It was Dick’s turn to be startled. "Mother? Why, has anything happened
to mother?"
Peggy’s wits were in working order again. "Dick Raymond, you don’t mean
that you’ve almost scared me to death because you invited two boys to
supper!" And then, reading in his face that she had hit the mark,
Peggy’s overtaxed nerves played her false, and she sat down promptly on
the floor, where she laughed and cried together.
Poor Dick, at his wit’s end, tried vainly to allay the storm. "See
here, Peggy. You don’t need to have ’em if you don’t want ’em." That
was when her sobs were most violent. Then with sudden indignation: "I’d
like to know what you’re laughing at anyway, Peg Raymond. _I_ don’t see
anything funny."
The laughter had the better of the tears at last and Peggy wiped her
eyes, took a long breath, and climbed unsteadily to her feet.
"Dick."
"What?"
"The next time you have any bad news to tell, don’t try to break it
gently. Just blurt it out, no matter what happens. I think that’s
safer, on the whole." Peggy moved languidly to the sink, where she
removed the encircling towel and proceeded to bathe her eyes. "Dick."
"What d’ye want?" The conscience-stricken Dick was on his feet
instantly, ready to fly in any direction at a word.
"You needn’t tell the boys not to come. If one of the girls will come
over and help me, I guess we can fix up some sort of supper. You run
and ask Elaine."
But when Dick appeared fifteen minutes later he was accompanied by
Priscilla instead of Peggy’s next-door neighbor. "Elaine couldn’t
come," explained Dick. "She’s sick, too. Her mother said she couldn’t
lift her head from the pillow."
It was Priscilla’s first intimation that she had been second choice,
and, to a girl of her temperament, the news was disquieting. "I’m sorry
you couldn’t have the one you wanted, Peggy," she said, with dangerous
sweetness. "But I’ll do my best to take her place." Then catching sight
of poor Peggy’s swollen eyes and drooping figure, she had the grace to
be ashamed of herself.
It was a very good supper, though Peggy, sitting pale and heavy-eyed, at
the end of the table, ate little of it. Strawberry preserves, and some
of Sally’s fruit cookies, had helped out so nicely that it had not been
necessary to do much cooking, and in Dick’s present state of penitence
he would have eaten pine shavings and sworn that they were delicious.
As he watched Skits, gorging himself with preserves, Dick suddenly
realized that the supper invitation was not at all in accordance with
Skits’ deserts. "I’d ought to have punched his head when he acted as if
he didn’t believe about Peggy’s cooking," thought Dick, scowling darkly
at his unconscious guest. "Just as though everybody along the Terrace
didn’t know that she’s got ’em all skinned."
Unconscious of the regrets disturbing their host’s peace of mind, Skits
and Tom made out an excellent meal, and withdrew to the next room to
examine some new stamps Dick had recently added to his collection.
Priscilla, who had quite recovered from her little pique, pushed Peggy
into the rocking-chair, when she attempted to assist with the work.
"You sit still," she scolded. "Don’t you dare move! I’ll be through
the dishes in no time."
The offer was too tempting to refuse. Peggy sat in the kitchen
rocking-chair, where Sally rested when her daily labors were over, and
watched Priscilla as she proceeded deftly with the work. "It seems a
shame," she said, but without conviction, "to leave everything to you."
"Nonsense! As if you weren’t always doing things for other people."
Priscilla crossed the room to lower the shade and stood transfixed. "I
thought Dick said Elaine was sick."
"She hasn’t been out of bed to-day. You know she’s rather subject to
sick attacks," explained Peggy. "But they don’t last more than a day or
two."
Priscilla’s laugh was rather disagreeable. "It hasn’t lasted as long as
that," she replied. "She’s up and dressed. Just passed the window.
Rather a remarkable recovery, isn’t it?"
Peggy did not speak.
"Elaine isn’t particularly fond of housework, I imagine," continued
Priscilla, lowering the shade, and turning back to the waiting dishes.
