CHAPTER II
CONFIDENCES
"I am the bearer of an invitation," announced Anne Pierson as the fourgirls collected in one corner of the locker-room during the brief recessallowed each morning.
"Mrs. Gray wishes to see us all at four o'clock this afternoon. We areto dine with her and spend the evening, and the boys are invited for theevening, too. So we will have just time enough after school to go homeand dress."
"You had better meet at my house, then," said Grace, "for it's on theway to Mrs. Gray's. Good-bye. Be sure and be there at a quarter of fourat the latest."
Promptly at the appointed time the girls hurried up the Harlowe walk.They were met at the door by Grace, who had been standing at the windowfor the last ten minutes with hat and gloves on, impatiently waitingtheir arrival.
As they neared Mrs. Gray's beautiful home, Anne said in a low tone toGrace, who was walking with her, "I suppose Mrs. Gray has a doublemotive in asking us up here to-day. I believe she wants to talk to usabout Eleanor Savell. Miss Nevin called on Mrs. Gray yesterday and theywere in the parlor together for a long time. After Miss Nevin had gone,Mrs. Gray told me that Miss Nevin was anxious that Eleanor shouldassociate with girls of her own age. That is the reason she brought herto Oakdale."
"Hurry up, you two," called Nora, who had reached the steps. "How you dolag to-day."
"You will hear more of this later," whispered Anne.
Mrs. Gray stood in the wide hall with hands outstretched in welcome. Shekissed each girl affectionately, but her eyes lingered upon Anne, whowas plainly her favorite. The old lady had become so accustomed to thesympathetic presence of the quiet, young girl that it seemed, at times,as though her own daughter had come back to her once more.
"Come right into the library and make yourself comfy," cried Mrs. Graycheerily. "I spend most of my time there. The view from the windows isso beautiful, and as one grows old, one resorts more and more to bookfriendships."
"What shall we do with you, Mrs. Gray, if you keep on insisting that youare old?" said Grace. "You're not a day older at heart than any of therest of us. Here, sit down in this nice, easy chair, while we take turnstelling you just how young you are."
"It is due to my adopted children that I am not a cross, crotchety,complaining old woman," said Mrs. Gray, allowing Grace to seat her inthe big leather-covered arm chair.
"Now, what does your Majesty crave of her loyal subjects?" inquiredGrace, bowing low before the little, old lady.
"Very well, if I am queen, then I must be obeyed. Draw up your chairsand sit in a circle. I want to tell you a little story. That is partlymy reason for inviting you here this afternoon, although you know youare welcome whenever you choose to come."
"Is it a fairy story, dear Mrs. Gray, and does it begin with 'Once upona time'?" queried Jessica.
"It is a story of real life, my child, but I'll begin it like a fairytale if you wish it."
"Oh, please begin at once," said Grace, who, at eighteen, was as fond ofa story as she had been at six.
"Well, 'once upon a time,' there were two sisters. They were really onlyhalf sisters, and the one was almost twenty years older than the other.The mother of the elder sister had died when she was about fifteen yearsof age, and two years later the father had married a beautiful youngIrish girl of very good family, who loved him dearly in spite of thedifference in their ages.
"After they had been married a little over two years, a little girl cameto them, and the older sister loved the tiny baby as dearly as she lovedher beautiful, young step-mother."
"Why, that sounds very much like Grimm's fairy tales!" exclaimed Nora."Only the book people are all kings and queens, but this is even betterbecause the heroine is actually Irish."
There was a general laugh over Nora's remark in which Mrs. Gray joined.
"It's a case of Ireland forever, isn't it Nora?" said Grace teasingly.
"'Fine and dandy are the Irish,'" said Nora with a grin, quoting from apopular song she had heard in a recent musical comedy. "But stop teasingme, and let Mrs. Gray go on with her story."
"When the baby sister, whose name was Edith, was about three years old,the beautiful young mother died and left the husband inconsolable. Ayear later he was killed in a railroad accident, and the elder sister,named Margaret, was left with only little Edith to comfort her. Thefather had been a rich man, so they had no anxiety about money, andlived on year after year in their beautiful old home, with everythingheart could wish.
"As Edith grew older, she developed a decided talent for music, andwhen she was fifteen Margaret decided to take her abroad and allow herto enter one of the great conservatories of Europe. They went toLeipsic, and Edith, who had high hopes of one day becoming a concertpianiste, continued her studies under the best instructors that moneycould procure. Things ran along smoothly until Edith met a young Italiannamed Guido Savelli, who was studying the violin at the sameconservatory. His brilliant playing had already created a sensationwherever he appeared, and he gave promise of being a virtuoso.
"He fell violently in love with Edith, who had her mother's beautiful blueeyes and the combination of white skin and black hair that go to make anIrish beauty. She returned his love, and after a brief engagement theywere married, much against the wishes of Margaret, who thought them bothtoo young and impressionable to know their own minds."
"And did they live happy ever after?" asked Grace eagerly.
"That is the sad part of my story," said Mrs. Gray, sighing. "They wereanything but happy. They both had too much of the artistic temperamentto live peaceably. Besides, Guido Savelli was thoroughly selfish atheart. Next to himself, his music was the only thing in the world thathe really cared for. When they had been married for about a year and ahalf he played before the king, and soon became the man of the hour. Heneglected his beautiful young wife, who, in spite of their frequentquarrels, loved him with a pure and disinterested affection.
