Part 14

All this carefully planned program began to rush before her mind now as if a scroll with it written thereon had been unfolded. How many mothers have been through such a season of anxiety, and had a like plan present itself, and say, “Here, now, is the time to use me?” and yet the mother hesitates. So this mother waited and hesitated. Bessie was so careful and so sensible. Bessie had so much common sense. Terrible things did not happen in the world very often. There was some little simple explanation to this delay, and Bessie would surely walk in in five minutes more. Bessie would hate so to have her make a fuss, as if she could not take care of herself. Yet she might have telephoned if she had to stay.

So the mother reasoned, and shoved back the griddle, turned the gas very low, lighted the oven, and put the rest of the meal to keep hot; finally abandoning clock, griddle, oven, and all, she went into the little dark front room to sit at the window, as mothers will, and look out and watch the passers-by, waiting for the loved one.

The clock struck eight, and Bessie did not come. There lay those two strange boxes. They could have no connection, of course, with Bessie’s being late, and yet they annoyed her. Bessie would be annoyed, too, when she came and found them. Perhaps she would not tell about them till her daughter had eaten her supper. Of course, she would soon come and they would be eating griddle cakes and syrup, and she could take a deep breath again, and know that all was well.

Was that the clock striking the half-hour? Oh, what could have happened to Bessie? Never had she stayed away like this before without telephoning. Of course it was not late for a grown girl to be out in the bright city streets, but Bessie always let her know where she was. There had not been anything planned for this evening. She had been going to the library. Perhaps somehow she had got locked in the library through lingering too long. How could she find out? Would there be a night watchman who would go and search for her? What was the name of the library Bessie went to? She searched her brain for the right name, as she strained her eyes to the street, which seemed full of strangers passing, but no sign of her girl. She made an errand to the kitchen, warm and cosey and safe, with the batter waiting in a yellow bowl on the tiny old-fashioned marble-topped table beside the stove. The first buckwheats of the season, and Bessie loved them so! She looked in a panic at the clock, which was nearing a quarter to nine, and went hurriedly for the telephone book to look up a number. She really could not remain longer inactive. She had set nine o’clock as her limit to wait, but she must be ready with numbers to call when the first stroke rang. Bessie would not let her go later than nine without phoning. There was a kind of compact between them that she would not get anxious nor do anything foolish till after nine.

She had written out the numbers of three libraries and the police station, and it was three minutes to nine when she heard the front door open. She was so frightened she was trembling, and for a moment her voice went down in her throat somehow, and she could not call. She could hear a voice. Was it Bessie’s?

“I’m quite all right now, thank you--” it sounded weak and tired. She got to her feet and stood as the kitchen door opened and Bessie walked in.

“I’m so sorry, mother! You were frightened. But I couldn’t help it. Have you had supper? I’m nearly famished. Couldn’t we have supper first and let me tell you all about it afterwards?”

Bessie sat down by the table and began to take off her hat. Her face looked white and tired, whiter than her mother had ever seen her look before, but she was smiling. Her mother rushed over and clasped her in her arms.

“My little girl!” she whispered softly with her face against the soft hair. “You’re sure you’re all right?”

“All right, mother dearie, only so hungry--and a little tired--” and she put her arm down on the white table and laid her head upon it. “Cakes! I’m so glad there are cakes! It didn’t hurt them to wait, did it? I’m so sorry I troubled you. I just know you have been all worried up.”

Mrs. Chapparelle smiled and poured a foaming glass of milk.

“Drink some of this quick, dearie. It will hearten you up, and I’ve got the griddle on back keeping warm. It won’t be a second now till I’ll have a piping hot cake for you.”

Bessie drank the milk slowly, and the color began to steal into her cheeks faintly, but there was a sad, troubled look about her eyes. Her mother watched her furtively as she went briskly about getting the supper on the table. She knew something unusual had happened.

“But she’s here, dear Lord, safe and sound!” she said in her heart thankfully, as she felt the glad tears come into her eyes.

