Light O' the Morning: The Story of an Irish Girl Part 35

It occurred to Stephanotie that, as she could not wear the rose-colored dress, as she must go perforce to the Hartricks' in her dove-colored cashmere, with its very neat velvet collar and cuffs, she would at least make her entrance a little striking.

"Why not take a box of bon-bons to Mrs. Hartrick?" she said to herself.

"There's that great big new box which I have not opened yet It contains dozens of every kind of sweetmeat. I'll present it to her; she'll be pleased with the attention."

The box was a very large one; on its lid was painted a picture of two or three cupids hovering in the air, some of them touching the shoulders of a pretty girl who was supposed to be opening a box of chocolates. There was a good deal of color and embossed writing also on the cover, and altogether it was as showy and, in Stephanotie's opinion, as handsome a thing as anybody could desire.

She walked through the village, holding the box, tied with great bunches of red ribbon, in her hand. She scorned to put a brown-paper cover over it; she would take it in all its naked glory into the midst of the Hartrick household.

On her way she met the other two girls who were also going to spend an afternoon at The Laurels. Rose and Mabel Armitage were the daughters of a neighbouring squire. They were nice girls, but conventional.

There was nothing original about either of them; but they were very much respected in the school, not only on account of their father's position--he represented the county in the House--but also because they were good, industrious, and so-called clever. The Armitages took prizes at every examination. Their French was considered very nearly Parisian in accent; their drawings were all in absolutely perfect proportions.

It is true the trees in Rose's landscapes looked a little stiff; but how carefully she laid on her water-colors; how honestly she endeavored to copy her master's smallest requirements! Then Mabel played with great correctness, never for a single moment allowing a wrong note to appear; and they both sang, very prettily, simple little ballads; and they were dressed with exquisite neatness and propriety in very quiet colors--dark blues, very dark reds, pretty, neat blouses, suitable skirts. Their hair was s.h.i.+ny, and sat in little tight tendrils and pretty curls round their heads. They were as like as two peas--each girl had a prim little mouth with rosy lips; each girl possessed an immaculate set of white teeth; each girl had a little, straight nose and pretty, clear gray-blue eyes; their foreheads were low, their eyebrows penciled and delicately marked.

They had neat little figures; they were neat in every way, neat in soul too; admirable little people, but commonplace. And, just because they were commonplace, they did not like fiery-red-haired Stephanotie; they thought Molly the essence of vulgarity; they secretly admired beautiful Nora, but thought her manners and style of conversation deplorable; and they adored Linda as a kindred spirit.

Seeing them walking on in advance, like a little pair of doves, Stephanotie quickened her steps until she came up to them.

"Hallo!" she said; "you guess where I'm off to?"

"I am sure I cannot say," answered Rose, turning gently round.

Mabel was always Rose's echo.

"I cannot say," she repeated.

"Well, I can guess where you're going. You're going to have a right down good time at The Laurels--guess I'm right?"

"We are going to spend an afternoon at The Laurels," said Rose.

"An afternoon at The Laurels," echoed Mabel.

"And so am I--that's the best of the fun," said Stephanotie; "and I mean to give her something to remember me by."

"Whom do you mean?" said Rose.

"Why, my good, respected hostess, Mrs. Hartrick."

"What do you mean to give her?" asked Rose.

"This. How do you like it? It's full of bon-bons."

Rose, notwithstanding her virtuous and commonplace mind, had a secret leaning toward bon-bons. She did not dare to confess it even to Mabel; for Mabel also had a secret leaning, and did not dare to confess it to Rose. It was not _comme il faut_ in their family for the girls of the house to indulge in bon-bons; but still, they would have liked some of those delicious sweets, and had often envied Stephanotie when she was showing them to her companions.

Of course, not for worlds would they have been friendly with the terrible American girl; but they did envy her her boxes of sweets.

"How gay!" said Rose, looking at the startling cover, with its cupids and its greedy-looking maiden.

"How jolly," said the American girl--"how luscious when you're eating them! Would you like to see them inside?"

"Oh, I think not," said Rose.

"Better not," said Mabel.

"But why better not?" continued Stephanotie. "It's natural that girls like us should like sweetmeats, bon-bons, or anything of that sort.

Here, there's a nice little bit of shelter under this tree, and there's no one looking. I'll untie the ribbons; just hold the box, Rose."

Rose held it. Stephanotie hastily pulled off the red ribbons and lifted the cover. Oh, how delicious the inside did look!--rows upon rows of every imaginable sweet--cream-colored sweets, rose-colored, green, white; plums, apples, pears, figs, chocolates; every sort that the heart of girl could desire lay before them in rows on rows.

"They are, every one of them, for Mrs. Hartrick," said Stephanotie, "and you mustn't touch them. But I have got two boxes in my pocket; they make it bulge out; I should be glad to get rid of them. We'll tie this up, but you'll each have one of my boxes."

In a jiffy the big box was tied up again with its huge crimson bows, and each of the Armitage girls possessed one of the American girl's boxes of bon-bons.

"Aren't they pretty? Do have some; you don't know how long you may be kept waiting for your tea," said Stephanotie as she danced beside her companions up the avenue.

In this fas.h.i.+on, therefore, did the three enter the house, for both of the Armitages had yielded to temptation, and each girl was just finis.h.i.+ng a large bon-bon when they appeared on the scene.

Mrs. Hartrick was standing in the great square central hall, waiting for her guests.

Stephanotie ran up to her.

"It's very good of you indeed to ask me," she said; "and please accept this--won't you? It's from an American girl, a trophy to remember her by."

"Indeed?" said Mrs. Hartrick, flus.h.i.+ng very brightly. She stepped back a little; the huge box of bon-bons was forced into her hands.

"Jehoshaphat!" exclaimed Molly.

"Molly!" said her mother.

Linda uttered a little sigh. Rose and Mabel immediately became as discreet and commonplace and proper as they could be; but Stephanotie knew that the boxes of bon-bons were reposing in each of their pockets and her spirits rose higher than ever.

"Where is Irish Nora?" she said. "It's she that is fond of a good sweet such as they make for us in the States. But have the box--won't you, Mrs. Hartrick? I have brought it to you as a token of my regard."

"Indeed? Thank you very much, Miss Miller," said Mrs. Hartrick in a chilly voice. She laid the box on a side-table.

CHAPTER XXIV.

THE TELEGRAM,

The girls went out into the grounds. The afternoon happened to be a perfect one; the air was balmy, with a touch of the Indian summer about it. The last roses were blooming on their respective bushes; the geraniums were making a good show in the carefully laid out beds. There were clumps of asters and dahlias to be seen in every direction; some late poppies and some sweet-peas and mignonette made the borders still look very attractive, and the chrysanthemums were beginning to appear.

"In a week's time they will be splendid," said Linda, piloting her two friends through the largest of the greenhouses.

"Do come away," said Molly; "when Linda speaks in that prim voice she's intolerable. Come, Nora; come, Stephie--we'll just have a run by ourselves."

Nora was still looking rather pale. The shock of the morning had caused the color to fade from her cheeks; she could not get the utterly changed O'Shanaghgan out of her head. She longed to write to her father, and yet she did not dare.