Carnival Part 35

"You don't want me," she said.

"Don't be silly. Why ever not?"

"Look at me."

"I can't see nothing the matter."

"I ask you, do I look like a birthday party? Never mind, kiddie, I'll come."

"Don't make a favor of it old girl. Only I thought you'd like it."

"Why don't you ever come up to Cranbourne Street and see me?" asked Lilli.

"You're always miserable. It gets on my nerves."

"I wish you would come sometimes. You've never been since that day you told me you'd joined the ballet."

"Well, you was Melancholy Sarah that day, wasn't you, Lilli?"

The call-boy's summons closed the conversation, and Jenny ran off to her own dressing-room for the last touch of powder.

When she came out of the theater that night, it was blowing a full October gale. There was n.o.body by the stage door in whom she felt the slightest interest, so without loitering and with pleasant antic.i.p.ation of to-morrow's fun, she went straight home.

Mrs. Raeburn was sitting by the kitchen fire when Jenny got back.

"You're early," she said.

"I know. There wasn't anything to stay out for. It's a terrible night, pelting in rain. Shame after the glorious weather we've been having.

It's my birthday to-morrow, too."

"Good gracious!" exclaimed Mrs. Raeburn. "And I'd forgotten all about it."

"You always do," said Jenny.

"I ought to have remembered this time. It was weather just like we've been having before you were born, and it come on to blow and rain just like this the very night. Twenty years! Tut-tut!"

"I don't feel a day older than fourteen," a.s.serted Jenny.

"Tell me, do you enjoy being alive?" asked Mrs. Raeburn.

"Oh, what a question! Of course I do."

"You don't ever feel it was a pity you ever come into the world?"

"Of course I don't. Why should I? I think I'm a very lucky girl."

"You don't ever tell me anything about yourself," said Mrs. Raeburn. "So I don't know."

"There's nothing to tell."

"I wish you'd get married."

"Whatever for?"

"Aren't you a bit gay?"

"Gay! Of course not."

"I wish you'd settle down," urged the mother. "There's a lot of nice young chaps as would be glad to marry you."

"But I don't want to be married. I sha'n't ever get married. Ugh!

Besides, what's going on as I am done? I'm enjoying myself."

"Too much, I'm afraid," said her mother.

"I don't want to get married," Jenny repeated. "I don't see that you did much good to yourself by getting married. I think you threw yourself away. Everybody must have liked you when you was a girl, and you go and marry Dad. I think you were potty. And yet you want me to do the same. I can't understand people."

"Why couldn't you have been nicer to that young baker chap?"

"Young baker chap? Yes, then I woke up. Him! Why, he used to hang his shoulders up when he took off his coat. Besides, he's common."

"You're getting very dainty."

"Well, look at the men you want me to marry. Why--they're awful--like navvies half of them. Oh, don't carry on, mother. I know what I want."

"Jenny," said her mother sharply, "you haven't done anything wrong, have you?"

"Of course not."

"Don't do anything wrong, there's a good girl. I was very upset about Edie, but nothing to what I should be about you."

"This little girl's all right. What's the matter with going to bed?"

"You go on up. I'll wait for your father."

"You're in a funny mood to-night, Mrs. Raeburn," said her daughter.

"Good night."

When she reached the bedroom Jenny woke up her sister.

"Look here, young May, you haven't said nothing to mother, have you, about My Friend the Prince?"

"Of course not, you great stupid."

"Well, don't you, that's all, because I'll go straight off and live with one of the girls if you ever dared say a word about him. Mother wouldn't understand there's nothing in it."

"You know your own business best," said May sleepily.

"That's quite right," Jenny agreed, and began to undress herself to a sentimental tune and the faint tinkle of hairpins falling on the toilet-table.