"But I’d rather say right out I didn’t want to help, than make a
pretence of being sick. And especially after all you’ve done for her,
Peggy."
Peggy was in a mood to be an easy prey to suspicion. Tired, half sick,
with over-strained nerves, and throbbing temples, it was not strange
that for a moment she half believed that Elaine’s plea of illness was
only an excuse for evading work she did not like. In spite of Peggy’s
lessons, Elaine still found housekeeping duties very irksome. In a
moment, however, Peggy’s sense of fairness revolted against the
assumption, which for the moment she had accepted as proved.
"Perhaps she felt better, all at once. People often do, after being
sick all day."
"She trotted by the window as if she’d never felt better in all her
life," remarked Priscilla tartly.
"Maybe her mother exaggerated a little," persisted Peggy. "Or perhaps
Dick didn’t quite understand."
"O, of course, if you’re bound to find excuses for her, Peggy, you can
do it. You can excuse anything in anybody, if you simply won’t believe
what you see with your own eyes." The dishes in the pan clicked
ominously, as Priscilla splashed with energy.
Peggy was saved the necessity of replying by the sudden opening of the
back door. A tall, ungainly figure appeared on the threshold and the
girls united in a rapturous shriek. "Sally!"
Sally came in and removed her coat. Her manner was dejected, and with a
pang of conscience Peggy recalled the melancholy reason for her absence,
as well as for her return. With a determined effort to keep her own
relief out of her voice, she suggested sympathetically "Your uncle, I
suppose--"
"My _step_-uncle, Miss Peggy. He’s better a’ready, and quarrelling with
his victuals. Doctor thinks he’ll be out o’ bed by the first o’ the
week. It might have been such a good fun’rel, too," added Sally, with
evident disapproval of the ill-timed recovery. "All the Lester County
folks was down, and my aunt’s sister from West Virginia. Stands to
reason she can’t pick up and run again very soon. Like enough when he’s
laid away at last there won’t be a baker’s dozen, outside the neighbors.
I’ll finish them dishes, Miss Priscilla. This is a disappointing world
sure enough."
Peggy went to bed at eight o’clock and knew nothing more till fifteen
minutes of breakfast time. Her head was clear, and the knowledge that
Sally was in the kitchen made her light of heart, though her pallor told
that she was still in arrears, as far as sleep was concerned. As she
dressed with speed, the discovery Priscilla had announced the evening
before came back to her, but she was no longer disposed to attach much
importance to it.
"Some little mistake, of course, or else Elaine did feel better all at
once. I’m sure she wouldn’t have tried to fib out of helping me when I
wanted her." Peggy was herself again, and nothing could have persuaded
her to accept Sally’s dictum that it was a disappointing world.
*CHAPTER XV*
*A PATHETIC STORY*
"I’ve got three tickets. We students always have two, you know, and a
girl who didn’t want to invite anybody gave me her extra one. Amy
doesn’t care for concerts, and Ruth is going somewhere with Graham. So
I thought--"
Priscilla paused impressively. She was about to do an magnanimous
thing, and she meant to get full credit.
"I thought perhaps you’d like to have me invite Elaine. Didn’t you say
she was fond of music?"
Peggy beamed. "She adores it. And it’s lovely of you to ask her.
Those conservatory concerts are always splendid."
"They get the best talent that’s to be had," said Priscilla. "They go
on the principle that hearing good music is part of our education."
Priscilla was studying the violin in addition to her work in the
high-school, and though possessed of no extraordinary talent, was at
least learning a better appreciation of the work of the great artists to
whom she listened at frequent intervals.
The two girls were on their way home from school. As they reached the
Marshall’s cottage, Peggy turned in as a matter of course, and Priscilla
followed, feeling highly virtuous. She was not a girl who did things by
halves, and her manner as she tendered her invitation was unusually
sweet and winning.
