheeks are
flushed, but perhaps if you rest for an hour, you will be all right.
If Sarah has gone out, and you want anything, you must ring for the
chambermaid.” And with these words, and a promise to return in an hour,
Mr. Crawford left her, and went back to the piazza, where he sat for
the next twenty minutes, trying to fix his attention on the news in the
_New York Times_, which had arrived by the steamer that morning, but
with thoughts far away from the printed page before his eyes.
Sarah had evidently carried out her intention of going for a walk, for
the room was empty, and, with a sigh of relief, Nora closed the door,
threw herself into the nearest chair, and clasped her forehead in both
hands.
“It’s perfectly awful,” she said to herself. “I don’t believe any other
girl was ever in quite such a dreadful scrape before. I shall never
be able to keep on playing a part for three whole weeks; even Father
didn’t have to do that. At least a real actor has some time when he can
just be himself. But I’ve got to try just as hard as ever I can, for
Mummy’s sake.”
The thought of her mother recalled another thought; there was something
she must do at once. She had heard some one say that the steamer would
leave for New York on Wednesday morning. It would carry the mail, of
course, and she must somehow manage to get a letter to her mother. If
Mummy did not know where she was, or what had happened, how terribly
frightened she must be. She reflected, however, that this was scarcely
likely, for when she had failed to appear at the studio on Saturday,
it was only natural to suppose that Mummy had made some effort to
find out what had detained her, and if she or Kathleen went to the
Crawfords, the whole situation would have been quickly explained. She
hoped Kathleen would not be very angry, and, oh, above all things, she
hoped and prayed that her twin sister would be willing to stay at the
studio until she could get back to New York and change places. But
even if her mother knew where she had gone, she would still be very
anxious; of that Nora felt sure. The only possible way of relieving
their anxiety was to send a letter as quickly as possible. She glanced
about the room; saw with relief that there were writing materials on
the table, and two minutes later, she was writing away as if her very
life depended on it.
“DARLING MUMMY:
“I have only got such a little while to write, and there is so much
to tell you. I am in Bermuda at The Princess Hotel, and everybody
thinks I am Kathleen. I suppose you have heard how they carried me
off on the ship, before I knew anything was going to happen. It was
to have been a great surprise for Kathleen, and perhaps she would
have liked it, but I was never so frightened in my life, and I don’t
think I have quite left off being frightened even yet.
“Every one is very kind, and tell Kathleen I don’t wonder she loves
her daddy. I am sure I should love him, too, if I wasn’t so terribly
afraid of his finding out. Oh, Mummy, it is terribly, terribly hard
to keep people from finding out I am not Kathleen, and I keep making
mistakes all the time. A boy on the ship asked me if I knew some
people named Campbell, and I said ‘No’ because of course I didn’t,
but it seems I ought to have said ‘Yes’ because they are great
friends of Kathleen’s, and the girl is very angry with me. Of course
I can’t explain, and I am afraid it is going to be very disagreeable.
“There are so many puzzling things that I wish I could talk to you
about. It seems so wicked and deceitful to call Mr. Crawford ‘Daddy,’
as Kathleen does, but if I didn’t he would think it so queer, and
perhaps his feelings would be hurt. I try to keep thinking of Father,
and of how you said he used to live in his parts. I am trying to live
in my part, but it is much harder work than I ever supposed anything
could be. I am going to keep on trying just as hard as I can, though,
only we are not to go home for three weeks, and that does seem a
terribly long time to be another person instead of yourself. The
minute I get back to New York I shall manage to slip away somehow,
and, oh, how happy I shall be to see you, and to change back into
your own Nora again. I used to think it would be so wonderful to
be rich, and have lovely clothes, but it isn’t. If I could only be
safe at home with you again this minute, I wouldn’t care one bit how
shabby my dresses were. It’s so worrying to have a secret that you
mustn’t tell any one, and to be afraid all the time that you’re going
to be found out.
“I hope you and Kathleen are very happy together. I know Kathleen is;
she couldn’t help it, being with you. Please don’t worry any more
about me than you can help, for I am perfectly well, and it is very
beautiful here. I would like to write you all about it, but I am
afraid Sarah will come in and ask questions, so I guess I had better
stop. The steamer is going back to New York on Wednesday, and this is
Monday afternoon. I will post this letter just as soon as I can do it
without any one’s seeing me.
