A Colony of Girls Part 32

The following afternoon the girls were having tea in the drawing-room, the long French windows were pushed wide open, and the soft west wind moved the curtains gently to and fro. The blinds were drawn, for the sun shone hotly, and the half-darkened room seemed deliciously cool and refres.h.i.+ng, after the sultry atmosphere of the outer world.

Little Gladys danced in from the hall-way, waving a letter in the air.

"I took it away from Susie, sister," she cried, in her clear, childish treble. "I don't know who it's for."

Miss Stuart leaned forward in her chair, and caught the soft dimpled wrist in her firm white hand.

"Let me read the address for you, baby."

Gladys demurred, shaking her fluffy head, her blue eyes full of laughter, but Miss Stuart quietly possessed herself of the letter.

Her face fell as she turned toward the light and read the address. The handwriting, familiar, yet half strange, awakened a host of memories within her; but the written name was not the one she had been wont to see. She read the address aloud, with a tinge of sarcasm in her smooth voice:

"'Miss Jean Lawrence, The Manor House.' For you, Miss Jean."

Jean crossed the room and took the envelope from Miss Stuart's hand.

She could not repress a faint start of surprise as her eyes fell upon the superscription, but the scornful smile on Miss Stuart's lips lent her instant self-control. She slipped the letter into her pocket, and resuming her place at Eleanor's side, took up the thread of the conversation where it had been broken off, with apparent ease and facility. But her heart was beating wildly, and the hand that held the dainty teacup was far from steady.

It was almost an hour later when she pushed aside the portieres, and entered the music room. She glanced about her anxiously to a.s.sure herself that she was alone, then crossing to the further end and ensconsing herself in one of the deep window-seats, pulled the letter from her pocket. For an instant she held it in her hand, her brows drawn together, a wistful, questioning look in her eyes. She was forcing herself to recall every word that Helen had said to her that miserable evening in the garden. In the light of that talk, this letter to her from Valentine Farr both puzzled and troubled her. She looked down at the address, and with a sudden light of determination in her face, broke the seal:

MY DEAR MISS JEAN:

We have received our orders and leave Hetherford on Thursday. Will you not let me see you before we sail? I started for the manor yesterday, but from a distance saw you driving away. I seem to be most unfortunate, but I cannot turn my back on the place where I have found so much happiness, without an attempt to see you again, to a.s.sure myself, at least, that I carry with me your friends.h.i.+p and good will. You were very good to me in the early days of our sojourn here, Miss Jean, and in memory of those days I venture to ask you if I may call at the manor to-morrow about four o'clock.

Yours, VALENTINE FARR.

Once, twice Jean read it through, then mechanically folded the bit of paper, and fitted it into the envelope carefully. A tremulous, incredulous joy was dawning on her face. She felt oppressed, and started to her feet. It surprised her to find that she was trembling so she could not stand. She laughed, a little hysterically, as she sank back on the window-seat. Then, suddenly, she flung out her hands, and slipping down on her knees, buried her face in the soft cus.h.i.+ons, and a storm of weeping shook the slender figure. In her despair she had been silent, tearless, but in this awakening of hope within her, her pent-up feelings found relief in tears. A wild, almost unreasonable, joy was growing in her heart, and her quivering lips were pressed pa.s.sionately to her lover's letter. Her faith in him, which Helen's words had so cruelly crushed, was fast springing into life again.

When at length the strength of her emotion had worn itself away, she lifted her head and, rising slowly to her feet, leaned against the cas.e.m.e.nt, and looked thoughtfully out upon the peaceful scene. The sun was setting, and the western horizon was one blaze of golden glory.

Jean's grave eyes seemed asking counsel of the far illumined sky. Once a deep sigh trembled through her lips, and the thought that prompted it almost formed itself in words.

"Oh, if only my mother were here! I could not ask advice of anyone else, but I think I could speak to her."

For a long time Jean stood there silent, motionless; and when at last she moved away the crimson light had quite faded, and a soft violet haze lingered in the western sky. She crossed the room, and seated herself at the open desk. For a moment she hesitated, holding her pen poised above the sheet of paper, then bent her head, and wrote rapidly:

MY DEAR MR. FARR:

I shall be at home to-morrow afternoon, and shall be very glad to see you. I am sorry to learn that you are about to leave Hetherford, and somewhat surprised also, as I had no idea that your departure was imminent.

Yours very sincerely, JEAN LAWRENCE.

The written words looked cold and formal, and with a tender feeling of compunction Jean raised the bit of paper to her lips.

"I would be more kind, dear, if I dared," she murmured softly.

The old Dutch clock in the corner of the hall-way was chiming the hour of three the following afternoon, when Jean opened the door of her room, and started to descend the wide staircase. From below voices floated up to her, and when she reached the landing she paused and, leaning over the banisters, looked down upon the girls who were standing near the open front door. Nathalie caught sight of her, and smiled blithely.

"Don't you want to come with us, Jean? We are going over to the inn for a game of tennis."

Jean shook her head.

"I am going to be thoroughly domestic this afternoon," she announced with a conscious little laugh.