"Peggy and I are going to the Conservatory concert Friday afternoon, and
we want to take you with us. Powell will play, and it’ll be a treat."
"Why, it’s ever so kind of you. Of course I’d love to go." A glimmer
of suspicion flashed out beneath Elaine’s gratitude. She had learned to
accept Peggy’s kindnesses at their face value, without looking for an
ulterior motive. But with Priscilla it was different. Out of Peggy’s
especial friends Priscilla was the one, Elaine felt sure, who liked her
least, and her pleasure in the invitation was lessened by her wonder as
to what had called it forth.
Peggy was chattering on gaily. "We’ll go early, so as to watch the
people come in. I think that’s half the fun. We sit so high up that I
am afraid to lean forward for fear of falling down, I don’t know how
many stories, but I hold on tight, and crane my neck so as not to miss
anybody."
"You sit high up?" repeated Mrs. Marshall, breaking in on her animated
if not literal description. "Is it possible that the management does
not furnish orchestra seats to the students?"
"We sit in the second balcony," Priscilla replied, with a flash of
resentment which was not allayed by Mrs. Marshall’s manner of receiving
the announcement.
"And is there really any danger of falling?" Mrs. Marshall was
appealing to Peggy. "I have always been accustomed to a box. Dear papa
was fond of music, but he invariably secured a box, and he was
exceedingly particular about my gowns because we were so conspicuous.
But the second balcony! Really I don’t know."
Peggy hastened to allay the fears occasioned by her incautious figure of
speech, and Elaine said hurriedly and with apparent sincerity, that she
shouldn’t enjoy a minute if she sat in a box. It was perhaps due to an
effort, conscious or unconscious, to atone for her mother’s implication,
that Elaine blossomed into unusual enthusiasm over the proposed
pleasure. When Friday came she was still in a particularly appreciative
mood, and Priscilla mentally acknowledged that she had never liked the
girl so well. She wondered if there was any truth in the theory that
Peggy was always advancing, that you were sure to like people if you
tried to be nice to them.
The concert justified the girls’ anticipations. The great hall was
crowded with an audience of music lovers, and the artist of the occasion
was called back again and again, to bow her acknowledgement of the
enthusiastic applause. Elaine’s sorrowful expression when the last
number on the program was reached, was more convincing than even her
lament, "O, dear! It can’t be over already."
"It’s almost five o’clock. But cheer up! There’ll be another."
Priscilla’s smile was thoroughly friendly. Hitherto she had always
thought of Elaine as Peggy’s especial property, and as an illustration
of Peggy’s recognized propensity for liking all sorts of people. Now as
her thoughts ran ahead to the concert two weeks away, she wondered if by
any chance she could secure a ticket for Elaine.
The great throng moved out slowly. Bits of musical criticism came to
the girls’ ears. The woman afraid of fire made her voice heard as usual,
and impressively asked what chance they would have if the building were
burning. Someone else called her attention to the emergency exits, and
then Peggy lost the thread of the argument in her interest in a new
voice which declared, "I know it’s the girl. I couldn’t be mistaken."
The voice was low but curiously intense. Something in its breathless
emotion gripped the attention. Peggy turned her head, and found that
Priscilla had done the same. The woman who had spoken was just behind
them. She and her companion were leaning toward each other with an air
of suppressed excitement which impressed Peggy unpleasantly, and it did
not relieve her inexplicable sense of apprehension to discover that the
eyes of the two were fixed upon Elaine’s slender figure, a little in
advance.
"Just wait till she turns," said the woman who had spoken before, and at
that moment Elaine glanced back, as if to locate her companions in the
slow-moving crowd. The smile on her face died away, as she met the
fixed stare of two pairs of observant eyes.
"There!" Triumph was evident in the woman’s tone. "It is the girl,
just as I said. I should know her among a thousand."
