The Pleasant Street Partnership Part 15

Silly flattery, Alex thought, but she knew Charlotte would never return to the old way.

As she poured the coffee, Miss Virginia told Alex about Mr. Landor's visit and his decision in regard to the shopkeepers. "I was so surprised," she concluded, "for Philadelphians are so exclusive, you know."

"I think he is sensible. I wish one could do the natural, simple thing always," sighed Alex, "without thinking of dignity or position. It might be much more entertaining to a.s.sociate with persons whose social position was different from one's own."

"Do you think so, Alex? If it were done generally, there would not be any social positions, would there?" Miss Virginia spoke as one who faced a deep problem.

"It would be heaven," answered Alex; adding, "suppose we go this evening."

"Alex! will you go with me? I am so relieved."

Later it appeared that unsuspected difficulties lurked in the seemingly simple matter of an evening call.

"Shall I take a card?" Miss Virginia paused on the stairway to inquire. "It is not quite an ordinary call, you know."

"I should take one if I were you; and let me put my name on it," Alex answered, laughing.

On the porch Miss Wilbur paused again. "Shall we ask them to come to see us?"

"Need we mention it at all? Let them do as they see fit."

"Of course. You are very sensible, Alex." Miss Virginia sighed.

At the gate there was another delay. "I am afraid your mother will not like it. I don't want to lead you into mischief, Alex."

"Now, Miss Virginia, I proposed going with you, and I am going whether you go or not," and Alex linked her arm in her friend's, and drew her toward the corner.

"I don't know what Caroline _would_ say; but then, she does not know the circ.u.mstances." After this remark, they crossed the street in silence, broken only by another sigh from Miss Virginia, as Alex touched the bell.

The maid who admitted them showed some surprise, but ushered them toward a half-open door at the end of the small hallway, Miss Wilbur's card in her hand.

"We'll just refer the matter to the _rich_ Miss Carpenter," a laughing voice was announcing as they entered a room, the first impression of which was that of a pleasant library, with its shaded lamps, open fire, and happy mingling of books and work; a second glance showed it to be simply the shop in evening dress.

The voice belonged to Miss Pennington who now came forward with a cordial greeting, and presented Alex and Miss Virginia to her friend, Miss Carpenter. Miss Carpenter's manner was somewhat distant in contrast, but seen without the disfiguring gla.s.ses she usually wore, Alex found her unexpectedly handsome.

"I have wanted so much to have an opportunity to thank you," Miss Virginia began, an evident victim to a terrible fit of shyness. "I came one afternoon, but you were out. You were both so kind to my niece," she looked at Miss Carpenter.

"I beg you not to think of it again. It was nothing at all. I happened to be at the station, and seeing how frightened she was, went to her rescue." Miss Carpenter spoke as one who dismissed a trivial matter.

"We were so interested in her," put in Miss Pennington. "It occurred to Miss Carpenter that it might be possible to avoid the trying ordeal of explanations, so she brought her here to talk it over."

"Charlotte is a dear child," said Miss Virginia, "and all the trouble is over now." Then she added with a sudden accession of self-possession: "It may seem a small matter to you, Miss Carpenter, but perhaps you can understand it would have been a most serious and unhappy thing for me if the child had carried out her plan. I can't be thankful enough."

"I do see it, and I am very glad that, by a happy accident, I was able to be of service." Miss Carpenter's manner changed, her tone was soft, her smile winning. Alex, who was playing the part of spectator, suddenly warmed to her.

"I met your grandfather several weeks ago, Miss Russell," said Miss Pennington, turning to her. "He had an armful of books, and seemed to think I had done him a wonderful favor in picking up two he dropped in getting out of the car."

"He told me," Alex answered. "He was so pleased that you appreciated the value of his find."

"And he was so disappointed when he found I kept a shop," laughed Norah.

Alex smiled and flushed. "Grandfather has old-fas.h.i.+oned ideas about women supporting themselves, and then, too, the neighborhood was rather opposed to having a shop built here."

"I know," answered Miss Pennington, "but as it is here we flatter ourselves nothing could be less objectionable than _our_ shop."

"You are undoubtedly winning us over. It seems to me a delightful occupation, but I suppose it is not so easy and pleasant as it looks."

"Of course it is work, but we find it pleasant. For several years I taught, but to keep a store has always been my ambition since I was three years old, and I at last persuaded my friend to join me in an experiment."

"You don't make all your lovely baskets, surely?" Alex asked, her eyes on the strings of raphia and an unfinished basket that lay on the table.

"Oh, no. It is work Miss Carpenter can do at times,--her eyes allow very little of any sort,--but most of our stock comes from a Mothers'

Club in a settlement in which we are both interested. I lived there for a time. You can't think how much it has meant to those women. They bring their babies with them, and they sing while they work, and the babies sleep or are entertained by their surroundings. Many of the patterns are original, and they have developed a wonderful sense for color and form in some instances."

"How interesting!" exclaimed Alex. "I don't see how you ever happened to come to a stupid town like this."

"Our pottery has a history, too. It is designed and decorated by two young women, and it has taken very well wherever it has been exhibited. But I do not mean to go on talking shop all the evening,"

and Norah paused with a smile.

"I like to hear about it. It has been such a puzzle to me to know what I could do to support myself. There seemed to be nothing but teaching or stenography, and I should hate both, I am afraid."

"If possible, do the thing you like to do, is my theory. There are a good many fields in these days, and still in almost any paper you can find a young lady who wishes to be a companion and is willing to travel."

Alex laughed. Miss Virginia was rising, and she reluctantly followed her example. "May I come again sometime?" she asked.

While Miss Wilbur and Alex were talking over their call, Charlotte came in in a flutter of gayety, her checks matching her rose-colored ribbons.

"I wish I could have gone with you," she said when she had heard of the visit. "Did they say anything about me?"

"You were mentioned," her aunt replied, pinching her cheek; and adding, "they are certainly very pleasant young women."

"They are charming," said Alex.

"I wonder if this Miss Carpenter could be any relation to the one who lives across the street from Uncle Landor?" said Charlotte.

"Did you hear what Miss Pennington was saying when we went in, Miss Virginia?" asked Alex.

"It was something about the rich Miss Carpenter, wasn't it?"

"_My_ Miss Carpenter is rich," said Charlotte, and she related the romance, almost forgotten of late, which she had built upon Aunt Cora's remarks about the little portrait and upon Mrs. Wellington's stories.

"She is the granddaughter of Peter Carpenter," Miss Virginia said. "I have often heard my father speak of him. They were college mates. He was very rich and rather peculiar. He had a half-sister much younger than himself who once visited here on her way South. She and my oldest sister, Georgiana, were friends and used to correspond, but that was years and years ago. Mr. Carpenter--for some reason he was always called Peter--had only one child, a son, who was killed in a railroad disaster, probably twenty years ago. Your Miss Carpenter, Charlotte, must be his daughter."

"Carpenter is a common name; there may be a number of rich Miss Carpenters," said Alex, "but it would be a little odd if they should turn out to be connected in any way."

"I don't think they cared to talk about themselves," continued Miss Virginia, referring to the shopkeepers. "I am sure Caroline was wrong when she called them pus.h.i.+ng."