The Girl from Arizona Part 12

"Of course I will if you like. It seems very queer not to know a person who lives in the same house with one, but Elsie says they don't know any of the people at the hotel. It was all so different at home."

Then Beverly Randolph asked some questions about Arizona, which set Marjorie off on a description of the ranch, and her life there, which lasted until they reached the Fifth Avenue entrance.

"That's the gate I came in," exclaimed Marjorie. "I wasn't so far away, after all. Would you mind telling me what time it is?"

Beverly Randolph took out his watch.

"Ten minutes past nine," he said, looking somewhat dismayed in his turn; "I had no idea it was so late. Luckily it is Sat.u.r.day, so there are no recitations to miss."

"O dear! I am afraid I am terribly late for breakfast," said Marjorie, feeling very much ashamed of herself. And without another word, they hurried across the avenue, and entered the hotel, where the very first person Marjorie saw in the entrance hall was her uncle.

"Oh, Uncle Henry, I am so sorry to be late!" she cried remorsefully, springing to Mr. Carleton's side. "I hope you and Aunt Julia aren't annoyed with me."

"Where in the world have you been, Marjorie?" her uncle demanded, ignoring the latter part of her remark. He was looking decidedly annoyed as well as worried.

"Why, I got up early," Marjorie explained, "and the girl who was dusting said you never had breakfast before half-past eight, so I thought I would go for a walk in the park. I got lost, and couldn't remember the name of the hotel, but fortunately, just as I was beginning to be a little frightened, I met Mr. Beverly Randolph, and he brought me home."

"And who is Beverly Randolph? I had no idea you had friends in New York."

"Oh, he isn't exactly a friend--at least he wasn't till this morning.

You know who he is, Uncle Henry; that nice-looking boy Elsie was talking about at dinner last night. Wasn't it fortunate I recognized him. He is just as nice as he can be, and I'm going to introduce him to Elsie."

"Come upstairs at once," said Mr. Carleton, a trifle less sternly. "We have been very anxious about you; you must never do such a thing again."

Marjorie was dumb with astonishment. Beyond being late for breakfast she had no idea that she had done anything wrong. She followed her uncle in silence, and did not utter another word until they had reached their own apartment, where they found Mrs. Carleton in a condition bordering on hysteria, and Elsie trying to look solemn, but secretly rather enjoying the situation. "I should really think, Marjorie, that you might have known," said Mrs. Carleton in a tone of deep reproach, when she had heard her niece's explanation, "your own common sense should have told you that to go wandering off by yourself in a strange city at seven o'clock in the morning, was a most extraordinary thing to do. You must never again go out alone at any hour. Elsie has never been out without a maid."

Marjorie's eyes opened wide in amazement.

"Not go out alone?" she repeated stupidly. "Why I've always gone everywhere by myself ever since I was a little girl."

"Well, you are not to do it here, whatever you may have done in Arizona," said Mrs. Carleton, crossly. "As for speaking to a strange young man, and getting him to bring you home, I really never heard of anything so outrageous. We have been frightened to death about you."

"There, there, Julia," put in Uncle Henry, "don't you think you have said enough? I am sure Marjorie will never do such a thing again; she will soon be accustomed to New York ways. Now suppose you let the child have some breakfast; she looks about ready to drop."

But it was not want of food that had driven the color from Marjorie's cheeks and the light from her eyes. Indeed, she had but small appet.i.te for the tempting breakfast that was set before her, and it was only by a mighty effort that she was able to keep back the burst of homesick tears which threatened every moment to overpower her.

At the same moment that Mrs. Carleton was administering her reproof to Marjorie, Beverly Randolph was giving his mother an account of the morning's adventure, as they sat together at breakfast in their pleasant sitting-room on the floor below.

"I know you would like the little girl, Mother," he ended; "she is such a natural, jolly sort, and there isn't one bit of nonsense about her."

Mrs. Randolph smiled as she poured her son's coffee, and regarded him with proud, loving eyes.

