“It’s perfect !” she said delightedly. “It truly is. And she’ll be—she’ll be impressed, won’t she, sister?”
There was no question between the two which of their young lady guests they desired to impress. Their eyes met in sympathy. Then Cornelia with a fleeting fear of being misunderstood said, “Yes, dear, I hope she will. But you know it’s not that I want to make a show before her. It’s that—well, she is the kind of girl who lacks all the formalities and refinements of life, and we have to do a little extra to make her understand. You know formalities are good things sometimes. They are like fences to keep intruders out and hedges to keep in the sacred and beautiful things of life.”
Louise went and threw her arms around Cornelia, exclaiming, “Nellie, you are just dear! You are like Mother! You seem to find such pretty things to say to make me understand.”
Cornelia stooped and kissed the warm pink cheek, realizing how very dear this little sister was growing and how happy a time they had had getting ready for their party.
Meantime the cutlets were simmering away gently, getting themselves tender and brown, and every dish and platter and spoon and knife was in position for serving. Harry had come in and was cracking ice and getting the freezer ready, and Cornelia mixed the materials for the sherbet. There was an excited half hour while Harry ground away at the freezer, and then the paddle was taken out and everybody had a taste of the delectable green mixture that looked like a dream of spring and tasted “wonderful,” the children said.
“Now,” said Cornelia, putting the biscuits into the oven and looking at the clock, “it’s time to go upstairs and rest a bit and get dressed. There’s plenty of hot water, and Harry had better take his bath first while you lie down, Louie. Yes, I want you to rest on the bed at least ten minutes with your eyes shut. It will make a big difference. You are so excited you don’t even know you’re tired, and you’ve got a long evening before you. You want to be rested enough to enjoy it. Oh, yes, I’m coming up to rest, too, just as soon as I get the water on for the potatoes and spinach. Then we’ll rest together; and when Harry gets his bath, we’ll get up and begin to dress. Harry, you must polish your shoes and make them look fine. I’m so glad you had your hair cut yesterday. It looks very nice. Now let’s go upstairs.”
But a sudden gloom had fallen over the face of Louise. In all the planning, strange to say, it had never once occurred to her to think what she herself would wear. Now the old, perplexing problem of the ages swept down upon her darkly.
“But, Cornie, what shall I put on?”
She looked down at her blue-checked gingham and thought of the faded blue challis that had been her best all winter, washed and let down, and made to do because there was no money to buy anything else. It had a great three-cornered tear where it caught on the key of the door last Sunday night, forgotten until now.
Cornelia seemed not to notice her dismay.
“I laid your things out on a chair up in our room,” she said pleasantly. “Everything is ready.”
“But I—there’s a—at least, don’t you think I better wash out my collar? It’s just awful dirty!”
“Everything’s all right, dear,” said her sister, bending over to look at the oven flame and be sure it was just high enough to bake the biscuits the right shade of brown. “Run up, and you’ll see.”
Louise turned and walked slowly up the stairs, considering the possibility of her sister’s having mended the tear and washed the collar and deciding not to be disappointed if she had done neither.
“She had a lot to do this morning and couldn’t, of course; and I wouldn’t want her to. I’ll hurry and do it myself,” said the loyal little soul. Then she entered the bedroom and stood entranced.
“Oh Harry, Harry! Come quick and see!” she cried to the boy, who was pattering downstairs barefoot in his bathrobe with a bunch of clean garments under his arm. “She’s made over her beautiful pink organdie with the lace on it for me! Isn’t she dear? Isn’t it a darling? And the little black velvet bows! And there’s a white apron with lace ruffles for me to wait on the table in, and some of her own white silk stockings, and look at the ducky rosettes on my old pumps! They look like new! Oh! Isn’t she the most darling sister in the world?”
