CHAPTER X
LONELINESS
NEVER in her entire career had Polly O'Neill felt more depressed. Shewas, of course, accustomed to a very busy life filled with people andexcitement. Nothing else is possible to an actor or actress, althoughMiss O'Neill had tried to keep her private life as quiet as possible.
But here in her little hotel about a mile or more from the celebratedColorado Springs she was finding existence duller than she had bargainedfor. In the first place, on her arrival she had let it be known that shedesired no callers or acquaintances. Her reason for giving up her workat the present time was that she was greatly in need of a rest cure, sovisitors to the Springs had taken her at her word and Miss O'Neill hadbeen left to recover her health unmolested. Now and then some unknownadmirer had appeared at her hotel or sent books and flowers.Nevertheless, she had so far made no acquaintances.
However, after several weeks of the wonderful, brilliant air, withnothing to do except sleep and write an occasional letter, Polly felt agood deal stronger. Yet she did not feel that she was well enough toreturn to Woodford, and today the news from home had been depressing.
You see, Mollie had never been told that her sister was ill andconsidered that if she only required rest it might as well be enjoyed ather own lovely big farm as among strangers in the West. So this morningher letter had urged Polly's return home and had also imparted a greatvariety of dispiriting reasons. In the first place, Mollie told at greatlength that Dan, who was Polly's favorite of her sister's children, wasnot in good health and that he was showing certain oddities ofdisposition which struck his aunt as very like her own. Indeed, shebelieved that neither her sister nor brother-in-law understood thedelicate, difficult little fellow, and she would have liked to have beennear enough to have helped him through a trying time. Then moredisquieting had been Mollie's information about their mother, Mrs.Wharton, who was beginning to show her age. Moreover, Mr. Wharton seemedsomewhat depressed over his business affairs. Then finally the mostmystifying and in a way disturbing of Mollie's statements had been heraccount of Betty Graham.
For several weeks there had been no line to Polly from her dearestfriend, which in itself had made Polly vaguely uneasy. It was so unlikeBetty ever to fail in her weekly letter which had always followed herfriend to whatever part of the world she happened to be. But now Mollieannounced that Betty had been on a visit to her mother, Mrs. Ashton, inWoodford, and that she had seemed entirely unlike herself. Instead ofhaving a great deal to say she had been strangely quiet, almost sad.
Moreover, the new Governor's enemies were said to be making a tremendouseffort to destroy his reputation and there was a great deal of talkgoing on about some matter which Mollie did not claim to understand.Possibly Anthony's annoyances may have been worrying his wife.
Polly had been sitting alone on her small, private veranda whichcommanded a wonderful view of a rim of hills, when her sister's letterhad been given her along with her other mail.
Before glancing at the other communications she had eagerly opened this.But now she sat with the pages fluttering in her lap and her eyes filledwith tears.
Naturally Mollie had not intended to be so depressing; people seldom doseem to realize just what effects their letters may produce. Often theywrite merely to relieve their own feelings and once having put down allthe gloomy possibilities that worry them at the time, rise up and gocheerfully about their business with the evils forgotten.
So naturally it remains for the unfortunate recipient of the letter tobecome even more depressed than the writer had been.
Moreover, Polly really wanted desperately to go home. It had been manymonths since she had seen her own people, and though they oftenbelieved her to have less affection than other women, it was not in theleast true. She had given up many things for her art and had sometimesseemed selfish and cold-blooded. But it wasn't fair that her sister,Mollie, always seemed to think that she had never desired a home of herown, babies and some one to care for her supremely, that she had nevergrown tired of the wandering life her stage career forced her to lead.
Finally, however, Polly managed to smile and give a characteristic shrugover her own self-pity. There was nothing in the world so silly. Likethe rest of us she knew this to be true, yet, like the rest of us, nowand then even this famous, grown-up woman, who had most of the thingsthat people would give worlds to possess, indulged in attacks of beingsorry for herself. Moreover, the day before she had sent for her doctorand he had positively refused to consider her leaving Colorado for thepresent.
