The Girl from Arizona Part 10

"I hope you will like me," said Marjorie, a little wistfully. "We ought to be even more than friends because we are cousins, and I have always thought that a cousin must be the next best thing to a sister. Don't you often long for a sister?"

"Why no, I don't," Elsie admitted. "Indeed, I am not sure that I should care for one at all. I think being an only child is very pleasant, though of course having an older brother would have its advantages. He would introduce one to his friends and bring them to the house. Are you fond of boys?"

"Oh, yes, I like them very well, but I have never known many. In fact, I haven't known many people of any kind except Indians and Mexicans."

"Indians and Mexicans!" repeated Elsie in a tone of dismay. "How perfectly awful! You don't mean that you make friends of those dreadful people we saw on the train coming home from California, do you?"

"They are not all dreadful creatures," said Marjorie, flushing. "They are not quite like white people, of course, but some of them are very good. I know a Mexican boy who is just as bright and clever as he can be. His father is going to send him to college next year. Then there is Juanita; she has lived with us for years, and we are all very fond of her."

"Oh, I didn't know you were talking about servants," said Elsie. "I thought you meant friends. Hadn't you any real friends?"

"Not the kind of friends you mean. I had Father and Mother and Aunt Jessie, but until last August when Undine came, I had never spoken to a white girl of my own age."

"Undine, what a queer name. Is she a Mexican or an Indian?"

"She isn't either," said Marjorie, laughing, "and Undine isn't her real name. We only call her that because we don't know what her name is. It's a very interesting story, and I'll tell you all about it, but here comes my trunk, and I suppose I had better unpack and change my dress before dinner."

In spite of Marjorie's reiterated a.s.surances that she didn't need any help, Hortense reappeared, and insisted on making herself useful. She was very polite and talked volubly in broken English about Mademoiselle's being _fatiguer_ and how glad she, Hortense, would be to a.s.sist her in every way, but Marjorie could not help feeling uncomfortable, and wishing that the well-intentioned maid would go away and leave her to unpack by herself. But what made her still more uncomfortable was the fact that Elsie also lingered, and regarded every article that came out of that modest leather trunk, with a keen, critical eye.

"What are you going to wear down to dinner?" she inquired anxiously as the last things were being stowed away in the bureau drawers.

"I don't know," said Marjorie; "I hadn't thought about it. I suppose my gray flannel suit, or else a clean shirt-waist and duck skirt."

Elsie clasped her hands in horror.

"Oh, you can't, you can't possibly!" she cried in real dismay. "Those things will do very well for breakfast and luncheon, but everybody dresses here in the evening. Let me see what you can wear. You haven't got much, but I suppose that white muslin will do."

"But that is my very best dress," protested Marjorie, her cheeks crimsoning from embarra.s.sment and distress. "I don't think Mother would like to have me wear it the first evening. I won't have anything left for really grand occasions if I do."

"Oh, yes, you will," said Elsie, confidently. "Mamma is going to buy you a lot of new clothes; that was all arranged before you came. It would never do to have you going about everywhere in these things."

Marjorie glanced at her cousin's stylish, well fitting blue chiffon and her heart was filled with dismay. Was it possible that all her mother's and aunt's st.i.tches had been taken in vain? It was very kind of Aunt Julia to wish to buy her pretty clothes, but she did not like to have her present wardrobe spoken of as "those things." Before she had time to say any more on the subject, however, Mrs. Carleton appeared, to tell them to hurry, as her husband was impatient for his dinner.

That first dinner in the big crowded hotel restaurant was a wonderful revelation to Marjorie. The bright lights, the gay music, the ladies in their pretty evening dresses, it was all like a vision of fairyland, and for the first few minutes she could do nothing but gaze about her and wonder if she were awake.

"And do you really know all these people?" she whispered to Elsie, when they were seated at one of the small tables, and a waiter had taken their order.

"Good gracious, no," laughed Elsie, who was beginning to find this unsophisticated Western cousin decidedly amusing. "We don't know one of them to speak to."

Marjorie's eyes opened wide in astonishment.

"How very strange," she said. "I supposed people who lived in the same house always knew each other. We know everybody at home, even if they live ten miles away."

"Well, this isn't Arizona, you know," said Elsie, shrugging her shoulders, and Marjorie, feeling as if she had somehow been snubbed, relapsed into silence.

Just then a lady and a gentleman and a boy of eighteen or nineteen came in, and took their seats at an opposite table. Elsie, who had appeared quite indifferent to all the other guests, instantly began to show signs of interest.

"There they are," she said eagerly, addressing her mother. "The gentleman is with them again to-night, too. I forgot to tell you, Mamma; I've found out their name, it's Randolph."

