CHAPTER IX
WORD FROM BRENDA
Martine was at home when Priscilla called on Saturday morning.
"It's really very condescending in your ladyship to come," she began;"and it's a wonder that you found me. I was to take a riding-lessonto-day, but by good luck I found when I telephoned yesterday that Icould have an hour to myself then. So here I have Saturday free, withnothing on my mind but your visit and Brenda's letter."
"Oh, have you heard again from Mrs. Weston?"
"Yes; isn't she a dear to write to me when she has so many people whoreally belong to her. She says she considers I belong to her, and thatshe's going to call me her ward until I really come out, and, of course,I shall consider myself her ward always. You've no idea how much Ilearned from her this autumn. If she had been a stiff, frumpy thing, Ijust couldn't have paid the least attention to her. I only wish mammawould let me do my hair up like Mrs. Weston's, but she says I'm tooyoung. Well, in a year I shall be a perfect model of style a la Brenda."
"But what is in the letter?"
"I can't say there's so much actual news, only it makes you just long toget out of this cold, bleak climate. Only think of picking roses by thebushel in March, and sitting out in the sun without a wrap."
"In San Francisco?" questioned Priscilla. "Why, I heard my cousin saythat it was always too cold for thin gowns there, and that the windswere something terrible."
"Oh, my dear child, you are so literal. No, this is down in Monterey,where there are wonderful gardens. Let me read:
"'We are thankful that the rainy season is almost over, for when itrains there is apt to be a perfect flood, and we stay indoors for days.Sometimes it rains in the morning as if it would never stop, and then inthe afternoon the sun comes out beautifully and the flowers look as ifthey had grown inches. But after the middle of June there will be nomore rain until winter, and we can camp or plan excursions withoutcasting a thought to the weather. Life, however, is not entirely playwith us. Arthur is very busy, and often in the evenings he is too tiredto go out. Consequently we are reading together a number of improvingthings, and when I get back to Boston I am almost sure that every onewill say, "How much she knows!" I feel as if my new stock of learningmust show on the surface even before anyone has time to discover it bytalking with me. Arthur says he doesn't object to it at all, and won'tdo so unless I have to wear eyeglasses, which every one knows I alwaysdid hate.'"
"The letter certainly sounds like her; when she got started she alwaystalked in that breathless way."
"'San Francisco is the most picturesque city I ever saw,'" continuedMartine, reading Brenda's letter, "'all up and down hills, so that youfeel as if you were riding over the waves of the ocean when you go outin a cable-car.
"'From some of the high places where you go up to get a view, very oftenyou only see things dimly through a fog, and then the towers and spiresseem parts of castles and you can imagine you are in Europe.
"'But although I am perfectly contented here, I often wish I were inBoston, and it makes me too blue for anything to remember that exceptfor business I might now be living in the dearest little apartment inthe world. I hope you and your mother enjoy it, Martine, as much as Idid, and that you and Priscilla are still great friends.'"
Martine let the sheet of paper fall from her hand.
"Are we good friends, Prissie dear?" she asked, leaning forward andresting her hand on Priscilla's arm.
"Why, of course, Martine; that's why I came. You see it was all onaccount of that acid, or salts, or whatever you call it, and theink-spot, and--yes--and Julius Caesar."
"Julius Caesar?" For a moment Martine appeared to be mystified.
"Oh, yes," she spoke with a smile, "Julius and the Roman scarf, and theother improvements that I made in the drawing-room. Mrs. Tilworth blamedyou."
"No, no, not for that. She knew I couldn't be so silly."
"Thanks, my dear. Then she blamed me. To be honest, I had hardly thoughtabout my misbehavior since then. I had a vague idea that you would godown before your aunt came in and restore things to their propercondition. Now I perceive I must apologize. It's written all over youthat Mrs. Tilworth will believe me a reprobate until I do so. So that iswhy you have been so very stiff and Plymouthy this week. Oh, Prissie,Prissie!"
Priscilla made no reply. Now, as always, she found it difficult to replyto Martine's teasing.
"You must stay here to luncheon, Prissie," continued Martine, "and thisafternoon we'll have some fun. You must have had a very dull weekwithout me. Dear me, this drawer is too full," she continued, as sheendeavored to close a drawer of her desk on the top of which she hadjust placed Brenda's letter.
"Let me help you," and Priscilla rushed over to Martine's side, butbetween them they only managed to pull drawer and contents to the floor.
"There, I will leave you to yourself, Prissie," said Martine; "you arebetter than I at straightening things out. I am going out to thedining-room to speak to Angelina."
As Priscilla carefully replaced the scattered contents of the drawer sherefrained from looking at the letters and other papers that lay beforeher. She acted thus from habit rather than because she thought there wasany need of this carefulness just now. She had not come upon the drawerby accident, and therefore she was at liberty to look at anything thatattracted her attention. Just as Priscilla's own reflections had takenthis turn, she allowed her eye to rest on a half sheet of foolscap thatshe had last picked up. The handwriting upon it was not Martine's, andalmost without realizing what she was doing, she began to read asentence or two. Then somewhat startled, she folded the paper, andquickly put it back in the drawer.
"Oh, I wish I hadn't seen it!" she thought. "It was Lucian'shandwriting, and yet it seemed to be an outline of Martine's essay. Iwonder if he wrote it for her. They say he does so well in English. Iwish I hadn't seen it. It doesn't seem like Martine."