Mrs. Chapparelle did not ask questions. They talked, not much, about the little occurrences of the mother’s day. Yes, the man came to take the ashes, and he only charged fifty cents. He was coming every week now, and they were to pay by the month. And Mrs. Herron called up and wanted some more towels initialled for Lila’s hope chest. She wanted the script letters, and they were worth more to embroider. The little girl next door had been taken to the hospital to have her tonsils taken out, and the milk man had left an extra pint of milk by mistake, so there was plenty to drink with the buckwheats. “And there! I meant to shut that window,” the mother added as she hurried over to the corner of the kitchen. “Do you know I thought I saw a man’s face looking in a while ago, just before I began to get worried about you.”

“Well, I’ve often told you, mother, I think you should shut that blind before dark, especially when you’re alone.”

Bessie’s color was better now. She was sitting up and eating cakes with a relish. The droop was going out of her slender figure.

“Oh, yes, and a very rude boy brought some packages here this afternoon which he insisted belonged to Miss Elizabeth Chapparelle. You didn’t buy anything today, did you?”

“Not a thing, mother dear. I didn’t have but fifty cents in my purse when I started. You know it’s almost pay day,” she rippled out with a voice like falling water, as if it were a joke between them.

“Well, I told him they weren’t yours, of course, and I packed him off with his packages. But just when you ought to have been coming back, didn’t he arrive again with his parcels, and insist upon leaving them. He said he would lose his job if he took them back, that Madame told him not to bring them back, they were paid for, and they were a present. The lazy little scamp didn’t want to go back tonight, I suppose, and he actually went away and left them with me right while I was telling him he shouldn’t; just sailed away in his delivery car and left me standing with the things at my feet. I was all upset about it. They may be valuable things, and somebody fuming now about them. Maybe we ought to call up the Madame and find out where they really belong, and telephone the owners they can come and get them. Very likely somebody wanted them at once to wear tonight, or pack up or something. I tried Grevet’s, but they didn’t answer. They said the shop was closed--”

“Grevet’s!” Bessie lifted eyes wide with alarm, and her face grew white again. “You don’t mean they came from Grevet’s?”

“Why, yes,” said her mother, puzzled. “You don’t mean you know anything about them?”

“Where are they, mother? I must see them first. If it’s what I think it is, there’s a mistake, and I ought to hunt up the right people at once--”

She rose from the chair and swayed slightly, catching at the table to steady herself.

“Bessie, _you are sick_!” cried her mother. “Something has happened. What is it? You must tell me at once, and you must lie right down on the couch.”

She caught the girl in her arms and drew her toward the old-fashioned couch in the corner of the kitchen.

“What is it, Bessie? Tell me quick! What has happened? You can’t hide it from me any longer!”

“Don’t get worried, mother,” said Bessie, allowing her mother to draw her down on the couch, “it wasn’t much. Just a little accident. I wasn’t hurt, not much more than scared, I fancy. They took me to the hospital and looked me over thoroughly, and they insisted on keeping me there until a nurse could come home with me. That’s why I was so late. You see--”

“But why didn’t you telephone me?”

“Well, I started to, but the nurse wouldn’t let me. She wanted to do it herself, and I was afraid she would frighten you, so I concluded it was better to wait a little and come myself.”

“But what was the accident? You are hurt. I _know_ you are _hurt_!”

“No truly, mother dear, I’m all right now, only a little shaken up. I was riding in an automobile with Murray Van Rensselaer, and a big truck came around a corner and ran into us and upset us!”

The mother’s cheeks were flushed and her eyes bright with anxiety.

“You were riding with _Murray Van Rensselaer_? But _where_ is Murray _now_? Was he hurt, too? Did they take him to the hospital?”

“Why no, I think not, that is--I don’t know. The nurse thought he was all right. They said he was very impatient to know how I was, but when I came down they couldn’t find him--”

“Oh!” said the mother indignantly, “he probably had some social engagement. One of his mother’s dinners. I could see the cars arriving tonight, and the flowers, and things from the caterer’s--!”