"How did you find out?" Mrs. Carleton asked, beginning to look interested in her turn.

"Lulu Bell told me to-day walking home from school. That boy pa.s.sed us on the Avenue, and I asked her if she didn't think he was handsome. She said she knew who he was, though she had never met him. His uncle is a Dr. Randolph, and a friend of her father's. This boy and his mother are from Virginia, and are spending the winter here. He is a freshman at Columbia, and his mother doesn't want to be separated from him, because she is a widow, and he is her only child. Lulu says Dr. Randolph has asked her mother to call on his sister-in-law. He said they had taken an apartment at this hotel for the winter. I made Lulu promise to introduce me if she ever had the chance, but she may never even meet him. She is such a queer girl; she doesn't care the least bit about boys."

"A very sensible young person, I should say," remarked Mr. Carleton, dryly. "How old is your friend Lulu?"

"Nearly fourteen; quite old enough to be interested in something besides dolls, but she's dreadfully young for her age."

"I wish some other little girls were young for their age," said Mr.

Carleton; "it doesn't appear to be a common failing in these days."

Elsie flushed and looked annoyed.

"That boy really has a very nice face," put in Mrs. Carleton, anxious to change the subject, "and his devotion to his mother is charming. I suppose her husband must have died recently; she is in such deep mourning."

While the others were talking, Marjorie, whose eyes had been wandering rapidly from one group to another, had finally fixed themselves upon the party at the opposite table. They certainly looked attractive; the gentleman with the strong, clever face, and hair just turning gray; the pretty, gentle little mother in her black dress, and the handsome college boy, with merry blue eyes. It was quite natural that Elsie should want to know them, but why in the world didn't she speak to them herself without waiting to be introduced? It seemed so strange and inhospitable to live in the same house with people and not speak to them. So when her aunt had finished her remarks about the Randolph family, she turned to Elsie and inquired innocently:

"If you want to know that boy so much why don't you tell him so?"

There was a moment of astonished silence; then Elsie giggled.

"You are the funniest girl I ever met, Marjorie," she said. "Why don't you do it yourself?"

"Elsie," said her mother in a tone of shocked reproof, and turning to Marjorie, she added gravely:

"When you have been in New York a little longer, my dear, you will learn that it is not the proper thing for young girls to speak to strangers to whom they have not been introduced."

There was no doubt about the snub this time, and poor Marjorie was horribly embarra.s.sed. She cast an appealing glance at her uncle, but he appeared to be absorbed, and finding no help from Elsie either, she relapsed into silence, and did not speak again for at least five minutes.

After all, that first evening could scarcely be called a success. Mr.

and Mrs. Carleton were very kind, and Elsie seemed disposed to be friendly, but Marjorie was conscious of a sensation of disappointment for which she could scarcely account even to herself. She struggled bravely against the homesickness which threatened every moment to overwhelm her, and tried to take an interest in all her new relatives'

conversation, but when dinner was over, and they had gone upstairs again, she was not sorry to avail herself of Aunt Julia's suggestion that she must be "quite worn out," and slip quietly off to bed. It was not easy to dispense with the services of Hortense, who showed an alarming tendency to linger and offer to a.s.sist, but even she was finally disposed of, and with a sigh of intense relief, Marjorie closed her door, switched off the electric light, and crept into bed. Then followed a good hearty cry, which somehow made her feel better, and then, being young and very tired as well, she fell into a sound, healthy sleep, from which she did not awaken until it was broad daylight.

CHAPTER IX

MARJORIE TAKES A MORNING WALK

WHEN Marjorie opened her eyes the next morning, she lay for some minutes thinking over the events of the previous day, and listening to the unusual noise in the street. There was so much noise that she began to fear it must be very late, and jumping out of bed, she went to look at the clock. It was only just half-past six. She had forgotten to ask at what hour the family breakfasted, but seven o'clock was the usual breakfast time at the ranch, so she decided that it might be well to dress as speedily as possible. She felt very wide awake indeed this morning, and suddenly remembered that she had not had a walk or ride since leaving home.

"I'll get Elsie to come with me for a good long tramp after breakfast,"

she said to herself. "If she can't go on account of school, I'll ask Uncle Henry to let me walk with him to his office, and I can come back by myself."

Greatly to Marjorie's relief, no Hortense appeared with offers of a.s.sistance, and she performed her morning toilet in peace. She put on the gray flannel suit, which Elsie had p.r.o.nounced "good enough for breakfast and luncheon," and then once more glancing at the clock, discovered that it was still only five minutes past seven.

"If they breakfast at seven I shall be only five minutes late," she said, with a feeling of satisfaction; "I should have hated to be late the first morning. Perhaps they won't have it till half-past, and then I shall have time to write a few lines to Mother first."