You may remember that Polly had a certain inherited delicacy that usedto keep her mother uneasy, and lately it had troubled her. It was thisfact she had concealed from her family and friends, so that now, thoughshe was better, her physician had scouted the idea of a return East.Once near New York he was sure she would begin to talk business with hertheatrical manager, or even undertake to study a new play.
No, she must undoubtedly remain at her post a while longer. And yet wasit really necessary to have her post quite so lonely?
Just as this idea occurred to her, a slight noise attracting herattention, Polly glanced down into the garden below her veranda.
There stood Bobbin and the next moment she had flung a poor littlebouquet at her feet. It was a strange offering, all prickly cactusleaves with a single white flower in their midst. For some absurd reasonit flashed through Polly's mind to wonder if her offering could be inany way symbolic of the girl who had given it her. Could there besomething beautiful hidden within the child's peculiarities?
For this was not the first token of affection that Bobbin had presented.Indeed, many queer, small gifts had been brought to the strange ladysince their first meeting, so that Polly had been curiously touched. Forof course Bobbin's offerings came straight from her heart. In herpathetic, shut-in world she had no way of knowing anything of thehistory of the woman whom she so plainly admired.
Yet inside Polly O'Neill's sitting room at this moment there were fouror five tokens of affection that must have come from her. They were tooextraordinary for any one else to have sent them and had been laid ather shrine in too unusual a way. For most of them had been literallyflung on her veranda. A few of them, when she happened to be sittingoutdoors as she was doing at the present moment, and the others when noone had seen or known of their appearance.
One of the gifts was a beautiful blue feather that must have fallen fromsome unusual bird flying over the western lands, another a stone thatshone like the finest crystal, in the sun, and a third a horseshoe somesmall broncho must have shed in trotting across the plains.
However, never once had Polly been able to thank her new friend for hergifts. For always at the slightest movement on her part Bobbin hadturned and run away more fleetly than any one else could. For since MissO'Neill's report that she had found the girl living with such roughpeople Bobbin had been recaptured and brought back to the village toschool. Notwithstanding, she had once more escaped and now either no oneknew just where she had gone or else no one had taken the trouble tocapture her a second time.
It occurred to Polly at this moment that she would like to try andinfluence the girl, or at any rate show her gratitude. Besides, anythingwould be better than spending the rest of the day bewailing her ownloneliness. Moreover, it would do her good for a moment to compare herown loneliness with Bobbin's!
Without a movement or a sign to the girl to betray that she had evencaught sight of her, Polly at once slipped into her bedroom and put onher coat and hat. And she was down in her yard and had stretched out herhand to touch her visitor before the girl became aware of her.
Yet the very next instant Bobbin started and began running as swiftly asshe had at their first meeting. And this time, even more impetuously andwith less reason, Miss O'Neill pursued her.
It was ridiculous of Polly and utterly undignified and unbecoming. Noother person in the world in her position would have done such a thing.Yet she had no more thought of its oddity and the attention that s
hemight create than if she had been a Camp Fire girl in the New Hampshirewoods nearly fifteen years before.
Of course the woman could not run half so fast as Bobbin in these days,but it was only because she was not well, Polly said to herself angrily.She had been the swiftest runner of all the girls for short distances intheir old Sunrise Hill Club. Of course Sylvia had used to get the betterof her in long distance tests. Still, even now she was managing to keepBobbin in sight, although she had a horrid stitch in her side and wasalready out of breath.
Fortunately, however, for Miss Polly O'Neill's reputation she was notat the present time within the fashionable precincts of ColoradoSprings, else she might possibly have been thought to have gone suddenlymad. Her hotel was some distance out in the country and there were butfew houses in its neighborhood. Moreover, Bobbin was running away fromthe town and not toward it.
The road was a level, hard one, but all at once Polly felt a queer painthat took her breath completely away and then a sudden darkness.
She did not fall, however, because some one who was walking in thedirection of her hotel reached her just in time.
Then to her amazement Polly heard an exclamation that had in someunexplainable way a familiar note in it. The next moment whenstraightening up and opening her eyes she seemed to be reposing in thearms of a tall man with dark eyes and gray hair, whom she had once knownextremely well, but had not seen in the past five years.