“Don’t, mother!” The girl sprang away from her, “don’t! He _may_ have been hurt. He didn’t seem like that. Perhaps he went away to a doctor himself.”

“Well, I hope he did. For the sake of our old regard for him when he was a boy, I sincerely hope he had some good reason for deserting you after he had gotten you smashed up in an accident. How on earth did you come to be riding with him? I thought you would never condescend to do that after the way he has treated you all these years.”

“Mother, I must see those packages, please! I’ll tell you the whole story as soon as I’ve got that fixed up, but I must understand what has happened.”

“You lie down, and I’ll bring them,” commanded her mother gently, and went away to get the boxes.

Bessie stared at them gravely.

“I’ll have to open them, I guess,” she said at length. “There ought to be some card inside that will perhaps give the address.”

“He said there was a card inside,” said the mother as she began to untie the knots carefully.

They turned the soft wrappings of tissue back and discovered the lovely gowns inside, sumptuous in their texture, exquisite in their simplicity.

“Oh, Bessie, if your father had lived you could have had things like that!” wailed the mother heart, as she caught the first glimpse of shimmering silk and deep velvet.

“I’m just as happy without them, mother,” said Bessie serenely, slipping the card from the little white envelope.

There was nothing written on the card beside his engraved name. It told her nothing. She would have to search out Madame Grevet and find the true owner.

“I think she lives somewhere in the city. I’m almost sure some one pointed out her house to me one day. Let’s have a try at the telephone book.”

She was almost nervously anxious to get those gifts for Murray’s dear friend out of the house. She did not want even to tell her story to her anxious mother until the matter was all set right.

But Madame Grevet was not to be found. She must have a private phone. An appeal to the janitor of the shop brought no further help. He did not know her number, and anyhow, if she had one she would be out. She was always out when she was at home, he said.

Bessie, exhausted, finally gave it up.

“We’ll just have to let Murray know, mother, and I hate that. Won’t you call up?”

“No, I _will not_!” said Mrs. Chapparelle, crisply. “Let them wait for their things till the shop comes after them again. It’s not your fault that they insisted on bringing them here. We’re not responsible. If Murray hadn’t run away from you I might feel differently, but as it is, I think it is not necessary for either you or me to run after them. People who have dresses like that can exist for another night without one more.”

“But mother, he was very anxious to have them delivered tonight. I heard him tell the saleswoman.”

“That makes no difference, child, you are going to bed. I’ll tie those boxes up and take good care of them, and tomorrow I’ll telephone Grevet’s to come after their property, but you are not to worry another minute about them. Now, let me help you upstairs, and I’ll give you an arnica rub, and you may tell me very briefly how you came to be riding in Murray Van Rensselaer’s automobile. Then we’re going to thank the heavenly Father, and go to sleep. Now, come darling.”

XXI

But the morning brought no solution of the difficulty. Madame Grevet professed to be too busy to come to the telephone, and sent a snippy miss to negotiate.

Mrs. Chapparelle spoke to her gently, as a lady should, taking it as a matter of course that she would wish to set a mistake right. The girl was insolent, and when at last Mrs. Chapparelle’s continued protest brought the Madame to the telephone, things were even worse. The Madame declared that it was not for her to meddle in all Mr. Van Rensselaer’s many love affairs. The clothes were paid for and the money in the bank. Her responsibility was at an end. They would have to settle their lovers’ quarrels themselves. No, she could not on any consideration take back the things. She did not do business in that way. If they wanted money they must apply to Mr. Van Rensselaer himself for it, not to her. With which insult she hung up the receiver sharply.

Bessie, standing near the telephone, had heard it all. Her face was very white and haughty. Her eyes seemed darker, almost black, with a kind of blue fire in them. She began to dress at once, rapidly, in spite of her mother’s protests.

