The Girl from Arizona Part 9

"I will help you till Hortense comes," she said. "You really must hurry, Elsie. It is not as if your father were coming alone; he will expect you to be ready to greet Marjorie."

Elsie shrugged her shoulders indifferently.

"As if a girl who has been living on a cattle ranch in Arizona would care whether I were dressed or not," she said. "Probably where she comes from people wear kimonos all day long, and never even heard of dressing for the evening."

Mrs. Carleton sighed, and the worried expression deepened in her blue eyes.

"I really wish, darling, that you would try to be a little more gracious about this. Of course it is a trial, but your father has made up his mind that Marjorie shall spend the winter with us, and it isn't going to make things any pleasanter to be constantly finding fault about them."

"I wasn't finding fault," retorted Elsie, who had by this time taken off the kimono, and begun brushing out her long hair. "I only said Marjorie Graham wouldn't care a fig what I had on, and I don't believe she will.

I don't intend to be disagreeable to her, but you know what an awful nuisance it's going to be, and how I hate it. Think of having to take her about everywhere with me, and introduce her to all my friends."

"My dear, she is your own first cousin. Besides, I am sure she is a nice child--your father speaks so affectionately of her in his letters--and her mother is a lovely woman. I was very fond of her when we were girls together."

"Oh, I dare say she is all right," Elsie admitted grudgingly, "but that doesn't alter the fact of its being an awful bother to have her here for a whole winter. You know how papa fusses. He will be sure to get some idea in his head about my not paying Marjorie enough attention, and he will expect me to take her everywhere. Oh, I hate it, I just hate it!"

And Elsie's voice actually trembled with vexation.

Mrs. Carleton sighed again.

"I am very sorry, dear," she began, but the entrance of the maid at this moment, put an end to the conversation, and she left the room, with a final admonition to her daughter to hurry as much as possible.

But alas! it was too late for hurrying. Mrs. Carleton had only just entered the drawing-room, when she heard a key turned in the outer door of the apartment, followed by the sound of a familiar voice calling cheerfully--

"Julia, Elsie, where are you? Here we are, safe and sound!"

With a rapidly beating heart Mrs. Carleton hurried forward to greet her husband and his niece.

"My dear Henry, your train must have been just on time," she exclaimed rather nervously. "We had scarcely begun to expect you yet. And so this is Marjorie. I am very glad to see you, dear; I hope you are not quite worn out after that dreadful journey."

"I am not the very least bit tired," returned a fresh young voice, and Marjorie returned her aunt's kiss so heartily that Mrs. Carleton was rather startled.

"We were twenty minutes late," Mr. Carleton said, in answer to his wife's remark, but he kissed her affectionately before putting the question she was dreading.

"And where is Elsie?"

"She will be here in a few moments," Mrs. Carleton explained hurriedly.

"Now do come in and have some tea, or is it too late for tea? I am so glad to have you back, Henry dear; we have missed you terribly. I am sure you must be tired even if Marjorie isn't."

"Not so tired as hungry; we had a very poor lunch on the train. It is rather late for tea, though; we can have an early dinner instead. Where is that little witch, Elsie? Isn't she coming to see us?"

"Oh, certainly, dear; I told you she would be here in a few moments. Now I will take Marjorie to her room; she will be glad to wash off some of those horrid cinders, I am sure." She glanced as she spoke at Marjorie's linen shirt-waist, and the straw hat, which certainly did not look as if it had come from a New York milliner.

"Am I not to have the same room with Elsie, Aunt Julia?" Marjorie inquired, in a tone of some disappointment, as Mrs. Carleton led the way down a long, narrow entry, with doors on both sides.

"Oh, no, dear; you are to have a nice little room all to yourself. It was so fortunate that we had this extra room in the apartment. We intended using it for guests, but when your uncle wrote that he was bringing you home with him, we decided to give it to you."

"Oh, I hope I am not going to be in the way," said Marjorie, blushing.

"I had no idea I was to have a room to myself, especially when Uncle Henry told me you were living in a hotel. I wouldn't in the least mind rooming with Elsie."

"But you are not at all in the way," said Mrs. Carleton, kindly. "We seldom have guests staying with us, and shall not need the extra room.

This is Elsie's room; yours is just opposite."

