He looked into the depths of her eyes for an instant and exulted in their starry shine. She seemed so utterly sweet and natural.
"Then shall we arrange for it, unless I hear from you that you cannot get away?" he asked. "And may I call for you here, or will some other place be more convenient?"
"I could not get away until the last minute," she said thoughtfully. "There would not be time to come home, I'm afraid; and, dear me ! I'll not be very fine to go to a concert straight from the store without a chance to freshen up."
**You always look nice," he said, admiringly. "Then suppose I meet you in the Chestnut Street waiting-room at half past two. Will that be quite convenient, or is there some other place you would prefer?"
Before she realized it was all settled, he was gone, and she was on her way up to the little room at the top of the house.
But somehow in spite of her happiness over her coming pleasure there seemed to be an undertone of self-accusation in her heart. She had not revealed her station in life to him thoroughly, and she ought to have done so. Even though he did know she was working in a store for the present, he might think it was on account of some sudden reverse of fortune, and that because Mr. Radnor had introduced her among other girls she must necessarily have come of a fine old family, and be a girl of education and refinement. The dull old wall-paper on the hall seemed to cry out "Shame!" to her as she passed by; the very cheap pine stair banisters mocked her with their bony spindles, and reminded her that he
thought her more than she was, and she had not un^ deceived him.
"He has not been in this shabby house," they seemed to say. "He does not know how you live in poverty. If he could see us all as we are, we, your surroundings, he would never be inviting you to go to grand concerts. He will only turn your head, and make you discontented, and then when he finds out — when he finds out — when, he finds out!" They fairly shouted it through the keyhole at her as she shut her door sharply and lighted her gas, trying to solace her troubled mind with a glimpse of the dainty refuge she had made.
She tried to forget these things in looking at her roses as she unpinned them before her glass, and laid them tenderly on the white bed-spread.
"You dears!" she said, "if you could only last till next Saturday, but you won't. And you're the very last. There'll be no more chances for you any more. Bless the dear old lady, whoever she is"— she had settled it long ago that the donor of the roses was a dear old lady with white hair, like the one who sat in the balcony below and sometimes looked up in her direction, and who probably sent her serv* ant up to leave the rose in her seat. She never troubled any more to explain just how or why. It Vk^as like a sweet fairy tale which one took on faith—
"The dear old lady will never know where to find me any more; at least, unless I get the same seat next year; and I'm afraid that is not possible, for they told me the former holder wanted it again next year. Perhaps, now, perhaps—that's an idea. What if somebody has been putting flowers in that former owner's seat, and doesn't know she is gone away? Maybe they have been meant for her all the time. Well, she was off to Europe or somewhere, and I have enjoyed the roses for her. If I had not, they might have withered unnoticed. But isn't it great, great, great that I'm to hear the real Pader—how did he pronounce that name? I wonder? I must listen when he speaks it again, and remember just how it was."
Thus communing with herself she managed to silence for a time the voices of her poverty that were crying out against her. But, when she was alone upon her pillow in the dark, once more her conscience arose, and reminded her that she did not know a thing about this stranger save that he was kind. Of course, Mr. Radnor had introduced him, and also the minister, who had seemed very fond of him, but they did not expect her to go trailing off everywhere with him, and mercy—he might be married ! Married men nowadays did sometimes pay attention to girls. But she was not that kind of »
girl. She resolved that she would tell him all about herself plainly the next time she saw him. Perhaps it would be after church to-morrow night; and, it it was, she would be brave and tell him quickly before he could make her fear to lose the joy of that wonderful concert.
Che might, of course, wait for just this one mor^, gre.Vt pleasure; to go to a real concert with a man like that would be a thing to remember all one's life. B',1^,, if one took a forbidden pleasure what could th'*re be in the memory but shame and bitterness?
There was no way but to tell him all about it at Di ce. If he did not come to church Sunday eve-nj ag, perhaps she ought to write him a note, and ircline to go to the concert. But then that would :^( ^m to be making so much of the vv'hole matter, as if she were taking his small attentions too seriously. VVhat should she do? Oh for her dear father to advise her! He had not been highly educated, nor m^ich used to the ways of the world; but somehow he had always seemed to possess a keen sense to know what to do on every occasion, and his love for his one daughter had made him highly sensitive to help her on all occasions.
Between her joy over the prospective pleasure and her worrying over this matter she had a week of most intense excitement. Sometimes she thought
ehe would send him word that she could not go, without explaining anything; and sometimes she thought she would go for this once and have her good time, telling him afterward. Once more could do no harm. And yet in spite of all her questionings she went steadily forward with her preparations.
Her problem was by no means solved by the fact that Lyman did not appear in church Sabbath evening, and that early Monday morning a note was brought to her door from him, saying that he had found a telegram awaiting him the evening before, which had called him away from the city immediately, not to return until Friday evening; but he hoped that she would arrange matters satisfactorily for the concert on Saturday, for he was counting on the pleasure of her company.