"You never have admired the 'sort' with nonsense about them, have you, dear?" she said rather mischievously.

"I haven't any use for them," said Beverly with decision. "I like girls well enough when they behave decently, but the silly giggly ones get on my nerves. This one--Marjorie Graham she says her name is--is all right, though. I think I know the cousin by sight, and I don't feel so sure about her."

"You mustn't be too fastidious, Beverly," said his mother, laughing. "I dare say they are both nice little girls. By the way, I have received an invitation from that charming Mrs. Bell, who called the other day, asking us both to dine with her next Tuesday. Her husband is an old friend of Uncle George's, you know. Mrs. Bell told me she had a daughter of thirteen or fourteen, so that will be another acquaintance for you."

"Well, if she is like most of the New York girls I've seen I sha'n't care much about her," declared Beverly. "I prefer the ones that come from Arizona. Honestly, Mother, I want you to meet that little girl. I don't know what it was about her, but she reminded me of Babs."

A look of pain crossed Mrs. Randolph's sweet face, but her voice was still quite cheerful as she answered--

"Very well, dear, be sure to introduce her to me; I want to know all your friends."

As soon as she could escape from her relatives after breakfast, Marjorie fled to her own room, there to have her cry out, and pull herself together, before starting on a shopping expedition with her aunt. Elsie was going to lunch with a schoolmate, but Aunt Julia had ordered the carriage and told Marjorie that she intended devoting the day to shopping.

"You are to begin school on Monday," she explained, "and I must get you some decent clothes as soon as possible."

Marjorie supposed she ought to be grateful, but she could not help resisting the fact that her aunt evidently did not consider her present wardrobe "decent," and this, added to her other troubles, resulted in a very unhappy half-hour. But Marjorie was a plucky girl, and she had plenty of common sense.

"I won't write a word about all this to Mother or Aunt Jessie," she decided as she dried her eyes. "It wouldn't do any good, and they would be so sorry. I am sure Aunt Julia means to be kind, and I suppose I did frighten them, but it does seem so silly not to be allowed to go out for a walk by one's self."

She had just bathed her red eyes, and was sitting down to write the deferred letter to her mother, when the door opened, and Elsie came in.

"Mamma says you are to be ready to go out with her in fifteen minutes,"

she began, then paused, regarding her cousin curiously. "You look as if you'd been crying," she said abruptly. "Mamma did pitch into you pretty hard, but it was an awfully queer thing to go out by yourself at seven o'clock in the morning."

"I'm very sorry I did what was wrong," said Marjorie, "but I had no idea any one would object. I often go for a gallop on my pony before breakfast at home."

"Oh, I daresay you do, but that is very different. I think it was too funny that you should have met Beverly Randolph. Do tell me what he is like."

"He is very nice indeed," said Marjorie, frankly; "I liked him ever so much."

"You'll be sure to introduce us, won't you? It will be such fun to tell Lulu Bell I've met him first; not that she'll care much, she's such a baby. Mamma thinks she may call on Mrs. Randolph to thank her."

"What does she want to thank her for?" inquired Marjorie, innocently.

"Why, for her son's bringing you home, and being so kind to you. You might have been lost for hours if he hadn't done it."

"But his mother had nothing to do with that," persisted Marjorie.

"Besides, he was on his way home, anyway. He was very nice, but I don't see what there is to thank his mother for."

Elsie reddened, and looked a little annoyed.

"Oh, well, it doesn't matter," she said carelessly. "Mamma would like to call on Mrs. Randolph, and this makes a good excuse, that's all. She says the Randolphs of Virginia are a very old family. Now hurry and get ready; the carriage will be here in a few minutes."

Marjorie said no more on the subject, but she was puzzled. It was only natural that Aunt Julia should wish to make the acquaintance of a lady who lived in the same house with her, but why was it necessary to have an excuse for doing so? She was beginning to think that there were going to be a great many new things to learn in New York.

CHAPTER X

NEW FRIENDS AND NEW FASHIONS

"November 6th.