Lucile Triumphant Part 30

"I've been wondering about that myself," said Lucile, ignoring Phil's remark. "Now that we're going to France, perhaps we will hear something about him."

"France is supposed to be a respectable-sized town," said Phil, with what was meant to be biting sarcasm. "It's not like Burleigh, where Angela Peabody can tell you the history of everybody in town, and then some. We might be in Paris a year and never hear a word about him."

"I realize that quite as well as you do, brother, dear," said Lucile, sweetly. "However, you must admit that there is more chance of our finding out something about the gentleman in France than there was in London."

"Or in Egypt," Phil agreed, and Lucile gave up with a little shrug of her shoulders.

"Well, it doesn't matter, anyway; only I would like to know the end. It's like starting to read an interesting serial story in a magazine, and just when you get to the most exciting part, you come up against a 'To be continued in our next.' Look!" she added, irrelevantly, clutching Jessie's wrist and pointing upward. "Now the cloud has changed shape again. It's the image of old Jim's dog, Bull."

Phil turned away in utter disgust. "You don't have to go to Bronx Park to see the zoo," he muttered.

"Not when we have you with us," Jessie retorted, at which Phil retreated in undignified haste.

The girls turned laughingly to each other.

"What do you say if we have an old-fashioned talk?" suggested Evelyn.

"There's has been such a crowd around all the time that we haven't had a minute to talk things over."

"Let's not sit in any regular, ordinary old place to-day, said Lucile.

Let's find some snug little corner in the stern, where we can do just as we please and make believe we are back in camp. Oh, for one little sight of our guardian!"

"If she were only here, our happiness would be complete," said Jessie, as they made their way back. "I wonder how Marjorie and Eleanor and Dot and Ruth and the whole bunch of them are, anyway. I'm crazy to see them all."

"And we haven't heard from them in so long! I do wish it didn't take mail so long to travel across the----Oh, here's the very place we are looking for, girls," she interrupted herself. "It's just big enough for three of us, and I don't believe anybody ever comes this way."

So saying, she pulled a chair into the corner and made herself comfortable, while Jessie and Evelyn followed her example.

"You're a wonder at thinking things, Lucy," said Evelyn, as she comfortably settled herself with her head resting against the cabin.

"This is ever so much better than sitting where everybody can look at us."

"Of course it is," agreed Lucile. Then, after a moment, she added, dreamily, "Girls, do I look any different than I did when we started?

Somehow, I feel awfully different."

Jessie regarded her through lazy, half-closed eyes. "No," she drawled, "I don't see that you've changed so much. Your nose and eyes and mouth are all the same and your hair still curls. You have tanned, though, and there's a little rim of white right up close to your hair, where the curls keep the sun off, and ever since a certain morning"--here Jessie and Evelyn, companions in crime, exchanged glances, and Lucile began to burn a deeper red under the tan--"and ever since a certain morning I have noticed a very marked tendency toward dreaming, and several times when you should have answered 'no' to a question you have answered 'yes,' and we knew you hadn't heard a single word. Aside from that, you haven't changed at all, except that you're a million times dearer and sweeter than you ever were," she finished, with a sudden outburst of affection.

Lucile hugged her gratefully, but her cheeks were still unduly red when she answered, "I didn't know I was being so rude, and it must have sounded frightfully foolish when I answered 'yes' instead of 'no'; but I'll try to reform."

"Don't you do it," said Evelyn. "You don't know how interesting you are this way, especially to Jessie. She says it's better than reading a story any day, and she can enjoy herself without breaking any of the camp-fire rules."

Lucile shot a reproachful glance at her friend, who laughed shamelessly, "I don't care, Lucy; you'd enjoy it just as much as I do if you were in my place. You used to make such fun of my McCutcheon books and everything----"

"Yes; but don't forget I took it all back that day in camp when we saw--well, you know what----"

"Yes, I know," said Jessie, star-eyed at the memory. "Was there ever such a summer anyway?"

"You haven't told us yet what Jack said in his letter," Evelyn interrupted, irrelevantly. "Be good to us, Lucy, and throw us some more small sc.r.a.ps of information to satisfy our curiosity."

"Well, I can't tell you everything he said," Lucile began.

"We hardly expect that," murmured Jessie, and Lucile threw her a suspicious glance.

"Well," she continued, after an ominous silence, during which Jessie intently studied the sky-line, "I can tell you the part that would interest you most. He says if he can persuade his uncle that he is desperately in need of a change, he may see us in Paris."

"What?" cried Jessie, regarding Lucile with laughing eyes. "You mean that Jack says he may actually come to Europe? That means he will, because he can wind that wealthy old uncle of his around his little finger. Good for dear old Jack!"

And so they talked on and on, reviewing past and prophesying future delights, until the position of the sun reminded them that it was time to seek the rest of the party.

"So here you are," said Mrs. Payton, as they approached her from around a corner of the cabin. "We were beginning to think you had jumped overboard. Your father has just gone around the other way to look for you."

"I'm sorry we didn't come back before; I can see it must be about time to land by Phil's face. He never looks sad unless he's hungry."

"You're wrong this time," said Phil. "I'm looking sad because I haven't seen Jessie for two long hours."

"Don't tell me that," said Jessie, the unconvincible. "You might try that with some one else, but not with me; I know you too well."

"But suppose I don't want to try it with any one else," Phil objected, managing to fall behind the rest and lowering his voice to a whisper.

"Suppose I wasn't fooling; suppose I really meant what I said?"

Jessie turned quickly and said, in a tone in which laughter and despair were equally blended, "Oh, Phil, you're not going to begin anything like that--please----"

"Why not?" said Phil, doggedly. "If you don't mind, I think I shall."

Jessie regarded Phil's serious face out of the corner of her eye and gave a little hysterical gurgle.

"It's no use," she thought, as Phil placed a chair for her with more than usual care; "it must be in the air. When Lucy knows----"

CHAPTER XXI

THE OLD CHATEAU

Lucile had been awake for some time. She lay with both hands beneath her curly head, staring straight up at the ceiling and thinking, thinking, very hard.

They were on the outskirts of Paris. Her father had heard from the Applegates of this wonderful little inn, where one might be as comfortable as in one's own home. This had appealed strongly to them all, for the girls were eager for a sight of the country, especially since the gratifying of their desire would not entail the loss of city delights in the least--a machine could whirl them into the heart of Paris in half an hour.

Such was the pleasant trend of Lucile's thoughts as she turned her eyes toward the bright patch of window and beheld a world bathed in golden sunshine. "How pretty it all was!" she mused. "Take the clouds, for instance. How feathery and soft and fleecy and silvery-lined they looked, floating on that vast sea of brilliant turquoise; and somewhere, somewhere there was a bird singing, more exquisitely, she was sure, than bird had ever sung before. Oh, if she could only get one little peek at him!" With this in view, she stole silently from the bed and over to the window.

"Time to get up?" yawned a sleepy voice from the bed.

"Oh, he's stopped!" wailed Lucile. "He stopped the minute you began to talk. Oh, Jessie, why did you have to wake up just then?"

Jessie gazed at her friend as at one gone suddenly and violently insane.

"If it will do you any good, I will go to sleep again," said she, with much dignity. "But I should like to know what or whom it was I stopped and--"

"Oh, hush!" begged Lucile, with her finger on her lips. "There he is now; listen, please!"