Brenda's Bargain Part 14

"Who is he?" she asked so pointedly, that Polly, nothing loath, sat down to tell the story. She had sprained her ankle, it seemed, early in the autumn. "Why, I am sure I wrote you about it," she added, when Julia expressed her surprise, "and I'm sure that I told you about the doctor; didn't I say a great deal about him?"

"Well, perhaps you did, but I was so unsuspicious that I did not attach much importance to what you said, or I thought what you wrote was in mere appreciation for his skill. Besides, I begin to remember that you told me that he was a cousin, and one whom you especially disliked, though you believed that he had saved you from being permanently lame."

"Well, he is a cousin, as cousins go in the South, several degrees removed; and he was perfectly disagreeable at first because I had gone to College; but I've brought him round, so that he has made his own younger sister begin her preparation for Radcliffe."

"So in grat.i.tude to him you are going to give up all your plans for independence and fame. Alas, poor Polly!"

"Oh, no, indeed; he says that I may write novels or do anything I like.

You never saw such a changed man. I just wish that you had known him a year ago, so that you could mark the improvement."

Thus Polly rattled on, and yet, as in their College days, there was an undercurrent of wisdom in all that she said.

"To tell the truth," she explained, "one thing I came for was to see just how your experiment is working, for I have an idea that I shall be able to do something of the same kind in Atlanta--in a very small way,"

she added hastily, "not at all in this magnificent style; but it's very much needed, and I have some original ideas to combine with yours."

So Polly spent several days at the Mansion, learning, and teaching too; for her words of encouragement taught Julia that she had been unduly discouraged by various things outside, as well as by a certain amount of friction among her protegees. Polly's visit drew her away from her cares.

One evening Julia arranged a reunion of all the members of the cla.s.s that she could collect at short notice, and though there were many gaps in the ranks, it was altogether a delightful evening, and each one present told all that she could, not only about herself, but about the absent.

All too soon Polly flew away, and though she protested that her shopping in New York was not to be regarded as preparation for a trousseau, Julia was sure that when the two should meet again there would be no longer a Polly Porson. "Not that your new name will not be just as becoming as the old one," she added, as they said their last words, "but for some selfish reason I do wish that I could have Polly Porson stay Polly Porson a few years longer."

"Nonsense!" cried Polly, as she bade her good-bye.

X

ARTHUR'S ABSENCE

When Arthur wrote that he should be away Christmas, Brenda seemed undisturbed, although Ralph and Agnes were annoyed by his absence.

"But he has been in Washington less than a month, and probably he wishes to stay over New Year's. We'll keep his Christmas presents until he returns."

Ralph and Agnes exchanged a glance.

"Hasn't he written you?"

"Why, yes--but what?"

Then Ralph explained that Arthur had had an offer to be private secretary to a certain senator, and that this would keep him in Washington all winter. "I received my letter only last night," Ralph hastened to add, lest Brenda should feel slighted. Brenda's own letter arrived that very day, but as it was second to Ralph's she read it in no very gracious spirit.

Then, too, Arthur seemed to take it too much a matter of course that she would praise his remaining in Washington. Brenda, forgetting that she herself had really reproached him for his idleness in Boston, began to complain to her mother of his lack of dignity in taking the position of private secretary.

"My dear," Mrs. Barlow had responded, "I am glad to hear that Arthur is busy. As there is no likelihood of his practising law, it is much better for him to have his mind occupied. It would be bad for you both were he to spend the winter in Boston with nothing to do but walk or drive or go to dinners and dances."

"But he isn't very strong, Mamma."

"Perhaps not; on that account the climate of Washington will be better for him. We have the a.s.surance, however, that his health will be completely built up in a year, and your father has plans for him. It is no secret, so I may tell you that a new branch of the business is to be established next winter, and it is of such a nature that Arthur's knowledge of law will be valuable, and he will be put in charge of the office work."

"Does Arthur know?"

"Yes."

"Then I cannot see why he need be busy this winter. I believe that he is just staying in Washington to annoy me."

"Nonsense, Brenda!"

But Brenda would not listen to her mother, and it is to be feared that her letters reflected her impatience, for Arthur's letters came at long intervals. Although she did not hear from him directly, she knew from Ralph and Agnes that he was well, and from another source she often heard about him.

Although Brenda and Belle saw much less of each other than formerly, or perhaps because of this, they kept up a vigorous correspondence. After Christmas Belle and her mother had gone to Washington, and in her very first letter she mentioned having met Arthur Weston at a certain reception; "And I can a.s.sure you, that, in spite of being cut off from Boston, he looks very cheerful."

After this Belle never failed to mention Arthur in her letters to Brenda. She told what a great favorite he was with this one or that one.

"He is an immense favorite, and I almost ought to warn you that he is really too happy in the society of other people."

Poor Brenda! All she could do was to write glowing letters to Belle, telling her that she herself had never known so pleasant a winter in Boston. She left Belle to infer that she was enjoying herself even more than would have been possible had Arthur been nearer. If the truth were told, Brenda amused herself rather sadly. Society wearied her, but she had not strength of mind to give it up altogether. To the delight, however, of Maggie McSorley, she went more often to the Mansion, and even condescended to give the girls some lessons in embroidery. Since her earlier school-days Brenda's skill in needlework had developed wonderfully, and she could work very beautiful patterns on doilies and centrepieces.

