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Page 19
Ethelinda made no comment for a moment, but presently asked in a
strained tone, "Did you have any doubts of Miss Berkeley's claims? Is
that why you looked her up in the peerage?"
"No," said Mary, honestly. "I was looking for my own name. But there
wasn't a single Ware in it. And then"--she couldn't resist this thrust,
especially as she felt it was a part of the missionary work she had
undertaken--"I looked for Hurst, too, as the girls said you had a
crest."
"Well?" came the question, a trifle defiantly.
"It's not in the Peerage."
Ethelinda drew herself up haughtily as if she disdained an explanation,
yet felt forced to make one. "It is not my father's crest I use," she
announced. "It came from back in my mother's family."
"Oh!" said Mary, with significant emphasis. "I see!" Then she added
cheerfully, "I could have one, too, on a count like _that_, way back
among my great-grandmothers. But I wouldn't have any real right to it.
You have to be in the direct line of descent, you know, and it is silly
for us Americans to try to hang on by a hair to the main trunk of the
family tree, when all the world knows we belong on the outside
branches."
There was no answer to this and the dressing proceeded in a silence as
profound as the morning's, until Mary saw that Ethelinda was struggling
in a frantic effort to free herself from the hooks of her dress which
had caught in her hair.
"Wait," she called, hurrying to the rescue. "Let me hook it for you.
What a perfect dream of a gown it is!" she added in frank admiration,
as she deftly fastened it up the back. "It looks like the kind in the
fairy tales that are woven out of moon-beams. Here, let me fix your
hair, where the hooks pulled it loose."
She tucked in the straggling locks with a few soft pats and touches
which, with the compliment, mollified Ethelinda a trifle, in spite of
her resentment over the former speech. But it still rankled, and she
could not forbear saying a little spitefully, "Thanks! What a soft,
light touch you have. Quite like a maid I had last year. By the way, her
name was Mary. And it was awfully funny. It happened at that time that
every maid in the house was named that, and whenever mamma called 'Mary'
five or six of them would come running. I used to tell my maid that if I
had as common a name as that I'd change it."
Something in the way she said it set Mary's teeth on edge. She had never
known any one before who purposely said disagreeable things. She often
said them herself in her blundering, impetuous way, but was heartily
sorry as soon as they were uttered. Now for the first time in her life
she wanted to retaliate by saying the meanest thing she could think of.
So she answered, hotly, "Oh, I don't know. I'd rather be named Mary
than a name that means _noble snake_, like Ethelinda."
"Who told you it means that?" was Ethelinda's astonished demand. "I
don't believe it."
"You've only to consult Webster," was the dignified reply. "I looked
your name up in the dictionary the day I first heard it. Ethel means
noble, but Ethelinda means noble _snake_. I suppose nobody ever calls
you just _Inda_," she added meaningly.
Ethelinda's eyes flashed, but she had no answer for this queer girl who
seemed to have the Dictionary and the Peerage and no telling how many
other sources of information at her tongue's end.
Again the dressing went on in silence. Mary finished first, all but a
hook or two which she could not reach, and which she could not muster up
courage to ask Ethelinda to do for her. Finally, gathering up her armful
of roses, she went across the hall to ask Dorene's assistance.
"Why, of course!" she cried, opening the door wide at Mary's knock. "You
poor child! Think of having a room-mate who is such a Queen of Sheba she
couldn't do a little thing like that for you!"
"But I didn't ask her," Mary hurried to explain, eager to be perfectly
honest. "I had just made such a mean remark to her that I hadn't the
courage to ask a favour."
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