“She sure is!” fervently agreed Harry. And Cornelia, halfway up the stairs, stopped suddenly and brushed away two tears that plumped unannounced into her tired eyes. “Gee! That’s some dress,” went on Harry. “You’ll show Clytie, won’t you? Glad you got it kid! You deserve it.” And Harry bolted into the bathroom after this unusual display of affection and slammed the door after him, while Louise came like a young whirlwind into Cornelia’s arms to hug and kiss her.
“And what are you going to wear, Nellie?” the little girl asked anxiously when they were resting together on the bed. “You know you must look just right, because you’re the center of it all, the head, kind of, you know—the—the—well—more than mother, because you’re young and have to look stylish. We’ve got to have that girl understand you know; and clothes do make such a lot of difference—to a girl like that! I’ll tell you a secret if you won’t feel bad. I was planning to stay mostly in the kitchen so she wouldn’t see my old blue challis. I thought she wouldn’t have much opinion of us if Carey’s little sister dressed like that at a party. But now, now I can come out and have a good time.”
“Darling!” Cornelia patted her tenderly on the shoulder. “I’m so sorry you’ve been troubled about your clothes. I ought to have got at them sooner and not made you worry. I think I’ll wear my white rajah silk with the burnt-orange trimmings. I made it after a French model, and I always liked it. It’s right to have everything pretty and neat, of course, but I hope I haven’t made you too conscious about such things. You know it really doesn’t matter about clothes if we look clean and neat and behave well. I think we’ve been placing too high a value on looks anyway. Of course looks do count a little, but they are, after all, only a trifle beside real worth. And, if we can’t impress that girl with our refinement by our actions, why, we can put on all the clothes in the universe, and we won’t be able to do it any better.”
“I know it,” answered the little girl wisely. “Only it is nice to have everything nice this time, because really and truly, Nellie, it’s going to be just awful hard to have that girl here. I—I just kind of hate her! It seems as if she’s going to spoil this whole nice party.”
Cornelia had been stifling some such sinking of heart herself as she stood looking at the pretty table and thought of the insignificant little flirt who had brought it all into being, but now she roused to the danger.
“Dearie! We mustn’t feel that way! We just mustn’t. You know we’ve been praying, and now we’ve got to trust. And after all, I don’t suppose she is any different from Grace Kendall.”
“Oh, but she is, Nellie. How can we forget it? Why do there have to be such girls made? And why do brothers have to have anything to do with them? I just feel so upset when the girls at school talk about her and then look at me. My face always burns.”
“There, dear! Now, you mustn’t think such things. Just remember that for tonight, at least, she is our guest and we’ve got to treat her as well as any guest, we ever expect to have. The rest is up to her.”
“And to God,” breathed the little girl softly and solemnly.
“Yes, dear. Think of that.” And she came close and kissed the pink cheek tenderly.
Then Harry came whistling from the bathroom and shot upstairs, leaving a pleasant odor of scented soap and steam behind him; and the two on the bed knew it was time to rise and get to work, for the last round was on in the game, and there was no time to idle.
Chapter 17
Carey came in at a quarter to six, a most unusual thing for him to do, even though he had been implored to do so by both sisters, and a great anxiety rolled from their minds as he went whistling merrily up the stairs and was heard splashing around in the bathroom. He had not been allowed to go into the dining
room. Louise had met him at the front door, showed him the glories of her new dress, and piloted him straight to the upper floor, but the general gala atmosphere of the house and the breath of the roses in the living room gave him the sense of festivity. He had not yet recovered from this boyish pleasure of the morning gifts and the unusual tenderness of his father. He had the air of intending to do his part toward making this evening a pleasant one. As he went about dressing elaborately, he resolved not to go out at all but to stay at home the whole evening and try to make himself agreeable to his family, who were going to so much trouble for him. This virtuous resolve gave an exalted ring to the jazzy tune he whistled above the sound of the running water and also served to hide from his ears numerous sounds below stairs.
Grace Kendall arrived and slipped into the kitchen, donned a big apron, and did efficient service arranging the lettuce leaves on the salad plates and turning out the pretty quivering jelly on them. Louise was posted at the front window with wildly throbbing heart and earnest little face, awaiting the guest of anxiety, afraid she would come before Carey got out of the bathroom and safely up into his room, afraid and half hoping she wouldn’t come at all, after all—and yet!