"Finally he went on a concert tour through the principal Europeancities, and she never saw him again. She wrote him repeatedly, but henever answered her letters, and she was too proud to follow him. She hadone child, a baby girl, named Eleanor, who was the sole comfort of theheartbroken mother."
At this juncture Anne and Grace exchanged significant glances.
"When Eleanor was about a year old, the mother wrote Guido Savelli oncemore, begging him to come to her, if only for the sake of his child, buteither he never received the letter or else paid no attention to it, forshe received no reply. She relapsed into a dull, apathetic state, fromwhich the repeated efforts of her sister failed to arouse her. Thefollowing winter she contracted pneumonia and died, leaving her sisterthe sole guardian of Eleanor."
"How long ago did all this happen, dear Mrs. Gray?" queried Noraeagerly, "and is little Eleanor living?"
"It was sixteen years ago, my dear," replied Mrs. Gray, "and the reasonthat I have told you this long tale is because the baby girl is almost awoman now, and----"
"The girl is Eleanor Savell and we met her the other day," broke inGrace excitedly, forgetting for an instant that she had interrupted Mrs.Gray. "She is going to live at 'Heartsease' and---- oh, Mrs. Gray,please pardon me for interrupting you, I was so excited that I didn'trealize my own rudeness."
"Granted, my dear," smiled the old lady. "But how did you happen to meetEleanor? They arrived only a few days ago."
Grace rapidly narrated their meeting and conversation with Eleanor,while Mrs. Gray listened without comment. When Grace repeated Eleanor'sremark about having made up her mind, the old lady looked a littletroubled. Then her face cleared and she said softly:
"My dear Christmas children, I am very anxious that for her own sake youshould become well acquainted with Eleanor. Her aunt was here yesterday,and we had a long talk regarding her. Eleanor is an uncommon girl inmany respects. She has remarkable beauty and talent, but she isfrightfully self-willed. Her aunt has spoiled her, and realizes toolate the damage she has done by having allowed her to grow up on theco
ntinent. They have lived in France, Germany, Italy and Spain, with anoccasional visit to America, and Eleanor has always done just as shepleased. For years her aunt has obeyed her slightest whim, but as shegrows older she grows more like her father, and her aunt wants her tohave some steadying influence that will put a curb on her unconventionaltendencies.
"When she wrote me of Eleanor, I wrote her about my girls, and offeredher 'Heartsease.' She was delighted with the whole thing and lost notime in getting here. So now you understand why I have told you allthis. I want you to promise me that you will do what you can for thismotherless girl."
"But we felt sure we should like her when we saw her the other day,"said Nora. "She seemed so sweet and winning."
"So she is. She has her father's winning personality, and a good deal ofhis selfishness, too," replied Mrs. Gray. "You won't find her at alldisagreeable. But she is reckless, self-willed, defiant of publicopinion and exceedingly impulsive. I look to you girls to keep her outof mischief."
"Well, we'll try, but I never did pride myself on being a first-classreformer," said Grace, laughing.
"Where is her father now?" asked Anne. "Is it possible that he is thegreat Savelli who toured America two years ago?"
"He is the man," said Mrs. Gray. "He is a wonderful musician. I heardhim in New York City. I shall never forget the way he played one ofLiszt's 'Hungarian Rhapsodies.' I must caution you, girls, never tomention Eleanor's father to her. She has been kept in absolute ignoranceof him. When she is twenty-one her aunt will tell her about him. If sheknew he was the great Savelli, she would rush off and join himto-morrow, she is so impulsive. She has the music madness of both fatherand mother. Her aunt tells me she is a remarkable performer on bothviolin and piano."
"But why shouldn't she go to her father if he is a great musician?" saidJessica. "And why is she called Savell, if her name is Savelli?"
"Because, my dear, her father has never evinced the slightest desire tolook up his own child. Even if he had, he is too irresponsible and tootemperamental to assume the care of a girl like Eleanor," Mrs. Grayanswered. "No, Eleanor is better off with her aunt. As to her name, heraunt hates everything Italian, so she dropped the 'I' and made the nameSavell."
"My," said Nora with a sigh. "She is almost as remarkable as a fairyprincess, after all."
"Oh, I don't know," replied Grace quickly. "Her life, of course, hasbeen eventful, but I believe if we are to do her any good we shall justhave to act as though she were an everyday girl like the rest of us. Ifwe begin to bow down to her, we shall be obliged to keep it up. Besides,I have an idea that I am as fond of having my own way as she is."
"Dinner is served," announced John, the butler.
The four girls arose and followed Mrs. Gray to the dining room. Duringthe dinner Eleanor was not again mentioned, although she occupied moreor less of the four girls' thoughts.
Later on, David, Hippy and Reddy appeared and a merry frolic ensued. Itwas after ten o'clock before the little party of young folks prepared totake their departure.
"Remember, I rely upon you," whispered Mrs. Gray to Grace as she kissedher good night. Grace nodded sympathetically, but went home with anuneasy feeling that playing the guardian angel to Eleanor would beanything but a light task.