At that moment Elsie's door opened, and that young lady emerged, followed by the French maid, who was still fastening her dress. At sight of her cousin Marjorie sprang forward, and before Elsie at all realized what was happening to her, two eager arms were round her neck, and she was being hugged in a manner that fairly took away her breath.

"Oh, Elsie, I am so glad!" cried Marjorie rapturously. "Isn't it too wonderful and beautiful that we should really meet at last? Do let me look at you; I want to see if you are like what I pictured you." And Marjorie held her astonished cousin off at arms' length, and surveyed her critically.

"What did you expect me to be like?" Elsie inquired, not without some curiosity, as she gently extricated herself from Marjorie's embrace. She had taken in every detail of her cousin's appearance in one glance.

"I don't exactly know--at least it is rather hard to describe," said Marjorie, with an embarra.s.sed laugh. Something in Elsie's expression was making her vaguely uncomfortable. "I didn't think you would be quite so grown up as you are."

"I am nearly fifteen," said Elsie, as if that fact alone were quite sufficient to account for her "grown up" appearance. "Is Papa in the drawing-room, Mamma?"

"Yes, darling; run and speak to him; he is expecting you. This is your room, Marjorie; I hope you will find it comfortable."

"It's a beautiful room," declared Marjorie, heartily, "only--only, are you quite sure you want me to have it, Aunt Julia?"

"Quite sure," said Mrs. Carleton, smiling. "I suppose your trunk will be here before long. Hortense will unpack for you, and help you to dress for dinner."

Marjorie's eyes opened wide in surprise, and she glanced at the white-capped French maid, who still lingered in the background.

"You are very kind, Aunt Julia," she said politely, "but I don't need any help; I always do everything for myself."

Mrs. Carleton looked a little embarra.s.sed.

"You may go, Hortense," she said, turning to the maid; "Miss Marjorie will ring if she wants you. You mustn't let her think you don't need her, dear," she added in a lower tone, as the maid left the room. "She is rather inclined to be lazy, and she will take advantage of you if you are too easy with her."

Marjorie said nothing, but she was both puzzled and uncomfortable. Mrs.

Carleton, however, did not appear to notice that anything was wrong.

"I will leave you for a little while now," she said. "You must make yourself at home; your uncle and I want you to be very happy here."

The quick tears started to Marjorie's eyes, and she impulsively held out her hand to her aunt. But Mrs. Carleton did not notice the gesture, and in another moment she had left the room, closing the door after her. In the entry she encountered Elsie returning from the interview with her father. Elsie was not in the best of spirits.

"Papa has sent me to stay with Marjorie," she said in a discontented whisper. "He says he is afraid she is homesick. Oh, Mamma, did you ever see such clothes?"

"Never mind about the clothes, dear," said her mother, with forced cheerfulness; "we shall soon fit her out with new ones. I think she will really be quite pretty when she is properly dressed."

Elsie shrugged her shoulders, but made no further remarks, and the next moment she was tapping at her cousin's door.

"Oh, I'm so glad you've come!" was Marjorie's joyful greeting. "Now we can have a nice talk before my trunk comes. Sit down in this comfortable chair and I'll take the little one. Isn't this a lovely room, and wasn't it sweet of your mother to say she hoped I should be happy here? Oh, I wonder if you can possibly be one half as glad to see me as I am to see you."

Elsie was puzzled, but she was a little flattered as well. She was not a general favorite among her companions, and to find a cousin who had evidently been longing to make her acquaintance was rather an agreeable experience. So her face brightened considerably, and her voice was quite pleasant as she remarked, sinking into the comfortable arm-chair Marjorie had indicated--

"It is very interesting to meet you. I have often heard papa speak of you and your mother and father."

"Why, of course you have," laughed Marjorie, wondering in her simple way whether all New York girls of fifteen were as "grown up" as Elsie. "I don't believe though that you have thought half as much about me as I have about you. You see, it's different in Arizona. There aren't very many people, and they all live a long way from each other. Ever since I can remember I have longed for a girl friend. But with you it must be very different, going to school and living in a big city. I suppose you have lots of friends."

"Oh, yes, I have a good many," said Elsie, with her little society air.

"I am not very fond of them all, though; some girls are so stupid."