“With all the love I have in my heart, and ten thousand kisses, I am,
“YOUR OWN NORA O’NEIL.
“P.S. Tell Kathleen I will be very careful with all her things, and
try not to make any more mistakes than I can possibly help. I am glad
you have her for a little while; it seems only fair, but I am afraid
it will be very hard for her to have to give you up, and go back to
Mr. Crawford, for, although he is very nice indeed, of course there
is nobody in the world half as dear and precious as you.”
Nora folded her letter, and, having sealed and directed the envelope,
began a hasty search for a postage stamp. But alas! no stamps were
included in the hotel supply of writing materials, and she suddenly
remembered, with a pang of dismay, that she did not possess a
single penny with which to buy one. This was a new and unlooked-for
difficulty. If she asked Mr. Crawford or Sarah to post her letter, they
would naturally notice the address, and ask awkward questions. To ask
Kathleen’s daddy for money appeared an equal impossibility. Her proud,
independent little mother had impressed upon her that to accept money
from a stranger--even the smallest sum--was a thing never to be thought
of for a moment. Of course Mr. Crawford was not exactly a stranger, and
the circumstances were certainly unusual, but still----
She was pondering this question when the opening of the door caused her
to hastily slip the letter into her pocket.
“Ready, Kathleen?” said Mr. Crawford’s pleasant voice, and his keen,
kind eyes scanned Nora’s flushed face anxiously.
“Oh, yes, thank you, I’m quite ready. I’ll get my hat.” And Nora flew
to the closet; where she was rather startled by the number of hats
which met her view. Sarah had finished her unpacking before going out,
and the closet was full of pretty clothes.
“I wonder which hat I’d better put on,” said Nora, pausing in
uncertainty before the well-filled shelf.
“It doesn’t matter; wear any one you like,” Mr. Crawford answered
absently. “You are sure you feel better, Kathleen?”
Nora assured him that she felt quite well, and having decided upon
a jaunty shade hat, which struck her as particularly “stylish,” she
followed Mr. Crawford out into the corridor.
“The Campbells are coming with us,” Mr. Crawford said, cheerfully.
“Aunt Kitty is tired, and Uncle Stephen has letters to write, so I
asked Mr. and Mrs. Allen and the two Campbells to join our party.
Marjorie didn’t seem very keen about going at first, but her aunt
persuaded her. What’s the trouble, Kathleen? Have you and Marjorie been
quarreling again?”
“Oh, I’m so very sorry about it,” said poor Nora, the tears starting to
her eyes. “It isn’t her fault. She’s angry about something I said to
Reggie Starr on the ship. I didn’t mean to be horrid, but she doesn’t
understand. Do you think I could make it all right if I apologized?”
Mr. Crawford looked both surprised and pleased.
“I am sure you could,” he said, heartily. “Marjorie is very fond of
you, notwithstanding your many disagreements, and you have no idea how
much pleased she was when she heard you were coming to Bermuda.”
Nora’s heart was beating very fast when they reached the piazza,
where Mr. and Mrs. Campbell, and their nephew and niece, were waiting
for them. Marjorie still looked very much aggrieved, and greeted her
supposed friend with an air of haughty indifference. With a desperate
determination to do her best to make amends for her unintentional
slight, Nora walked straight up to the injured one, and held out a
trembling hand.
“I’m dreadfully sorry about--about what I said to Reggie Starr,” she
began, humbly. “Will you please forgive me?”
Marjorie Campbell’s blue eyes opened wide in astonishment. Never
before, in all their many quarrels, had Kathleen been known to offer an
apology, or even to admit having been in the wrong.
“I suppose I shall have to forgive you,” she said rather grudgingly. “I
can’t see what in the world ever made you say it, though. It was a fib,
you know, an awful fib, and even if I forgive you, I don’t see how I
can ever forget.”
At the mention of the word “fib,” Nora had flushed indignantly, but
before she could speak, Mr. Crawford--who had been watching the little
scene with considerable interest--hastened to interpose.
“Come along, children,” he called pleasantly; “this way for the
glass-bottomed boats. You must keep your eyes wide open this afternoon,
Kathleen, for you are going to see some very interesting things.”