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Page 43
"But what do I see?" cried Gerald, in tragic tones. "A vessel in
the offing, headed in this direction. Now who do you suppose has
the cheek to come here?"
"Probably some lunatic is thirsty," said Phil, "and wants a glass
of water. You know, Miss Hilda, they come here by the boatload,
asking for water, and we show them the lake and tell 'em to help
themselves. It makes them hop with rage. They say, 'What! do you
drink THIS?' Then, when we tell them that all their water supply
comes from this lake, they grin like a dog and go about the city,
--I mean depart on their imbecile way. But these people are all
dressed up. Oh, Momus and Comus! There are girls on board! Come
on, Obadiah!"
The twins vanished, and the others looked curiously at the
approaching craft. It was a small steam launch, gayly adorned with
paint and streamers; in the bow stood a light, girlish figure,
waving a handkerchief and gesticulating with fervour.
"Who can it be?" asked Mrs. Merryweather. "The boat is from
Pollock's Cove, isn't it, Roger?"
"Yes; but I see no one on board that I know. That young lady
evidently thinks she is coming among friends, however. Look! they
are putting out a boat. I will go and see what is wanted."
He went to the wharf, and the rest waited in some amusement,
thinking that a mistake had been made. To their amazement they saw
Roger, after a moment's parley, help the young lady out of the
boat, which straight-way returned to the launch; before they had
time to exchange wonderments, she was advancing toward them with
outstretched arms.
"My dearest, dearest Hildegarde! Do I see you again, after so many
years? Quel plaisir! what joy!"
The young lady was dressed in the extreme of fashion, with little
boots, and little gloves, and a dotted veil, and a chiffon
parasol, and Hildegarde was folded in a perfumed embrace before
she had fairly recognised her visitor.
"Madge!" she cried, "is it really you?"
"Myself, cherie! your own Madge. I heard that you were in the
wilderness and flew to you. What a change, my dearest, from---"
"Mrs. Merryweather," said Hildegarde, her cheeks burning, but her
voice quiet and courteous, "this is Margaret Everton, an old
school-mate of mine. Mrs. Merryweather, Madge, with whom I am
staying. Miss Merryweather, Professor Merryweather, Miss Everton."
"Oh, hum--mum-m-m-m-m-m!" said Madge, or something that sounded
like it. The Merryweathers welcomed her courteously, and Mrs.
Merryweather asked if she had come over from Pollock's Cove.
"Oh, yes! I am staying there for a day or two. Some friends of
mine are there, charming people, and I heard that Hildegarde was
here, and of course I flew to see her. She is my oldest and
dearest friend, Mrs. Merryweather."
"Indeed!" said Mrs. Merryweather, with friendly interest.
"Yes, indeed. We were at school together, and like twins, except
for the difference in colouring. Ah, les beaux jours d'enfance,
Hilda, my love! And you are quite, quite unchanged since the happy
days at Madame Haut Ton's. 'Queen Hildegarde' we used to call her
then, Miss Merryweather. Yes, indeed! she was the proudest, the
most exclusive girl on Murray Hill. The little aristocratic turn
of her head when she saw anything vulgar or common was quite too
killing. Turn your head, Hilda, my love!"
Hildegarde coloured hotly. "Please don't be absurd, Madge!" she
said.
"Pray turn your head, Miss Grahame!" said Roger Merryweather,
gravely. "I am sure it would interest us."
Hildegarde shot an imploring glance at him, and turned in
desperation to her visitor.
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