A Romance of Billy-Goat Hill Part 22

"But don't you want to go to the tea?"

"Oh, I did a little. But I think that was because you and Connie and Margery said I looked nice. I'm awfully squeezed and uncomfortable; I wonder if Margery can't lend me a dressing sacque?"

Thus it was that Mrs. Sequin went off to the Bartrums' in a very bad humor, leaving the two girls chattering together in the pink boudoir, with the nurse banished to the lower regions.

"Don't you want some fresh air?" asked Miss Lady, when she had stood the heat as long as she could.

"You may open the door," said Margery, "we never leave the window up on account of drafts."

"But I can wrap you up, and put the screen up. There! You can't take cold with all that on. It's the kind of day that makes me want to be on a horse, galloping through the woods with the wind in my face."

Margery watched Miss Lady's quick motion as she opened all the windows behind the ruffled curtains, and let in a current of fresh invigorating air.

"How young you are!" she said. "Years and years younger than I feel. I can't realize you are married and have three step-children."

"Neither can I," said Miss Lady. "I'm always forgetting it. Wouldn't you like to sit up for a while?"

"Oh! I can't. I have to lie perfectly quiet."

"Who said so?"

"Everybody does who has nervous prostration. The doctors say that my nerves are nothing but quivering wires. I suppose I went too hard last winter, but of course I couldn't drop out in the middle of my first season."

"I don't believe it would hurt you a bit to sit up. If I fix that big rocker will you try it?"

"But I haven't sat up for six weeks. When I try it in bed I have such tingly sensations."

"That's because your legs are straight out. Let's try it in the chair, with them hanging down."

"I'll try it, but I know I can't stand it. There! Thank you so much! You wouldn't think that a year ago I was as strong as you are! Why, between October and March I went to over a hundred and fifty entertainments, besides the theaters and opera."

"Good heavens!" cried Miss Lady aghast.

"Of course, about New Year's, I began to wobble, but mother had me take ma.s.sage and electricity and kept me going until Lent. After that I collapsed until summer. Then we went to White Sulphur, where the Dillinghams have a cottage, I had to lie down every afternoon, but I was always able to be up for the dances."

The nurse coming in with a long flower box, paused in surprise at the sight of her patient sitting up, then discreetly tiptoed out again.

"Somebody has sent you some flowers!" cried Miss Lady excitedly. "How nice! Shall I open the box?"

"Just as you like. They are probably from Lee. He sends them now instead of coming."

"But there may be a note," said Miss Lady, searching in the tissue paper.

Margery shook her head wearily; the little animation that had flushed her face, died out leaving it wan and listless.

"I suppose you think this is a queer way for an engaged girl to talk,"

she said presently, with a nervous catch in her voice. "The truth is Lee and I have quarreled over my uncle, Donald Morley. I will never forgive him for the way he has treated Don; never!"

"You will if you love him," said Miss Lady.

"But I'm not sure that I do!" burst out Margery. "I oughtn't to say it! I shan't say it again, but I shall die if I don't talk to somebody.

Mother won't listen to a word. She says it's nerves. But the truth is, Miss Lady, I've never been sure; that's what's making me ill!"

"Have you told him?"

"Yes, and he laughs at me. He may be right, they all may be right. When I get well I may laugh at myself. But just now it seems so terrible for the preparations to be going on while I'm lying here, night after night, fighting down the doubts, trying to persuade myself, trying to be sure.

How can you tell when you are in love? How do you know?"

Miss Lady's hand that had been softly stroking the girl's thin white fingers, paused; her eyes sought the open window, and she drew a short breath.

"Know?" she repeated as if to herself. "How do you know when you are cold, when you are hungry, when you're tired, when you're lonesome? How do you know that you want air when you are smothering? Everything about you tells you, your heart, your mind, your body, your soul. You can't help knowing!"

"But suppose I don't feel like that! And suppose I should, some day, for some one else! Oh! Miss Lady tell me what to do! Everybody else is rushing me on, telling me not to worry, not to be afraid. But you are not like the others, you consider something more than the outside advantages to be gained. Tell me, what would you do in my place?"

"I'd wait for the real one to come," cried Miss Lady, turning upon her almost fiercely, "I'd wait, if it was forever! They have no right to persuade you. You either love or you don't love and no power on earth can make it different. You can laugh at sentiment and pretend you don't believe in it, you can tell yourself a thousand times that you are doing the sensible thing. You can blind yourself utterly to the truth for a time. But some day you've got to realize that the only real thing in life is love, and that you are powerless to make it live or die."

After that they sat a long time in silence, until Miss Lady rose abruptly and, making some excuse, took a hurried departure. She was frightened at what she had said, at what she had thought. She was terrified at this strange, new self, that spoke out of a strange, new experience, and set at naught all her carefully acquired opinions. It was not until she reached home after a brisk walk through the crisp air, that the turmoil in her brain subsided.

On the hall table, beside a well-worn copy of Sh.e.l.ley, lay the Doctor's gloves and soft gray hat. She seized the gloves impulsively and laid them against her cheek.

"Dear, dear Doctor!" she whispered almost fiercely. "So good, and kind, and--and wonderful!"

Suddenly she was aware of some one watching her covertly through the crack of the dining-room door.

"Myrtella!" she cried. "Is that you?"

"Yes'm, if you please," came in strange, meek accents. "I'd like to speak with you."

It was so entirely out of the course of human events for Myrtella to a.s.sume humility, that Miss Lady looked at her in amazement.

"I can't say," began Myrtella, still half behind the door, "that I like the way things is run in this house. I'm thinkin' some of givin'

notice."

"Why, Myrtella!" cried Miss Lady in dismay. "I'm afraid the work is too heavy. We might get--"

"Needn't mind finishing, Mis' Squeerington, you was goin' to say a house girl. If you think I'd share my room with any Dutch or Irish biddy, I must say you're mighty mistaken! Besides, ain't I givin' satisfaction?

Ain't I doin' the work to suit you?"

"Of course you are, but I thought you--"

"Was gettin' old, I suppose, and couldn't do as much work as I used to.

I look feeble, don't I?"

Miss Lady glanced at the ma.s.sive figure with brawny arms akimbo, and smiled.

"Well, what's the trouble then?" she asked kindly. "Why do you want to leave?"

Myrtella's eyes shifted as she rubbed some imaginary dust from the door: