CHAPTER VIII.
NAN REBELS.
Into the days that followed were crowded more gay doings than thequiet village of Hetherford had ever seen before. Old Dr. Birdsallshook his head disapprovingly over all this unseemly frivolity, butAunt Helen's gentle voice championed the young folks, and persuadedhim to allow Nan to join in the good times. The naval officers were inconstant demand whenever they were not on duty, and at the end of theweek the other men came out from town, and their advent was the signalfor a series of rides, drives, walks, tennis matches, and amusementsof every description.
Emily pronounced herself perfectly satisfied, and when Nan and Molliegrumbled over a few of the changes that had followed in the train ofall these merry-makings, she declared them heretics and disdainfullyturned her back upon them.
It was after a day on the _Vortex_ that Eleanor, Nan, and Mollie sattogether in Eleanor's box of a room in the inn, and held a council ofwar.
They had had a beautiful sail. There was a "smoky sou'wester" blowing,and Uncle Sam's schooner, decked in holiday attire, had flown beforethe wind like a bird. Captain Dodd proved a genial, pleasant host, andMrs. Dodd's heart had been quite won by Helen's notice of herthree-year-old boy, a jolly little chap, whose tow-colored hair showedin strange contrast to his sunburned face. No stone had been leftunturned to make the day successful, and as the girls were all goodsailors, the stiff breeze and careening of the boat only added zest totheir enjoyment.
However, nothing in this world is quite perfect. Nan and Molliescowled at the general tendency to wander off in pairs. Mollie termedit bad form, while Nan sniffed, and called it utterly ridiculous.Finally Nan was roused to action. She called to Jean, who, with Farrat her side, was leaning against the rail well up forward, anddemanded a recitation. Jean complied somewhat reluctantly. She stoodin the midst of the little group, one hand holding fast to thecompanion-way to steady herself, the other tucked away down into thepocket of her reefer. She hesitated a moment, searching about in hermind. Her choice at length fell upon one, dearly loved by all thegirls, called "Sister Felicite."
The beautiful lines were spoken with the greatest simplicity, butthere was a depth of pathos in the girl's low voice that went straightto the hearts of her hearers. The short silence that followed her lastwords was more flattering in its import than would have been theloudest applause. There was a slight pallor in the girl's face whenshe had finished, and during the rest of the afternoon she was verysubdued; and Farr, who had been deeply impressed by her rendering ofthis sad and beautiful poem, seemed to share her mood.
Nan, and Mollie, who were both a little rebellious at the turn affairswere taking, noticed this incident, and so the council of war had beencalled. Nan's conscience was quite clear, and she plunged bluntly intothe conversation.
"Now that Jean has turned sentimental and emotional, I think it ishigh time for us to take matters in hand. Em always has been abackslider from the compact, but when Jean begins that sort of thingit is going a little too far."
"Punning is sadly out of place, Nan, on such a serious subject,"laughed Eleanor, not sorry for an excuse to interrupt the discussion.
Nan was thoroughly in earnest, and beyond a chuckle at her owndiscomfiture, she took no notice of Eleanor's frivolity.
"I don't think love affairs are much fun, anyway," sighed Mollie."Surely Helen's was miserable, and only resulted in making everybodyunhappy and uncomfortable."
"That strikes me as a trifle pessimistic, Moll," said Eleanor. "Happymarriages may be rare, but it can't be denied that they exist."
"Oh! dearie me," groaned Nan, "when you talk like that you make mefeel as if the world were turning upside down. I never dreamed of itbeing a question of love affairs, and marriages."
"I was not referring to anyone in particular," Eleanor protestedhastily, "we were merely arguing in an abstract way. Weren't we,Moll?"
"All I meant was," Nan went on in a dolorous voice, "that we have lostour originality when we begin to act just like other girls--flirting,and all that sort of rot. We used to have fun in the good old dayswhen we all staid together. There were never any discussions as to howwe should walk or drive for everybody was willing to go with everybodyelse. _Tete-a-tetes_ were unheard of, and nobody was ever silly."
Mollie's sentiments chimed in with Nan, but Eleanor's assent wassomewhat slower in coming.
"I suppose it is only a question of time," she said, "for the _Vortex_can't be here much longer, and Mr. Churchill always takes the _Sylph_back to town in September. Then we can settle down, and have a goodold-fashioned time during 'the autumn.'"
"When will Cliff go?" Nan asked, with a sly laugh.
Eleanor turned her head away to hide the tell-tale color that rose inher face.
"Oh! come, Nancy, your imagination is running away with you. Nothingwill satisfy you short of the banishment of the sex."
"Qui s'excuse, s'accuse," quoted Mollie in an undertone.
Eleanor laughed in spite of herself. She pushed back her chair, andcrossed to the open window. Along the dusty highroad Cliff camesauntering. When he was just in front of the inn he looked up, andcaught sight of Eleanor. He raised his hat, and called out to her tocome down, and go for a stroll before supper. She gave him a curtrefusal, and turned back into the room.