“What are you going to do, Bessie? You mustn’t get up! You are not fit to be out of bed.”

“I must, mother, don’t you see I must? I cannot have that woman thinking those things.”

“But Bessie, you can’t carry those boxes down there yourself. You oughtn’t to go out today at all.”

“I’ll hire a taxi and take them down, mother. Now, don’t you worry about me. I’m quite all right I only needed this to stiffen me up. No, you don’t need to go with me,” she protested, as her mother began to unfasten her work-dress and take down her Sunday crêpe de chine, “I think it is just as well that you shouldn’t. I’m not going to make a scene. I’ll be a lady, mother dear. But that woman has got to understand that I am not that kind of a girl!”

Bessie finished a hasty toilet, and looked every inch a lady herself as she ran down-stairs to order a taxi.

She obediently drank the glass of milk her mother handed her, and let the driver carry out her boxes, departing in state, with a promise to return immediately.

She walked into Grevet’s clad in righteous indignation; quietly, almost haughtily. She was not wearing the bargain coat this time. She had chosen to put on a little ensemble suit that her mother had made her from a beautiful piece of dark blue silk material, a touch of exquisite embroidery on the tunic where it showed in front, a touch of really fine fur on the collar. In lines and style it might have come from Grevet’s itself, so unique and pleasing was the whole effect. The salespersons were puzzled to understand, and looked at her with new respect. Madame came forward smiling before she recognized her, and halted half perplexed. The driver had set the boxes down inside the door, and touched his cap with a smile for the tip she had given him. This girl had an air about her that somehow took the condescension from Madame’s manner.

“There has been some mistake,” Bessie said gravely, “I came here yesterday with Mr. Van Rensselaer to help him select a gift for a friend. The purchase has been sent to me instead of to the lady for whom it was intended. I have brought it back. I am sorry I cannot give you the correct name and address, but Mr. Van Rensselaer did not happen to mention it. I have a kind of a dim memory that he called her Gertrude, if that will help you any, but I am not quite sure. I wasn’t interested to remember, you know.”

Bessie spoke with a grave air of finality.

Madame regarded the girl with a lenient, knowing smile.

“I think you will find the garments are yours, my dear. Mr. Van Rensselaer distinctly told me they were to be sent to you, and wrote out your address himself while you were changing.”

Bessie drew herself up with a heightened color.

“Then he wrote it absent-mindedly,” she said, “Mr. Van Rensselaer does not buy clothes for me. We are just acquaintances, old schoolmates. I haven’t seen him in years till I met him on the street yesterday, and he asked me to stop a few minutes and help him select this gift for his friend. You will find he will be very much annoyed about this if he finds out you have sent it to me. I brought it right back so that you might call him up and ask him at once to give you the address over again. I would not care to have him know it had been sent to my house.”

The Madame smiled again that aggravating smile.

“Mademoiselle had better call him up herself, and then she will discover that what I have told her is true.”

“I do not wish to call him up,” said Bessie haughtily, “and I decline to have anything further to do with the matter!” She turned toward the door.

Madame took one step toward her.

“One moment, Mademoiselle! Does Mademoiselle realize that if she leaves the goods here the gentleman will never know but that she has received them? The goods are paid for, and my responsibility is at an end.”

“Your responsibility is not over until you have let him know that the purchase was not accepted at the address to which you sent it.”

Bessie looked steadily at her adversary, and spoke in a controlled voice. She was almost on the verge of tears, and she felt herself trembling from head to foot, but she managed to open the door and walk steadily out and down the street.

She felt degraded. To think that that woman had dared to place her on a footing with those women of another world than hers, who lived like parasites on what they could get out of their various lovers! It was maddening that she could not succeed in convincing the woman that she had made a mistake. The worst of it was, though, that she was almost convinced herself that it was not a mistake. Back in her heart had crept a wild fear that it was true that Murray had sent those things as a gift to herself. That he had dared to insult her that way! To set her down as one of the cheap little butterflies with whom rumor said he played around continually. He had thought he could take her a ride and toss her a costly gift and have her at his feet whenever he wanted her! He had not remembered the days of their childhood, when they played and read together, and respected the fine things of life. He had professed to love her mother, and to feel a warm comradely friendship for her, and here now he had shown that he did not even respect her. He thought because she lived in a small two-story house at the back of his father’s grand mansion that he could treat her as he pleased!