With loyalty as intuitive as her breathing Peggy pushed forward,
intending to place herself at Elaine’s side. Though the woman who had
professed to recognize her had said nothing to her discredit there was
something beneath her triumphant tone which suggested an unpleasant
reason for satisfaction in the discovery. But to overtake Elaine seemed
impossible. Her departure suggested a panic-stricken flight. Before her
companions had reached the top of the long flight of stairs she had
disappeared.
"Where do you suppose she’s gone?" Priscilla, pushing after Peggy,
asked the question with an intonation whose meaning was unmistakable.
Peggy, looking up, saw her own questioning exaggerated into suspicion on
the face of the other.
"I don’t know."
"She must have fairly trampled people underfoot. Say, Peggy, I suppose
you heard?"
"Ye-es." It was a most reluctant affirmative, but Priscilla was too
absorbed in her own thoughts to notice.
"It wouldn’t mean anything by itself. But when she sees she’s
recognized, and runs away, it looks funny. I wonder if she’ll wait for
us?"
In the throng at the door of the concert hall, the girls could discover
no trace of Elaine. Automobiles glided to the curb as their numbers were
called through a megaphone, and the people who block the sidewalks on
such occasions, stood in chattering groups, unmindful of the desperate
attempts others were making to pass them. But at length the crowd
thinned sufficiently for the two girls to assure themselves on the point
in question. They looked at each other, and for a moment did not speak.
"Well!" Priscilla’s tone was dry. "She isn’t here."
"No," Peggy was driven to confess, "she’s not here."
"We might as well go home. I don’t know what you think about it, Peggy
Raymond, but it looks pretty queer to me."
Peggy was not communicative. In silence they walked to the cars two
blocks away, and on the corner they found Elaine. It was not the
enthusiastic Elaine of the concert, not the self-sufficient Elaine,
familiar ever since her arrival on the Terrace. She looked pale and wan
and harassed.
For her extraordinary flight Elaine offered no explanation. "I thought
I’d wait for you here," she said faintly.
"We didn’t know that. We’ve been waiting for you there." Priscilla’s
tone indicated that she expected something more, but apparently Elaine
did not realize the need either of explanation or apology. But as they
climbed up into the car, she looked so faint and frail that without
thinking, Peggy took her arm to steady her. At the touch Elaine lifted
her eyes with a grateful look which had the effect of sweeping away all
Peggy’s suspicions, like a spring freshet. Peggy made no pretence to
being logical. All she asserted was that sometimes she "just knew
things."
The ride to Friendly Terrace was silent and constrained. At Priscilla’s
door Elaine faltered her thanks for a pleasant afternoon and Priscilla
replied stiffly. As she went up the walk, Elaine turned to Peggy with
unmistakable relief.
"Is it too late for me to go home with you? There’s something I want to
tell you where nobody’ll hear."
"There’s all kinds of time. Father doesn’t get home to-night till
quarter of seven." Peggy led the way into the house, evaded a
categorical reply to her mother’s smiling inquiries if they had had a
pleasant time, and conducted Elaine to her room, where she pulled
forward the wicker rocker.
"That’s the most easy-going chair in the whole room. Sit down and be
comfortable. But, first, take off your coat. It’s so warm."
Elaine obeyed automatically. "Peggy," she said as she took her seat,
"you saw that woman looking at me so hard to-day?"
"Yes," Peggy acknowledged, "I saw her."
"And she said something, didn’t she, to the woman with her?"
"She said she’d know you among a thousand, that’s all. And see here,
Elaine. Don’t tell me anything you don’t want to, just because of
that."
Elaine put her hands to her head, with a gesture which wrung Peggy’s
heart. "But I do want to tell. I’ve got to tell somebody. Sometimes--"
her voice rose in a little cry--"Sometimes I’ve thought I’d go crazy,
keeping it to myself."
Peggy pulled up a chair and sat down. She was used to confidences.
People of the stamp of Peggy Raymond must expect to be receptacles for
the various woes of all sorts and conditions of people. But she
realized that what Elaine had to tell was something out of the ordinary,
and lost a fraction of her usual bright color.