"You shouldn't punish Cliff for my impertinence," reproved Nan. "Itwas not his fault."
Eleanor frowned and spoke impatiently:
"Cliff is only a boy, and a rather foolish one at that. But tocontinue. All this nonsense, as you call it, Nan, will be of briefduration, and my advice is to make the best of it."
"There is a worse time coming," Mollie declared. "The _Vortex_ haswrought changes enough, but I don't suppose we will recognize the oldplace at all when the magnificent Miss Stuart arrives."
"Sufficient unto the day," said Nan. "Well, good-by, girls I must beoff."
When the door had closed upon her two friends, Eleanor went back tothe window, and leaning against the casement, looked abstractedly out.She thought of Cliff, and the disappointed look his face had worn whenshe spoke to him so rudely. Certainly Cliff had come under the spellthat was over them all this eventful summer. She had striven to deterhim, but in spite of her best efforts, he had found a moment in whichto tell her of his love. To this she had lent the coldest ear, holdingout to him no hope whatever. Cliff had listened very patiently, butthere was something in his quiet refusal to accept this answer asfinal that had made Eleanor, woman of the world as she was, feelsingularly helpless. They had taken up life again just where they hadleft it before Cliff spoke, and since then no reference had been madeto the matter.
The smile had quite died out of Eleanor's face. She went over to herwriting table and picked up a little note which Cliff had written heron some trifling matter. She looked at it for a moment, then halfraised it to her lips. With a shame-faced laugh she dropped it backamong the letters on her table and turned impatiently away.
* * * * *
One sultry morning toward the end of July, as Helen sat sewing on theupper balcony, a maid came out through the French window with a smalltray in her hand, on which lay a yellow envelope. Helen leaned forwardand picked up the telegram.
"Thank you, Susie. Is the boy waiting?"
"Yes, Miss."
"Well, you may go. I will bring the answer down myself when I have itready."
When the maid had withdrawn Helen tore open the envelope. The messageread thus: "Can you come to town for the night? Want to see you.Please don't disappoint. L. S."
Helen read it through twice.
"Oh I should love to go," she thought. "I wonder if Auntie or thegirls would object."
She folded the telegram and fitted it into the envelope, and then satlooking absent-mindedly at the address, the while her face wore apuzzled look. Her indecision lasted for an instant only, and then shesprang up and ran through the hall-way to Mrs. Dennis' room.
Aunt Helen met her request with a ready consent, a
nd in a moment thelittle boy was riding off to the station with Helen's answer carefullystowed away in the pocket of his coat.
As Helen entered her room a glance at the clock told her that a littlecelerity would enable her to catch the twelve forty-five express, andshe went to work with a will to collect her traps. She was in themidst of packing when a knock came at the door, and Jean, withoutwaiting for permission, entered. She looked around the disordered roomwith a questioning glance.
"What is the matter?" she asked.
Her sister answered from the depths of her closet:
"I am going to town unexpectedly, and you are just the girl I want tosee, Jeanie, for I have a lot of things to say to you before I leave."
"Where are you going to stay?"
"With Lillian."
Jean's face fell, and she spoke coldly.
"What train do you take?"
"The twelve forty-five, and I haven't a moment to spare. It must benoon now."
"It is. The village clock struck as I came in."
"Oh, dear! Put those things in the valise, Jean, won't you, while Ihunt for my hat and gloves. The carriage will be at the door in fiveminutes."
Jean complied, and, as she was making room for the last few articlesin the already crowded valise, Helen came and stood beside her.
"Dearie," she said, as she drew on her gloves, "will you please bevery attentive to Aunt Helen while I am away, and not leave her toomuch alone? And, oh, Jean, do look after the children. Don't have themoff your mind for a moment. I am always so afraid that something willhappen to them when I am not here."
Jean laughed cheerily.
"That is nonsense, Helen. Why in the world should you worry? Of courseI will look after them."
"I know you always do, dear; only I wanted to remind you."
"Well, you need not be anxious. When will you return?"
"To-morrow, I think. You might have the carriage meet the afternoonexpress. Now I must fly."
Jean caught up the valise, and carried it downstairs, while her sisterwent to say good-by to Mrs. Dennis.
The carriage was already at the door when Helen came out on theveranda. She stopped a moment to kiss the boys and charge them to begood, and caught Gladys up in her arms.
"Do you want to go to the station with sister?"
"Course I do," enthusiastically.
Helen put the child in the carriage, and then stepped in beside her.
"Is my valise in, Jean?"
"Yes, dear. Good-by, and have a good time."
"I will," replied Helen, as Nathalie took her place on the front seatand gathered up the reins. "Remember, Jean, you have the entireresponsibility of the children, and do not let Gladys out of yoursight."
Jean nodded smilingly, and stood on the steps and watched the carriageuntil a turn in the road bid it from view.
Then, as she slowly made her way into the house, the light died out ofher face, and involuntarily she sighed.
"I wish I did not distrust Lillian Stuart as I do," she thought. "Itis so unfounded--as yet."