Well, if he had dared to do this thing of course it had been easy for him to run away from her in the hospital after he had been the means of her getting all shaken up that way! Her heart felt like lead as she walked along slowly in the sunshine of the bright November morning. She realized that she had been struggling against all evidence to excuse Murray for not having brought her home, or come to tell her mother about the accident, or even calling up on the telephone this morning to find out if she was all right. She could not understand it. Murray! Her old friend, turned yellow like this! Disgusting! Terrible! Why believe in anybody any more? But then she ought to have known better than to expect anything from a spoiled boy who had had no bringing up and too much money all his life. It was just what was to be expected every time with a mother like that beautiful doll-faced Mrs. Van Rensselaer. After all, she had known for years that Murray would never be anything to her, not even a friend. Why mourn this way, just because for a brief hour he had chosen to revive old acquaintance, amuse himself with his former playmate and then vanish?

So reasoning she went toward home, but her mind was by no means at rest. Another spirit kept continually whispering to her:

“But suppose that Murray was hurt himself! Suppose he is lying now in a hospital, unconscious perhaps, while you are enraged at him? This is not a Christian way to look at the matter. And besides, somehow you have got to let him know that you did not keep those dresses. If he really did try to present them to you, he has got to be made to understand that you are not that kind of girl.”

When she reached home it was all to be argued over again with her mother, who was as disturbed as she about the matter. That anybody should dare to misunderstand her dear girl! That was more than the mother could bear. For Murray Van Rensselaer the boy she had always had a tender place in her heart, but for Murray Van Rensselaer the young man who had apparently forgotten his old friends for years, and now that he had chanced upon them again for an hour, had insulted them, she had little charity. It was the way of his world, of course, but she resented it. She did not covet his friendship for her girl, for well she knew how far apart they would have grown, and well she knew the follies and temptations of the life which he with his money and his fast friends had in all probability lived. No, if she had known of his proximity she would have hidden her girl, if it had been possible, rather than have had her come into contact with him again, rather than run the risk of Bessie’s heart being touched by one who could never be anything more than an acquaintance to her.

But now that they had met, and he had essayed to open the friendship once more by asking her to ride with him, the mother resented hotly both the way in which he had left her alone in the hospital and also the gift that he had presumed to send her. For that he had intended it for Bessie she was now well convinced. Did he think to bind her to him by costly gifts, yet toss her aside whenever the fancy took him? Did he count her so low that he might pay off an obligation of courtesy by one of money? Having decided in her heart that he probably was worse than good for nothing, she proceeded to cast him out of her love, although she had really loved him when he was a little boy. He had seemed so lonesome, so interesting, so manly withal, and he had taken so kindly to her petting. Well, that was past, and she must protect her precious girl at all costs. He was a child of luxury now. He was spoiled, and that was all there was of it. If he had been differently born, or his parents had lost their money and their prestige when he was small there might have been some hope for him, but of course it was a foregone conclusion that he would be spoiled, and only a worldling. What could one expect?

They argued ways and means for a long time, and finally Bessie sat down and wrote a freezing little note:

“My Dear Mr. Van Rensselaer:

“I feel that you ought to know that the purchases you made at Grevet’s yesterday were by some strange mistake sent to my address. The delivery man insisted upon leaving them here with my mother before I reached home, though she told him they were not ours. I took them back this morning, and the woman was very disagreeable about it, and declared you had given no other address. I advised her to communicate with you at once. I hope your friend has suffered no inconvenience from the delay.

“Sincerely,

“ELIZABETH CHAPPARELLE.”