The Girl from Arizona Part 11

She opened her door, and crossed the hall to the drawing-room, where her aunt had told her the family usually breakfasted, in preference to going downstairs to the restaurant, but somewhat to her surprise, she found the room just as she had left it on the previous evening, and the whole apartment seemed very quiet. She went to one of the windows and looked out.

"What a lot of people there are in the street," she remarked reflectively, "and they all seem in such a hurry. I wonder where they are going. How pretty the park is. Oh, how I should love a gallop on Roland before breakfast."

The door behind her opened, and a woman with a duster in her hand came in. She looked very much surprised at finding the room occupied.

"Good morning," said Marjorie, with her friendly smile; "it's a lovely day, isn't it?"

"It's very pleasant," returned the chambermaid, still looking surprised.

"You are up early, Miss," she added politely.

"Am I?" said Marjorie, surprised in her turn. "I didn't know I was. At what time do my aunt and uncle generally have breakfast?"

"Never before half-past eight, and sometimes later. Mrs. Carleton generally has her breakfast in bed, but Mr. Carleton and the young lady have theirs in here."

"Half-past eight," repeated Marjorie in dismay, "and it's only a little after seven now. I should say I was early."

The maid smiled, and began dusting the ornaments without making any further remarks. She did not appear to be a very communicative person, and Marjorie decided that she might as well go back to her room, and write the letter to her mother, which could now be a much longer one than she had at first intended. But on the way she suddenly changed her mind.

"I can write later just as well," she decided, "and it really is much too beautiful to stay indoors. I'll go and have a walk in that lovely park. I shall feel much more like breakfast when I've had some fresh air and exercise."

Marjorie had not the least idea that she was doing anything unusual as she ran lightly down the broad marble stairs five minutes later, and stepped out through the open street door into the fresh morning air. The Carleton's apartment was on the fifth floor, but Marjorie scorned to use the lift, which had struck her the evening before, as a very wonderful but unnecessary invention.

Several people in the hall looked at her curiously, and a man in bra.s.s b.u.t.tons asked her if he should call a cab.

"Oh, no, thank you," said Marjorie, pleasantly; "I'm going for a walk,"

and she pa.s.sed out, without another backward glance.

It really was a glorious morning, and Marjorie drew in long deep breaths of the keen autumn air, as she crossed the broad avenue and entered the park. She was not disappointed in her first impression that the park was beautiful, and the further she walked among the trees and broad asphalt paths, the more attractive it became. It was the last of October, but the autumn had been a warm one, and the gra.s.s was almost as green as in summer. To Marjorie, accustomed all her life to the arid prairie, where trees and flowers were practically unknown, it all seemed very wonderful, and she enjoyed every step. She walked rapidly on for some distance, paying no particular attention to the direction she was taking. The possibility of getting lost never once entered her mind. She met very few people, and they all seemed in a hurry, and looked like men and women on their way to their day's work. Once she pa.s.sed a forlorn-looking man asleep on a bench, and remembered what Undine had once said about a tramp. This must be a tramp, she felt sure, and she paused to regard him with interest as a new specimen of humanity.

Suddenly she came to a standstill and looked about here. She was in a quiet path, with rocks on both sides, and there was not a soul in sight.

"I must turn back," she said, with an uncomfortable recollection of the pa.s.sing of time. "I was enjoying my walk so much I never realized how far I was going, but I'm afraid I shall have to hurry now if I don't want to be late for breakfast."

Accordingly she turned her steps in the direction from which she had come, and walked on rapidly for several minutes. But alas! she had taken more than one turn since entering the park, and going back was no such easy matter as she had imagined. The more she tried to remember the way she had come, the more bewildered she became.

"I declare, I believe I am lost!" she said at last, with a feeling of amused dismay. "I must be more careful to notice where I am going next time. Oh, there is one of those men in uniform, that Uncle Henry said were policemen. He will be able to tell me if I'm going right."

She quickened her steps, and approaching the officer, inquired politely:

"Will you please tell me if this is the way to the entrance?"

"Which entrance?" inquired the policeman, regarding her curiously.

"I don't know," said Marjorie; "the entrance I came in--are there more than one?"

"A good many more; which avenue do you want?"

Marjorie's heart was beginning to beat rather fast. For the moment she could not remember; even the name of the hotel--which she had only heard once or twice--had escaped her recollection.

"I have forgotten the name of the street," she said helplessly, "but it's the entrance opposite the big hotel."

The policeman looked uncertain, but at that moment a young man riding a bicycle appeared upon the scene, at sight of whom Marjorie's face brightened, and she uttered a little gasp of relief.

"That young gentleman knows," she exclaimed joyfully, and, quite forgetful of her aunt's snub of the evening before, she darted forward, and hailed the youth on the bicycle quite as if she had been an old friend.

"Oh, please excuse me for stopping you," she cried, eagerly, "but you know where I want to go, and I have forgotten the name of the hotel."

The young man brought his bicycle to a standstill; sprang to the ground, and s.n.a.t.c.hed off his cap. He was evidently very much surprised, but too polite to show it.

"I beg your pardon," he said in a very pleasant voice; "can I be of any a.s.sistance to you?"

"Yes," said Marjorie, frankly. "I saw you in the hotel dining-room last night, and I heard my cousin say you lived there. I came out for a walk before breakfast, and--it's very stupid I suppose--but I can't find my way back to the entrance where I came in."

A look of comprehension came into the young man's pleasant face, and he regarded Marjorie with interest not unmixed with amus.e.m.e.nt.

"I understand," he said; "you are staying at the 'Plaza,' and want to go back there."

"Yes, that is the name," said Marjorie, looking much relieved; "will you please show me the way to the gate?"

"Certainly," said her new acquaintance, smiling, and he at once began to lead the way, pushing his bicycle along beside him.

"Oh, don't you want to get on your wheel again?" Marjorie inquired anxiously. "I can easily follow if you don't go too fast."

The young man protested that he had ridden quite long enough, and would be glad of a little walk.

"You are very kind," said Marjorie, heartily. "It was very stupid of me to lose my way; I never was lost before."

"And do you often walk here in the park?" her new friend inquired, politely.

"Oh, no, I was never here before. I only came to New York yesterday; my home is in Arizona."

"You have come a long distance," he said. "And how do you like New York--that is to say as much as you have seen of it?"

"I think it is very noisy and rather smoky, but the hotel is beautiful, and so is this park. I haven't seen much of New York yet, but I am going to spend the winter here."

"I quite agree with you as to the noise and smoke," said her companion, smiling, "but New York is a pretty jolly place notwithstanding. It isn't my home either; I am from Virginia."

"Yes, I know you are," said Marjorie, innocently. "You came here to go to college, and your mother is with you. My cousin told us all about it last evening at dinner."

The young man laughed outright. It was such a merry laugh that Marjorie could not help joining in it, and after that they were excellent friends.

"Now I wonder if you would mind telling me how your cousin obtained her information," Marjorie's new friend said when he had recovered his gravity. "I haven't met her, have I? What is her name?"

"Elsie Carleton. No, she hasn't met you yet, but she wants to very much.

A friend of hers has promised to introduce you if she has a chance. Your name is Randolph, isn't it?"

"Yes, Beverly Randolph, at your service. I shall be very glad to meet your cousin, I am sure. Perhaps you will introduce us."