The Girl from Arizona Part 17

At this moment Beverly, who had gone to speak to some friends at another table, joined the party, and the subject of his family was dropped. The luncheon was a very merry one. They were a large party, for besides Lulu's father and mother and the three girls, there were a couple of Yale students, friends of the Bells, and everybody seemed in excellent spirits. Marjorie felt a little shy at first, but soon thawed under the genial atmosphere, and before the meal was over she was chatting and laughing as merrily as any of the others.

"Isn't Marjorie a nice girl?" whispered Winifred to Lulu, as they were leaving the restaurant. "I'm so glad she got the chance to come, but I do wonder what Elsie will say."

It seemed to Marjorie that the next three hours must be the most exciting period of her life. To most girls a college football game is looked upon as a rather important event, but to Marjorie, fresh from her Arizona home, it was an experience never to be forgotten. It was on the whole a peaceful game, and there were no serious accidents to mar the general enjoyment and as the sun continued to s.h.i.+ne, and the day was comfortably warm, there were not even the usual discomforts of weather to be endured. Marjorie and her friends were about equally divided in their champions.h.i.+p; Lulu, Winifred and Gertie being for Yale, while Beverly and Marjorie herself favored Harvard, and joined in the cheers and rejoicing when the "Crimson" at last carried off the honors of the day, although Yale ran so close behind that at one time fears had been entertained that the game would be a tie.

"Are you tired, Marjorie?" Beverly asked, as they were making their way through the dense throng to the waiting motor-car.

"I don't know whether I am or not," said Marjorie, laughing. "It has all been so wonderful, and I don't feel as if I could quite realize it yet. Oh, there they are!"

"Who?" demanded Beverly, looking round in surprise. "Oh, I see, your aunt and cousin--do you want to speak to them?"

"Yes, of course I do; they'll be so surprised. Why, Elsie is staring at me as if she didn't know me."

To say that Mrs. Carleton and her daughter were surprised would be but a mild way of expressing their feelings. They were for the moment literally speechless with astonishment. Elsie was the first to recover her power of articulation.

"Is it really and truly you, Marjorie?" she demanded, regarding her smiling cousin with round-eyed amazement.

"Yes, it really and truly is," laughed Marjorie. "I've been trying to find you all the afternoon, but there was such a crowd. I knew you'd be surprised."

"Surprised!" echoed Elsie, looking from Marjorie to her tall companion, "I was never so surprised in my life. But how did it happen--who brought you?"

"Mr. Randolph and his mother," said Marjorie, "wasn't it perfectly lovely of them?" And she proceeded to give her aunt and cousin an account of recent events.

"I am sure it was extremely kind of Mrs. Randolph," Mrs. Carleton said, when Marjorie had finished her story. "I only hope this little girl hasn't been a trouble to your mother, Mr. Randolph."

"Indeed she hasn't," declared Beverly, not without some indignation in his tone. "We've had a splendid time, haven't we, Marjorie?" To which Marjorie, who felt suddenly as if a pail of ice water had been dashed over her, answered rather meekly:--

"It was beautiful. I never had such a good time in my life."

"I am afraid that we must hurry along, Mrs. Carleton," said Beverly. "My mother and uncle have gone ahead, and will be waiting for us at the entrance. Don't worry about Marjorie; we'll take good care of her, and bring her home safely. We may be a little late, as my uncle doesn't like to run his car fast after dark."

"Oh, I shall not worry," said Mrs. Carleton, with her sweetest smile. "I know Marjorie is in excellent hands, and between ourselves, I think she is a very fortunate little girl."

Marjorie was rather silent during the long ride back to New York that evening. Mrs. Randolph and the doctor thought she was tired after all the excitement of the day, and kindly left her alone, but Beverly was of a different opinion, and his feelings towards Marjorie's aunt and cousin were not of the kindest.

"I suppose your aunt was very much surprised to see you," Mrs. Randolph said kindly, merely for the sake of conversation.

"Very much indeed," said Marjorie, in a tone that was not altogether steady. "Oh, Mrs. Randolph, I do hope I haven't been a trouble to you."

"A trouble! My dear child, what nonsense. It has been perfectly delightful to have you with us, and you have added greatly to our pleasure. I hope we may have many more little trips together before the winter is over. You know I am very fond of little girls."

Marjorie was much relieved, but her heart was not as light as it had been all day.

"Be sure to remember me to your father when you write," were Dr.

Randolph's parting words to Marjorie, as they drew up before the big hotel at ten o'clock that night. "Tell him he mustn't forget to look me up when he comes to New York."

"Indeed I will," promised Marjorie; "he will be so interested. I don't suppose--" with sudden eagerness--"that you ever go to Arizona?"

"I have never been there as yet, but n.o.body knows what may happen. If I ever go to Arizona, though, I shall certainly call on my old college friend, Donald Graham."