Oh! There she was coming right in the gate! Suddenly Louise’s feet grew heavy, and for one awful second she knew she couldn’t walk to the front door and open it. And Carey—yes, Carey was unlocking the bathroom door. He was going upstairs. Strength returned to her unwilling feet, and she sped to the door and found herself opening it and bowing pleasantly to the overdressed and somewhat embarrassed young woman standing on the steps. Suddenly the sweetness and simplicity of the little pink organdie her sister had made for her enveloped all Louise’s shyness and anxiety, and she felt quite able to carry off the situation.
“Come right in,” she said sweetly with a tone of real welcome.
Clytie stepped in and stared around curiously, almost furtively. It was evident she had not at all known to what sort of place she was coming and was startled, embarrassed. She was dressed in a vivid turquoise-blue taffeta evening dress composed of myriads of tiny ruffles, a bit of a sash, and silver shoulder straps, the whole being much abbreviated at both ends and but partially concealed under a flimsy evening coat of light tan. Her face had that ghastly coloring of too much powder and makeup. Her hat was a strange creation of henna ostrich feathers hanging out in a cascade behind and looking like a bushy head of red hair. Rings and bracelets glittered and tinkled against a cheap bead handbag, and her gauzy hosiery and showy footwear were entirely in keeping with the full ensemble. But when she stepped into the beautiful living room with its flickering fire, its softly shaded lights, its breath of roses and harmony of color, she seemed somehow as much out of place as a potato bug in a lady’s bedroom. Louise had a sudden feeling of compassion for her as the victim of a terrible joke, and she felt afraid of her no longer.
“Will you come upstairs and take off your hat?” she asked sweetly and led the way up to her bedroom, where everything was in dainty order. A single rose in a tiny vase in front of the mirror under a pink-shaded candlelight set the keynote for the whole room.
Clytie stepped awesomely into the pretty room and gazed about fearsomely, almost as if she suspected a trap somewhere, almost as if she felt herself an intruder, yet bold enough to see the experience through to the finish. It wasn’t in the least what she had expected of Carey, but it was interesting. She decided they were “highbrows,” whatever that was. She took off the elaborate hat and puffed out her hair, bobbed in the latest way and apparently electrified to make every hair separate from every other in a whirl around her head, much like a dandelion gone to seed.
Louise watched her as she primped a moment before the mirror, rubbing her small tilted nose with a bit of a dab from her handbag, touching her eyebrows and lips, and ruffling out her hair a little wilder than before. The little girl was glad that the guest said nothing. Now if she could only get her down into the living room before Carey suspected! Somehow she felt that it would not be well for Carey to know before he came downstairs that the girl was in the house. There was no knowing what Carey might do. So she led the silent guest downstairs and remarked as they reached the safety of the landing, “It’s a pleasant evening.”
The guest stepped down, took another survey of the astonishingly lovely room, and responded absently, “Yeah! It is!”
“Just sit down, and I will tell my sister you have come,” said Louise airily and vanished with relief, her awful duty done.
Cornelia came in at once, followed by Grace, and overwhelmed the young woman with their pleasant welcome. Astonishment and wary alertness were uppermost in the guest’s face. She had begun to suspect something somewhere. She was sharp. She knew a girl of this kind would never have chosen her as a guest. Could it be that Carey had demanded it? She resented the presence of this other pretty, quiet girl in a blue organdie with no rouge on her face. Who was she, and what did they have to invite her for? Was she another of Carey’s girls? She sat down uncomfortably on the edge of the chair offered her and tried to pull down her inadequate little skirts. Somehow these graceful girls made her feel awkward and out of place.