But to design and fill out these patterns was one thing, and to impart any of her own skill was another. The latter required infinite patience on Brenda's part, and Brenda had never been noted for her patience. Yet the discipline was better for her even than for the younger girls as she guided their needles and watched them take the right st.i.tches, and helped the careless Maggie pull out the threads where she had drawn them too tight, puckering the linen web, and, alas! too often soiling it hopelessly.

It was good discipline for Brenda, because strangely enough she found herself more inclined to blame than to praise, and she could not help noticing how much defter and neater than all the others were the fingers of Concetta. Indeed, the latter did not really need the instruction. She had already, like many little Italian girls, served an apprenticeship in embroidery under her aunt. She did not intend to deceive any one in joining Brenda's cla.s.s, but she could not bear the idea that she, among all the girls, should be deprived of the chance to be near the charming young lady, as she called Brenda, simply because she knew more than the others; so she too puckered her thread, and made occasional mistakes in fear lest perfection on her part should lead to her being excluded from the cla.s.s.

Amy called herself a detached member of the Mansion staff. She could not give much time to a.s.sisting Miss South and Julia without neglecting her college work. But there were certain things that she could do in her leisure, and occasional spare hours she gave with great good-will to a cla.s.s in literature. Amy was still devoted to her early love, "The Faery Queen," and once in a while, like Mr. Wegg, of fragrant memory, she dropped into poetry herself. She was winning her laurels in college, however, for more serious work than poetry--more serious, that is, in the eyes of the world; and already she was famous among her cla.s.smates for her literary ability.

Indirectly she had been the means of Haleema's going to the Mansion. It had happened in this way: during her first year in college she had gone once a week to play accompaniments at a College Settlement. In the chorus, for which she played, Haleema had been one of the most vociferous singers, and although Amy had not been able to see her much outside of the cla.s.s, she had become much interested in the little girl, and had received one or two letters from her during the summer. What Haleema herself wrote, and what the head worker at the Settlement told her about Haleema's home life, convinced her that the little Syrian was exactly the kind of candidate desired for the Mansion school, and she was really pleased with her judgment when, after the first week or two, she heard Miss South and Julia praising the quickness and docility of her protegee. Haleema, however, was not a young person capable of great personal devotion, a fact that her pleading, poetic eyes seemed to contradict. As she sometimes confided to the other girls, she liked one person as well as another, and if she had gone a little further in her confidences, she might have said that the person in the ascendant was usually the one who at the time was doing some special favor for her.

She appreciated presents, and had a h.o.a.rd of pretty things stowed away in the bottom drawer of her bureau.

On Mondays Brenda often found herself going to the Mansion, chiefly because this was her only chance of seeing Amy. Monday, the Wellesley holiday, Amy gave in part to a Mansion cla.s.s in literature, and when her little informal talk was at an end Brenda would seize her for a half-hour of "gossip," as she called it. Sometimes she arrived at the house before the cla.s.s was over, and then, if she slipped into the cla.s.s-room, Amy had not the heart to send her out. Amy protested that her work was by no means up to the standard that Brenda should look for in a teacher, while Brenda insisted that Amy's account of certain great poets and their work was so stimulating, that she should take up a course of reading herself; and, indeed, she did induce Amy to make out a list of books that she ought to read.

"I should rather they were interesting, but even if they are not really exciting, I'll promise to read at least three or four of them."

"To please me?" queried Amy.

"Well, partly to please you, but more to--to--well, to give me something to think about. Everything seems so dull and stupid this winter, that I'm going to try a h.o.m.oeopathic remedy and try to read dull books--just to see if I can't strengthen my mind."

Then Amy, noticing that Brenda seemed far from happy, wisely asked no questions, and as they walked across the Common to the station they talked of everything except the subject that lay nearest Brenda's heart.

"How is Fritz Tomkins?" Brenda asked, almost abruptly, referring to an old playmate of Amy's, now a Harvard Soph.o.m.ore.

"Oh, Fritz is doing splendidly. I hardly ever see him, and I'm so pleased."

"What a funny way of putting it--pleased because you seldom see him."

"Why, yes, because I know that means that he is so busy with his work that he has no time for other things. He has come to Wellesley only once this winter, and he tells me that he never worked so hard in his life."

If Amy's speech was a little disjointed, Brenda understood her, and in contrast her mind wandered to Arthur Weston. He, too, was busy, and perhaps doing his duty by remaining at his post in Washington. But unlike Amy, she did not feel pleased that he could so contentedly keep his back turned to his Boston friends. Consequently she sent only the briefest answers to his letters, and his replies became at last, if possible, briefer than hers.

Belle, however, kept her informed of Arthur's doings, and Brenda was never quite sure whether the information that she gave her was intended to please or to trouble her. She wrote, for example, of a riding party to Chevy Chase, where Arthur and Annabel Harmon had led all the others in gayety.