When she opened the envelope, her heart gave a wild throb of pleasure. It was so wonderful to be receiving notes like other girls, so marvellous that he cared to be kind to her!
Yet it troubled her and frightened her to think she cared so much. If her dear father were with her, she felt certain he would warn her against losing her heart to this man. It was out of the question that he could be her intimate friend, so far apart they were in everything. If her father had lived, and she could have gone on with her studies, it might have
been possible in time that she could have been fitted to be a worthy friend of such a one.
She sighed, and pressed back the tears that smarted in her eyes. She would not give up to dis* content. She would take this one pleasure yet, this concert. It was too late now to stop it. He had given her no address except his home, and he was to be away all the week. It was not quite polite to send a refusal at the last minute when perhaps he could get no one else to accompany him, though of course he could probably always get good company. There was no sense in blinding herself; she might just as well admit that she was weak enough to want this one more real pleasure before she stopped altogether her friendliness with the only worthy man who had ever sought her out and seemed to care for her company. She would go to the concert, and then on the way home she would briefly and quietly tell him all about herself. That would end it. It were better ended before her* whole life was spoiled with useless Cong-ing for a companionship that could never be hers. She must stop it before it was too late, and save herself.
Yet the tears that wet her pillow that night ought to have made her doubt whether it was not ■already too late.
That noon she took time from her lunch-hour
to hover about the remnant-counters and make a few modest purchases, and that evening she began to evolve a charming little afternoon dress for herself modelled after one in the French department, a biouse from a remnant of silk and a bit of chififon she had bought. Marion was skilful with her needle, and she had wonderful imported creations to copy. The dress was an exquisite triumph of art when completed, and fitted her admirably besides being most becoming.
&nb
sp; Brov/sing around in the millinery department, she discovered a table of last year's hats, and among them a very fine imported one whose brim was slightly damaged; and the price was merely nominal. The artist in the girl saw the possibilities in that hat. She bought it at once, and that night remedied the defect by a deft bit of .trimming. The result was most charming.
"If I only had some of those wonderful roses," she sighed. "I should really look quite grand for once." But of course there would be no more roses. The new dress and the pretty hat went to the store next morning, the dress in a small pasteboard box. Marion appeared in her place behind the counter in her plain dress as usual, and only her shining eyes like two stars, and the soft flush on her cheek, told that anything unusual was to happen that day.
Z2S CRIMSON ROSES
About eleven o'clock there appeared at the ribbon-counter a boy with a large box asking loudly for Miss Warren. Marion was making ribbon-violets for a fussy old lady, patiently tr^ang to please her, and did not notice the boy; but the other girls were not oblivious. They brought the box to her in great excitement.
"That's the boy from Horton's!" said one girl. "Say M'rion Warren, you must have a swell friend to send you flowers from that place. Seems to me you keep it mighty quiet."
But Marion only smiled at them, and laid the box on the floor beside her. "Thank you," she said, and went on making her violets quite as if she had expected this box, though her fingers were trembling and her face had grown white with excitement. Could it be that the box contained more roses? Could it be that someone really knew her and v/as sending them to her? Yes, it must be, for this was the second time they had come in a box and directly from a florist.
She had never been able to explain the other time, the day after she had come home in the rain and caught cold. But now she must face the question that she had been putting aside. Who cotild be sending her flowers?
It was someone who knew her actions, who cared when she was ill, and who knew she was goin;^ to a
concert. No one knew that but her old landlady who had happened up to the door while she was making her new dress. She had showed her the hat and dress, and told her that a friend had invited her to go to a concert. But that poor old lady would never have thought of lovely roses, even if she had desired to do something pleasant; and she certainly never could have afforded them. What was Marion to think?
It had never occurred to her to connect the roses with her new friend. They were part of her life before he came into it, and of course he could not have sent them. She would have been too humble to think such a thing possible.
But the rest of the morning she worked in a tremor of delicious excitement. She slipped the box, unopened, under the lower shelf, and went on with her ribbons, much to the disappointment of the other girls, who wanted a glimpse of what it contained. But she could not bear to open it before them all.
However, at half past one, when she was excused for the day, she hurried up to the privacy of the small dressing-room set aside for employees; and, finding that the box contained far more roses than she could possibly wear at once, she hurried back with her arms full of lovely buds, and bestowed one on each of her comrades.
"I don't care," said one of the loudest-»»roiced of
them all, after they had thanked her, and she had slipped away again, "I don't care! I think she's just a sweet little thing, if she is awful quiet and close about herself. She deserves to have nice friends. She's different somehow from most folks, and she seems to fit those roses. I'm glad she's got the afternoon off, even if I do have to look after some of her customers. She was awful good to me when I had the grippe, and I hope she has a good time with her roses and her swell friends."
"Yes, she's all right,'* assented another girl, burying her nose deep in her rose. And the others all chorused, "Sure, she is!" as they separated to their various places, each breathing the perfume of her rose.