Cornelia excused herself and went back to the kitchen after a few pleasant words, and Grace Kendall took over the task of entertaining the silent guest, who eyed her sullenly and could not be made to reply more than “yes” or “no” to any question. But Grace had not been born a minister’s daughter for nothing, and she was past mistress of all the graces of conversation and of making people feel at their ease. She was presently deep in the story of a certain set of photographs of strange lands that had been gathered by her father in a trip he had taken several years before, and the other girl in spite of herself was getting interested.
It is curious how many little things manage to get across into one’s consciousness at a time like this. How, for instance, did Cornelia in the kitchen, taking up the cutlets and placing them on the hot plates, know just the precise instant when Brand Barlock’s car drew up before the door and Carey’s clear whistle in the third story ceased? She felt it even before the door opened and Louise’s excited whisper announced, “He’s come, Nellie! Hurry!” And she was even then unbuttoning the big enveloping apron and hurrying forward.
So she met Brand Barlock at the front door with a welcoming hand outstretched to greet him and a hearty low-voiced, “I’m so glad you could come! Carey doesn’t know about it yet, but I expect he’ll see your car out of his window. He’s upstairs dressing. Come in. Let me take your hat. Mr. Barlock, let me introduce Miss Kendall and Miss Dodd.”
Brand Barlock stared. First at Cornelia, swiftly, approvingly, and with an answering smile for her cordial one; then at the lovely room that he entered, and gave a swift, comprehensive survey; and then at the lovely girl in blue who came forward to greet him.
“Pleased to meet you, I’m sure!” he said giving her a direct appraisement, a respectful interest, and shaking her hand quite unnecessarily. He was entirely at ease and altogether accustomed to rapid adjustments to environment, one could see that at once, yet it was also perceptible that he was surprised, and agreeably so. He held Grace Kendall’s slim young hand impressively, a trifle longer than was in keeping with polite usage, yet not long enough to be resented; and his eyes made several sentences’ progress in acquaintance with her before he took them from her face and let them rest upon Miss Dodd, who had at last risen with some show of interest in life again and come a step or two forward. Then he stared again.
“Oh! Hello, Clytie! You here?” he greeted her carelessly and went and sat down beside Miss Kendall. His tone said that Clytie Dodd was decidedly out of her element, and suddenly under the heavy veneer of white Clytie Dodd grew deeply red. Cornelia with a glance took in all these things, and a wave of sudden compassion swept over her, too, for the girl whom she had thus placed in a trying position. Had she done well? She could not tell. But it was too late now. She must go forward and make it a success. She tried to make it
up by smiling at the girl pleasantly.
“Now, if you will just talk a minute or two, I think Carey will be down soon. It is time for Father’s car to come, and we’ll have dinner at once.” Cornelia disappeared through the dining room door again.
Just at that precise moment Arthur Maxwell slowed up his car at the corner where Mr. Copley’s trolley was about to stop and looked perplexedly about him, studying the houses on either side.
“I beg your pardon,” he said politely, as Mr. Copley got out of the trolley and crossed the street in front of him. “Could you tell me if there is a family by the name of Copley about here? I seem to have mislaid the address, but my memory of it is that they live somewhere along this block or the next.”
“Copley’s my name, sir,” said Mr. Copley with his genial smile. “What can I do for you?”
“Glad to meet you, Mr. Copley,” said Maxwell cordially. “I’ve had no end of a time finding your house. Thought I could go directly to it but find my memory wasn’t so good as I banked on. I must have left the address at home, after all. I’ve a box there to deliver to your daughter. You have a daughter, haven’t you?”
“Why, yes, two of them,” said the father, smiling. He liked this pleasant young man with the handsome smile and the expensive car asking after his daughter. This was his idea of the kind of friends he would like his daughters to have if he had the choosing. “I guess you mean Cornelia. I suppose you’re somebody she met at college.”
“No, nothing so good as that. I can’t really claim anything but a secondhand acquaintance. It was my mother who met her on a journey to Philadelphia some months ago. Mother quite fell in love with her, I believe, and she’s sent her some ferns, which she asked me to deliver. Suppose you get in, and I’ll take you the rest of the way. It is in this block?”