At the sound of her voice Miss Stuart glanced sharply over her shoulder. There flashed into her mind the recollection of Farr's note to Jean the previous day. She closed her lips tightly as she followed Helen and Nathalie out upon the veranda, and was singularly silent as they sauntered leisurely across the lawn. When they were almost at the gates, she turned to Helen, a distressed expression on her lovely face.

"Would you mind very much if I should turn back? I have had a slight headache all day, and the sun seems to make it so much worse."

Helen looked sympathetically around at her.

"Why no, indeed, dear. I was afraid you were not feeling well, you have been so quiet. By all means let us go right back."

But Miss Stuart would not listen to such an arrangement, and declared, with quite the air of a martyr, that she should proceed to the inn, in spite of her headache, unless Helen would do as she desired. When at last she had succeeded in ridding herself of her companions, she drew a deep breath, and turning, walked hurriedly up the avenue. She did not quite see her way clear to prevent an interview between Farr and Jean, but she felt that if she were near at hand, fortune might throw some unlooked-for chance into her path. She had kept them apart so far. Surely she must not fail now at the very end, for the news of the _Vortex's_ departure had been spread abroad by Dudley with loud lamentations.

A great stillness lay over the manor this warm August afternoon, and as she ascended the veranda steps she heard clearly Aunt Helen's soft voice calling to Jean from the floor above.

"My dear, will you not come up and read to me for a while? My eyes are troubling me so, I dare not use them any more."

Miss Stuart stood still and listened, as Jean came slowly out from the drawing-room.

"Very well, Auntie," the girl responded half-heartedly, and with an impatient sigh started up the stairs.

Miss Stuart waited a moment, then crossed the veranda noiselessly, and entered the house. After a cautious glance about the drawing-room, she stationed herself in one of the front windows which commanded the approach to the manor. The blinds were drawn to shut out the heat and glare, and she turned the slats slightly to afford a view of the driveway. A faint breeze rustled the vines that trailed over the veranda rail and climbed the graceful columns. The moments dragged slowly by. Even Miss Stuart's active mind began at length to yield itself to the drowsy influence of the lifeless atmosphere, the monotonous buzzing of the flies, and the lazy twittering of the birds as they rested idly on the branches of the elms, or sailed languidly through the haze which softly enveloped the earth. She flung one arm above her head, and leaned back in her chair. Her thoughts went back to those far-off happy days in Annapolis, and a faint smile curved the lines of her mouth. Dreamily her memories journeyed on toward the present, and then once more her jealous wrath was awakened. She started up the more effectually to shake off the torpor that was stealing over her, and, rising, took one or two short turns up and down the room, pausing frequently at her post, to peer out through the drawn blinds. Her vigil was a tedious one, the result of it uncertain, but the warring spirit within her was now thoroughly aroused and her patience did not flag.

"What move can I make?" she asked herself again and again. "I can't very well insist on playing an unwelcome third to their _tete-a-tete_.

They have been driven, and they would outwit me there. Ah! well, we shall see, we shall see."

Then a sharp exclamation broke from her, for, as she halted at the window, she discovered Valentine Farr's erect figure swinging lightly across the lawn in the direction of the manor. She turned the slats softly and crossed hurriedly to the entrance of the drawing-room, and standing there, her hands holding the portieres apart on either side, she tilted her head forward, straining every nerve to catch the faintest sound from the floor above. It was perfectly quiet, and her face cleared a little. Next her anxious eyes swept the half-darkened hall-way, as if in search of some suggestion, but the wide chimney-place with its bra.s.s andirons agleam where the light touched them, the old clock in the corner ticking slowly, steadily, offered her no help. The outer door stood ajar, and leaning a little further forward she could see that Farr was within a short distance of the veranda. Ah! what should she do? Her quick ear caught the sound of a heavy footfall ascending from the lower floor and while her eyes were riveted on the spot whence the sound issued, the swinging door in the rear of the hall was pushed open, and a woman toiled laboriously through, bearing in her arms a hamper of clean linen. Miss Stuart's ready mind sprang at once to the solution of the difficulty, and while the thought formed itself, she cleared the distance between them.

Her voice shook a little as she spoke, for her heart was beating high in the hope of victory.

"Please set your hamper right down here, and go to the front door.

There is a gentleman just coming in. Say to him that Miss Jean begs to be excused, that she particularly wishes to be excused. Well,"

imperiously, for the good-natured woman was staring at her stupidly, with gaping mouth and astonished eyes. "Don't you understand me? Put your hamper down at once and do as I tell you."

The woman obeyed her slowly, and wiping her hands on her ap.r.o.n, moved clumsily forward. Farr's foot was already on the step of the veranda, and Miss Stuart had barely time to push open the swinging door and conceal herself behind it, when his clear, quiet voice, addressing the strange servant, broke the stillness.

"Will you please tell Miss Jean Lawrence that Mr. Farr wishes to see her. She is expecting me, I believe."

The woman confused by her hurried orders, and embarra.s.sed by the unusual duty of waiting upon the door, grew very red in the face, as she answered bluntly:

"She says she won't see yer, sir."

Farr stared blankly at her.

"What? Oh, I think you must be mistaken. Just take my message up to Miss Jean, please."

In her hiding-place Miss Stuart clutched tightly at the folds of her gown, and a look of desperation burned in her eyes. But her fears were unfounded. The woman's thickset figure barred the doorway, and she stood her ground stolidly.