Priscilla was genuinely distressed, and when Martine returned, herfeeling had taken the form of embarrassment. When Martine spoke to her,she replied with hesitation, and her manner had some of its oldawkwardness.
"There," exclaimed Martine, with some acrimony, "you are really ratherprovoking. Here I have been telephoning and planning a good time foryou, and you begin to seem as icebergy as you seemed at Yarmouth lastsummer. Now listen, first of all I have apologized to your aunt bytelephone."
"Oh, Martine!"
"Yes, and she says it's all right, and she has forgiven me on conditionthat I never disturb Julius Caesar again. It was really very good of her,when you consider that she couldn't see my blushes of repentance. Sothat is settled. Secondly, you are to stay here for dinner, and go withus to a recital this evening."
"A recital, and who is 'us'?"
"Oh, Lucian, and Robert, and me, or 'I,' whichever is most grammatical.As to the recital, why, haven't you heard that Angelina intends todistinguish herself in elocution? All her little surplus goes forvoice-training, and things of that kind--and her recital's to-night. Ishould have invited you before, only you have been so high and mightyall the week."
"But did my aunt say I could go? She doesn't approve of evening thingsgenerally--except parties, on Friday or Saturday evenings."
"Well, thank goodness, there's no stupid party this evening."
"But I'll have to go home to dress."
"Oh, Prissie, Prissie! surely you are not growing vain. What you have onis suitable for any occasion. Observe that I speak as one in authority.Mamma would say the same. The recital is not to be given at the Somersetor the Touraine, but somewhere in the outskirts, where 'glad clothes,'as the boys call them, would be quite out of place."
"Very well," and Priscilla resigned herself to Martine's stronger will."I suppose it's all right."
"There, dear iceberg, I am glad to see that you have begun to thaw. Ihope Lucian and Robert will be as amiable. They have no idea what isbefore them, except that I am going to take them somewhere. Once in awhile Lucian is too amiable to refuse what I ask, and this will be
oneof the times. For my own part, I shall be as thankful as mamma when theaffair is over, for Angelina has been hopping about like a chicken withits head chopped off for a month past. What little mind she has has beenfixed on her recitations, and I only hope she'll do herself proud."
"Oh, Martine," protested Priscilla, "how can you use so much slang! Justthink how Mrs. Redmond and Amy used to talk to you last summer."
"Yes, and you too, Prissie dear, and this winter, my own mother. Butwhen you begin to deteriorate, you will know that there are moments whenone's spirits must have a safety valve, and slang is mine."
Priscilla shook her head.
"So now, my dear Prissie, to show that I am not lost to all refininginfluences, let me suggest an hour at the Art Museum. I love pictures asdearly as I do not love music, and there are several favorites of minethere that I haven't seen for a month. Put on your hat and coat, andwe'll be there in five minutes."
When they were out in the clear air Martine's tone changed.
"Priscilla," she said gently, "do you know I am a little worried aboutfather? He writes as if his business was not going well. He does not sayit in exactly those words, but he has written only once, and the letterwas far from cheerful. Either it is his business, or he doesn't feelwell--and he is so far away. It seems to me now that we oughtn't to havelet him go."
"But could you have helped it?" asked the practical Priscilla.
"Perhaps one of us could have gone with him--Lucian or I. South Americaseems so far away."
Priscilla's sympathy was readily aroused, and she gave it generously toMartine.
"It must be very, very hard for you to have your father so far away,especially if you think that he is not quite well. I know how it waswhen papa was in Cuba. It just seemed as if I couldn't bear it, and yetI suppose that there was nothing I could do, even if I had been there."
For a moment both girls were silent, though they realized that a bond ofsympathy was drawing them more closely together.
Then Priscilla essayed the part of comforter.
"You feel worse about your father because he is so far away. They sayfar-off fields look green, but I think that far-off worries are harderto bear than those near at hand. I mean when the people or things weworry about are so far away that we can't understand exactly what isgoing on."
"Thank you, Priscilla, for your sympathy. I dare say you are right, andyet I cannot help wishing that I understood things better. I am oldenough to help--if only I really knew how."
"The way will show itself if you are really needed. That is one of thesmall things I have learned the past year," responded Priscilla.
"Priscilla, you have helped me; you are a philosopher," cried Martine.
In their hour at the Art Museum Martine recovered her spirits. Shereally knew something about paintings, and her favorites were chosenwith discrimination. She lingered long and silently before those sheloved best, and gave reasons for her preferences that would have donecredit to a connoisseur.
"I don't see how you ever learned so much," said Priscilla. "I feel likea perfect ignoramus before you when you talk of these things."
"I did not mean to pose as an expert; you make me feel as if I had beentoo bumptious," replied Martine. "It's only because we've travelled somuch that I know something of art. I have picked it up little by little;even last summer, in spite of our efforts to devote ourselves tohistory, I gained a lot from Mrs. Redmond about color values, and lightand shade."
"It's a great thing to know just what pictures to like," respondedPriscilla. "I like some paintings more than others, but I never knowwhy."
"Neither do I, my dear child, when we come right down to facts. I knowwhy I _ought_ to like certain things, but often those are the paintingsthat I like least. It's with pictures as with people, we admire manythat we do not care for, and when we care very much, it's often becausewe really cannot help ourselves."
"You and I are so different," mused Priscilla, "I often wonder why youlike me."
"Priscilla," cried Martine, "don't try to be a philosopher until youhave left school."
Yet hardly an hour before Martine had been praising Priscilla for herphilosophy.