"I knew those women," Elaine explained, twisting her interlaced fingers.
"But they didn’t know me. They thought I was my sister."
"I didn’t know you had a sister!" Surprise was responsible for Peggy’s
exclamation.
"I’m several years younger than Grace, but there’s a strong resemblance.
It was her picture you found that day, Peggy."
"And she died. How dreadful it must have been--" Peggy’s sympathetic
voice ceased suddenly, as Elaine’s look of agitation told her that she
had guessed wrong. "She’s not dead," Elaine said breathlessly. "She’s
living, and what’s more, she’s living here, Peggy."
"Here?"
"On Friendly Terrace."
Peggy had been prepared for unusual disclosures, but this was more than
she had bargained for. It was a good half minute before she could
answer except by an incredulous stare.
"On Friendly Terrace? In the next house?"
"Yes."
"You don’t mean that she’s been living there ever since you came?"
"Yes."
"I don’t see--why, I never heard of such a thing." But light was
pouring in on Peggy. A number of matters that had puzzled her and even
aroused her suspicion, suddenly became intelligible in view of the fact
that the next-door cottage housed two girls instead of one. "But why--"
she began breathlessly, and then checked herself.
"That’s what I wanted to tell you, Peggy. It wasn’t a year ago that it
all happened, and it seems the bigger half of my life. Grace was a
Junior in college. It was hard to keep on with her course, after father
died, but she wanted to finish. She was engaged to a young lawyer,
Carlton Ross his name was, and everybody thought he was such a nice
fellow and that Grace was so fortunate."
Elaine’s hands were clasping and unclasping convulsively, as she told
her story. Peggy laid her warm brown hand over the trembling fingers,
and there was a world of friendly comfort in its clasp.
"One Saturday Grace went down town to do a little shopping, and she
stopped at a jeweller’s and asked to look at some diamond brooches. Some
people could never understand why she did it, for, of course, she
couldn’t have bought diamonds any more than she could have bought the
moon. I suppose it was rather silly, but surely it isn’t unheard of,
Peggy, for people to examine things they can’t afford to buy. Anyway
that was what Grace did. And when she said she didn’t care to buy, and
started to go out, the clerk stopped her and said he begged her pardon
but there was a brooch missing."
Peggy uttered a horrified exclamation.
"Yes, but that was only the beginning. Grace went back, and they looked
all over the counter, and the floor-walker came up, and things began to
be dreadful. And then they said that she would have to be searched.
Only think! Grace was almost ready to faint, she was so frightened. It
was like a terrible dream, she said. It didn’t seem as if it could be
such things were really happening to her. And then she thought of
Carlton, and begged them to telephone for him, and he came."
Peggy heaved a sigh of relief.
"O, but that was the worst of all. For when he heard about it, he asked
if he might speak to her alone, and then he begged her to confess. Yes,
Peggy, he thought she stole it. You see he knew that she hadn’t any
money for buying diamonds, and the only way he could explain what she
had done was to take it for granted that she was a thief. And then
Grace lost her courage. If Carlton didn’t believe in her, nobody would.
She screamed out that she wished she were dead, and they heard it and
thought it proved that she was guilty."
Sympathetic Peggy was in tears by now, but Elaine’s eyes were bright and
dry. The recital of her sister’s wrongs had brought them before her
vividly, and her voice was bitter as she continued.
"You can’t have any idea of what we went through for nearly two days.
They couldn’t find the brooch and Grace was arrested. She wouldn’t let
Carlton do anything for her, and an old friend of papa’s went her bail.
There were columns about it in the papers, and Grace’s picture and all
about papa, and then all at once it proved to be a mistake. The brooch
had been sent to some customer, along with several others for
inspection, and there was some blunder about returning it. They sent it
back finally, and Grace was cleared of all suspicion, but her life was
ruined."