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Page 55
"That must be the reason that I can hardly believe that three whole
months have gone by since the Christmas holidays. I've trodden on
nothing _but_ flowers. Even though the school work was a hard dig
sometimes, I enjoyed it, and there was always so much fun mixed up with
it, that it made the time fairly fly by. As for the five days we have
been here in New York, they have simply whizzed past. Miss 'Henry' has
done so much to make it pleasant for us. She is great. She calls herself
a bachelor maid, and if she is a fair sample of what they are, I'd like
to be one. The day after we came she gave a studio reception, so that we
could meet some of her famous friends. She wrote on a slip of paper,
beforehand, just what each one was famous for, and the particular statue
or book or painting that was his best known work, and instead of copying
it, I'll paste the page in here to save time.
"It was a great event for Betty. Mrs. LaMotte, who does such beautiful
illustrating for the magazines had seen Betty's last story, and asked
her for her next manuscript. If _she_ illustrates it, the pictures will
be an open sesame to any editor's attention. She gave her so much
encouragement too, and made some suggestions that Betty said would help
her tremendously.
"One of the best parts of the whole affair to me was to see Joyce
playing hostess in such a distinguished company. They all seem so fond
of her, and so interested in her work, that Miss Henrietta calls her
'Little Sister to the Great.'
"I thought that I'd be so much in awe of them that I couldn't say a
word. But I wasn't. They were all so friendly and ordinary in their
manners and so extraordinary in the interesting things they talked about
that I had a beautiful time. I helped serve refreshments and poured tea.
After they had all gone Joyce came over and took me by the shoulders,
and said 'Little Mary, is it Time or Warwick Hall that has made such a
change in you? You are growing up. You've lost your self-conscious
little airs with strangers and you are no longer a chatter-box. I was
_proud_ of you!'
"Maybe I wasn't happy! Joyce never paid me very many compliments. None
of my family ever have, so I think that ought to have a place in my good
times book.
"I've had a perfect orgy of sight-seeing--gone to all the places
strangers usually visit, and lots besides. We've been twice to the
matinee. Phil has been here once to lunch, and is coming this afternoon
to take us away out of town in a big touring-car. We're to stop at some
wayside inn for dinner. Then we'll see him again when we go out to
Eugenia's for a day and night. We've saved the best till the last."
"Letters," called Joyce, coming into the room with a handful. "The
postman was good to every one of us." She tossed two across the room to
Betty, who sat reading on the divan, and one to Henrietta, who had just
finished cleaning some brushes.
"Oh, mine is from Jack!" cried Mary joyfully. "But how queer," she added
in a disappointed tone, when she had torn open the envelope. "There are
only six lines." Then exclaiming, "I wish you'd listen to this!" She
read aloud:
"Mamma thinks that your clothes may be somewhat shabby by this time, so
here's a little something to get some fine feathers with which to make
yourself a fine bird. You will find check to cover remainder of year's
expenses waiting for you on your return to school. Glad you are having
such a grand time. Keep it up, little pard.--_Jack_."
If Mary had not been so carried away with her good fortune, and so
immediately engrossed in discussing the best way to spend the check she
would have noticed that the envelope in Betty's lap was exactly like the
one in her own, and that the same hand had addressed them both. Betty's
first impulse was to read her letter aloud. It was so unusually breezy
and amusing. But remembering that she had never happened to mention her
correspondence with Jack to Mary, and that her surprise over it might
lead her to say something before Henrietta that would be embarrassing,
she dropped it into her shopping bag as soon as she had read it, and
said nothing about it.
That is how it happened to be with her when she accompanied Mary that
afternoon on her joyful quest of "fine feathers." They went to many
places, and at last found a dress which suited her and Joyce exactly.
Some slight alteration was needed, and while the two were in the fitting
room, Betty passed the time by taking out the letter for a second
reading. A glance at the post-mark showed that it had been delayed
somewhere on the road. It should have reached her the day that she left
Warwick Hall. It had been forwarded from there. She had grown so
accustomed to his weekly letter that she missed it when it did not come,
and had wondered for several days why he had failed to write. Now she
confessed to herself that she was glad the fault was with some postal
clerk, and that Jack had not forgotten. She turned to the last page.
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