Brenda's Ward Part 15

For a moment both girls were silent, though they realized that a bond of sympathy was drawing them more closely together.

Then Priscilla essayed the part of comforter.

"You feel worse about your father because he is so far away. They say far-off fields look green, but I think that far-off worries are harder to bear than those near at hand. I mean when the people or things we worry about are so far away that we can't understand exactly what is going on."

"Thank you, Priscilla, for your sympathy. I dare say you are right, and yet I cannot help wishing that I understood things better. I am old enough to help--if only I really knew how."

"The way will show itself if you are really needed. That is one of the small things I have learned the past year," responded Priscilla.

"Priscilla, you have helped me; you are a philosopher," cried Martine.

In their hour at the Art Museum Martine recovered her spirits. She really knew something about paintings, and her favorites were chosen with discrimination. She lingered long and silently before those she loved best, and gave reasons for her preferences that would have done credit to a connoisseur.

"I don't see how you ever learned so much," said Priscilla. "I feel like a perfect ignoramus before you when you talk of these things."

"I did not mean to pose as an expert; you make me feel as if I had been too b.u.mptious," replied Martine. "It's only because we've travelled so much that I know something of art. I have picked it up little by little; even last summer, in spite of our efforts to devote ourselves to history, I gained a lot from Mrs. Redmond about color values, and light and shade."

"It's a great thing to know just what pictures to like," responded Priscilla. "I like some paintings more than others, but I never know why."

"Neither do I, my dear child, when we come right down to facts. I know why I _ought_ to like certain things, but often those are the paintings that I like least. It's with pictures as with people, we admire many that we do not care for, and when we care very much, it's often because we really cannot help ourselves."

"You and I are so different," mused Priscilla, "I often wonder why you like me."

"Priscilla," cried Martine, "don't try to be a philosopher until you have left school."

Yet hardly an hour before Martine had been praising Priscilla for her philosophy.

CHAPTER X

THE RECITAL

For a few weeks after Angelina's _coup_ she had little further opportunity to show her skill. The successor of the eloping cook proved a capable, steady person, so in love with her new place that to Angelina's disgust she hardly ever even took the afternoon and evening off to which she was ent.i.tled. For it had always been Angelina's custom in the absence of the cook to entertain some of her own friends in Mrs.

Stratford's dining-room, and to provide them with refreshments of her own concoction.

For doing this she would have justified herself (had she thought she needed justification) by saying that no one had ever forbidden her to have company--and anyway, Miss Martine would never object.

In this opinion she was quite correct. But, unfortunately, Mrs.

Stratford, and not her daughter, was in charge, and the former, unlike Martine, did not find the Portuguese girl a perpetual source of amus.e.m.e.nt. Neither was Angelina as popular with the new cook as she had hoped to be. Her blandishments had never availed so little to get her what she wanted.

"And why she's so anxious to get me out of the house, I can in no ways understand, Mrs. Stratford, and me as quiet as can be, and never saying nothing to her when she sits there reading them novels with the big pictures on the cover, or making faces over the pomes she's learning."

"Oh, I don't believe she's anxious to have you out of the way--only--"

"Yes'm, it's just that. She's wishing to fill the place up with company of her own, and because I keep an eye to the ice-chest she isn't at all pleased. I know what girls is, ma'am, and that Angelina, she's always up to something."

Martine, when her mother repeated the substance of the cook's words, laughed lightly.

"Oh, it's much more entertaining to have one person in the house who's up to something. If they were all as stupid as the cook, how dull it would be. But I can tell you what's the matter with Angelina--she is going to give a recital."

"A recital?"

"Yes. It seems she has been taking elocution lessons ever since she had any money of her own to spend."

"Did Miss Bourne encourage this kind of thing?"

"Oh, no, she disapproved, but she just couldn't stop her. Brenda Weston told me all about it. Brenda thought there was no great harm in Angelina's amusing herself this way."

"But elocution lessons must cost so--"

"Yes, that's what Miss Bourne said, and she didn't want Angelina to go on the stage, as she threatened."

"Angelina on the stage!"

"Yes, mamma. She has even confided to me that she has been answering advertis.e.m.e.nts of companies that want soubrettes. Of course I told her it was dreadful, and she's promised to give up that idea for the present. But I have taken some tickets for her recital."

"My dear, I wish you hadn't encouraged her."

"Oh, anything else would have seemed mean, and she didn't dare try to sell you any."

After Martine's explanation, Mrs. Stratford was more patient with Angelina. How could she expect regular work from her until after the recital!

This was the affair that Martine persuaded Priscilla to attend with her, as well as Lucian and Robert. The four other tickets that she had bought in addition to those needed for her party lay unused in her desk drawer.

No one to whom she had offered them cared for them. The recital was to be given in a place too far away.

"You are sure we are on the right car?" Martine asked, after the four had been some time on their way.

"You said Chelsea, didn't you? well, this car is bound for the Chelsea Ferry," replied Lucian.

"Chelsea," exclaimed Priscilla, "I didn't know we were going there!

Isn't that awfully far away? I oughtn't to go outside of Boston."

"But this is only across the harbor, and Angelina says the hall is a very short way from the dock."

"Oh, very well," and Priscilla sank back in her seat. She must continue with her friends and since they were prepared to go to Chelsea, she could only resign herself to their plans.

She did not like the ferry-boat. She did not enjoy the walk to the hall.

Robert's jokes failed to amuse her, and even Lucian's college stories grew tiresome. To tell the truth, Priscilla dreaded the explanation she must give her aunt. Mrs. Tilworth had readily acceded to her dining with Martine. She had objected only slightly over the telephone when Priscilla had asked if she might go to a recital with Martine and her brother. Priscilla had telephoned even after Martine had obtained Mrs.

Tilworth's consent.

"I am sorry that it is not to be a musical affair. I do not care for miscellaneous programs. But there will be less harm in wasting time Sat.u.r.day than any other evening, but I must ask you to be home early. I like to have the house locked at ten."

"Yes, aunt," and as Mrs. Tilworth had asked no questions about the performers, Priscilla was spared the necessity of telling her that Angelina would be the chief attraction. Yet of one thing she was now sure, as the four journeyed Chelseaward--Mrs. Tilworth would be displeased if she should be out late, and to return early from Chelsea, why, that surely was an impossibility.

"I wonder what your Portuguese calls a short walk," growled Lucian, after they had wandered about for some time after leaving the ferry.