Marion ate no lunch. She was too much excited. The great hour was here at last, and after it would come the time of self-humiliation. But she was going to forget all about it until the concert was over. She was going to enjoy to the full the joy that had been set before her.
^ She hurried to the dressing-room, and donned the new dress and hat. The old dress was tucked away in the box to stay in her locker until Monday.
She thought with a qualm of conscience as she turned away from the glass that perhaps she ought not to have made herself look quite so much like a
girl of his own class, and then the task before her would have been easier.
It seemed very strange to her to sit in a luxurious chair in the waiting-room, dressed like a lady, and see the whirl of life go on about her, while off in the distance she could glimpse the ribbon-counter, with the girls going busily about, now and then stopping to smell their roses. A happy smile came into Marion's eyes as she noticed this, and she bowed her face to her own glorious roses fastened on her breast. She was glad over the roses, that they had come that special day in time for the concert, and that there had been enough to give the other girls some, the other girls, who were not going to have her good time. She wished she might thank the giver.
He came exactly on the minute appointed; and, when she stood up quietly at his approach, he half paused and caught his breath at the lovely vision she made, the soft cream-colored dress, the becoming hat, the shining of her eyes, the glow of her cheeks above the velvet of the gorgeous roses. He had not known how beautiful she was before, he told himself, though he had always thought her lovely. Did the roses, or the clothes, or the joy in her face, make all that difference, wondered he ? How he should like to spend his life making her look like that!
CHAPTER XIII
A SWEET shyness came down upon Marion as they went on their way to the Academy of Music. Her companion seemed to see and understand, and he did most of the talking himself, making her forget the strangeness of it all.
But when they entered the Academy by the great front door where only the select who frequented the boxes might enter she was filled with awe.
They mounted only one low flight of broad marble stairs, and entered the enchanted precincts of the first balcony; and he led her to one of the luxurious boxes in the semi-circle, set apart by crim^ son curtains. When she sank into her velvet chair down close to the front rail, and looked out over the great room, and down upon the platform that she had before seen only from afar, she realized that everything was different from this point of view.
For an instant her soul quivered before the thought that her other world where she belonged, which was represented by the highest gallery, would perhaps be spoiled for her by this brief stay in luxury. Then she put it all aside joyously. Never mind if her own world seemed not so grand by contrast. 232
She would always know hereafter how it felt to be one of those favored ones down here. She was having her taste of the delights of luxury, and she would enjoy concerts all the more after having this broader view of life.
Sitting thus with the crimson background, the crimson roses against the soft tan of her dress, Marion was beautiful. Isabel Cresson, on the other side of the house in a gloomy proscenium box, attended by her aunt, was unable to recognize her. There was nothing about her costume that could be criticized. It had the stamp of a foreign maker just because the owner had caught the cunning of the great originators of her models.
Isabel was baffled by the sight and much disquieted within her. She studied the other girl again and again through the afternoon; but not once did she dream that she was the plain, despised Marion Warren, sitting in the seat of the mighty and looking as lovely as one of them. She tried once to signal Lyman to bring his friend around to meet her; but he did not seem to see her, and she had to solace herself with watching his devotion to his beautiful companion.
From the moment when the great pianist came to the platform until the last lingering note of the last encore was over, and the last bow was received with
jubilant applause, Marion was utterl
y unconscious of self. The strong, fine personality of the musician, which seemed to fill the great auditorium and dominate every being in it from the moment of his entrance, charmed her.
Marion's heart swelled with wonder at the miracle of the music. No player or players, no singer or instrument, had ever affected her quite as this great man did.
She listened with her soul in her eyes as the master fingers struck the keys, and the instrument responded as if it were glad of the hand that touched it. The music seemed to drip from his finger-tips like liquid jewels flashing as they fell. The young untaught girl drank it in most eagerly, forgetting everything besides; and the man who had brought her forgot to listen in watching her keen delight. The great master of the keys might be at his best, and at another time this man would have rejoiced in it; but to-day the music was but a lovely setting for his love, which shone like priceless pearls amidst it all.
After the programme w^as over they called the pianist back, seven, eight times; and each time he played again as if he could not bear to deny them the gift to which they had accorded so great applause. When at last he was gone, and the reluctant audi-
ence came down to earth again and began to pick up their belongings. Marion turned to her companion with a radiant face and a sigh of ecstasy.
"Oh, it has been like being in heaven for a little while and hearing someone who had learned of God."
"Perhaps he has," said Lyman reverently. "It seems as if no other man could so nearly reach our ideals of the heavenly music."
"I shall remember it always," said the girl, her eyes shining like two stars.
Then suddenly, as they passed from the hall into the thronged street, she realized that it was over, and her task-time had come.
She must tell him. But all the simple speech she had fashioned took flight, and left her trembling so that she tottered as she went down the wide stone steps to the pavement; Lyman put out his hand, and steadied her courteously.