"Isn't your uncle a dear?" remarked Marjorie to Beverly, as her friend was taking her upstairs to the Carletons' apartment.

"He's a brick," was the young man's hearty rejoinder. "I'm glad you like him, for I know he likes you. He doesn't take to everybody, but he's been awfully good to Mother and me, and he was very fond of my little sister. Here's your door, so I'll say good-night. Hasn't it been a jolly day?"

"It has been one of the loveliest days I've ever had," said Marjorie earnestly. "I'm sorry Aunt Julia thought I might have been troublesome, but your mother said I wasn't."

"Troublesome! I should say not. Don't bother about what your aunt says; she doesn't know anything about it, and it's all nonsense, you know."

Elsie had already gone to bed, and Mr. Carleton had telegraphed that he was taking the midnight train from Was.h.i.+ngton, and would not reach home till the following morning. But Aunt Julia was still up and dressed, and awaiting her niece's return.

"My dear child, how late you are," was the rather reproachful greeting.

"Do you know it is nearly half-past ten? Elsie went to bed more than an hour ago; she was quite worn out, poor child, as indeed I am myself, but I couldn't make up my mind to undress until I knew you were safely at home. I am horribly afraid of those automobiles."

"I'm so sorry you worried about me, Aunt Julia," said Marjorie, regretfully. "I think we were quite safe, though; Dr. Randolph's chauffeur seems very careful, and they don't like going fast. I wasn't a bit frightened."

"No, I don't suppose you were; children seldom realize danger. Sit down, Marjorie; I want to have a little talk with you before you go to your room."

Marjorie complied, drawing a chair close to the fire, and stretching her cold hands out to the welcome blaze. She was longing to tell all about the day's pleasures, and was glad of the prospect of a little chat with Aunt Julia before going to bed.

"Now my dear," began Mrs. Carleton, speaking fast and rather nervously, "I don't want you to let what I am going to say make you unhappy. I am not in the least displeased with you, because I am sure you had no intention of doing anything wrong; I have told Elsie so. But, Marjorie dear, it is not quite the proper thing for a girl of your age to accept invitations from strangers without first consulting the people under whose care she has been placed."

"Oh, Aunt Julia," cried Marjorie, clasping her hands in dismay, while all the brightness died suddenly out of her face, "I am so sorry! I had no idea you would object to my going with the Randolphs; I thought you would be pleased because you were so sorry about leaving me at home.

Mrs. Randolph said she was sure you wouldn't mind."

Mrs. Carleton moved uneasily in her chair, and her eyes did not meet Marjorie's honest, astonished gaze.

"I am sure it was very kind of Mrs. Randolph to think of giving you so much pleasure," she said. "I am not displeased with you either, Marjorie; I am only warning you not to make such a mistake another time.

The Randolphs are merely slight acquaintances of ours, and one doesn't like being under obligations to strangers, you know. Elsie feels this quite as strongly as I do."

"Elsie," repeated Marjorie, with a start, "why does she care? Didn't she want me to go to the game?"

"Nonsense, dear; of course Elsie wanted you to go. She would have been delighted if only the circ.u.mstances had been a little different. Don't look so distressed, Marjorie; there is really nothing tragic in the situation. You have done nothing wrong, and I am glad you have had such a pleasant day, but don't accept another invitation without consulting either your uncle or me. Now kiss me good-night; I am tired to death and simply cannot sit up another minute."

Marjorie cried herself to sleep that night for the first time in weeks.

In spite of the memories of her happy day, she was more homesick than she had been at any time since coming to New York. She was so anxious to do right; to please her uncle and aunt in every way, and show them how grateful she was for all they were doing for her. And now, without having the slightest idea of having done anything wrong, she had annoyed Aunt Julia. She was thankful Hortense had not mentioned the episode of the cruel driver, and that her wrist no longer required a bandage. What would her aunt say if she knew of this delinquency as well as the other?

But Marjorie was a very honest, truthful girl, and she decided to make a clean breast of everything to Uncle Henry when he came home. There was only one thing she could not understand, and that was why Elsie should have objected to her going to New Haven with the Randolphs.

CHAPTER XIV

THE POETRY CLUB

THERE was a marked coolness in Elsie's manner to her cousin the next morning, which Marjorie found decidedly uncomfortable as well as perplexing, but even Elsie was not proof against the weakness of curiosity, and after a few veiled hints, which Marjorie quite failed to understand, she finally softened, and demanded a full account of yesterday's doings, which her cousin was only too glad to give.

"Tell me about Lulu Bell," said Elsie, when Marjorie had reached the part of her story where they had arrived at New Haven, and gone to lunch at the hotel restaurant. "Did Beverly Randolph pay her a lot of attention?"