An Alabaster Box Part 13

"Did you ever notice _her_ hands, f.a.n.n.y?"

f.a.n.n.y shook her head.

"Her nails are cut kind of pointed, and all s.h.i.+ned up. And her hands are so little and soft and white. I suppose a man--do you think Jim would notice that sort of thing, f.a.n.n.y?"

f.a.n.n.y snapped the fastenings of her gloves.

"Let's go down stairs," she suggested. "They'll be wondering what's become of us."

"Say, Fan!"

Ellen Dix caught at her friend's arm, her pretty face, with its full pouting lips and brilliant dark eyes upturned.

"Well?"

"Do you suppose-- You don't think Jim is mad at me for what I said about _her_, do you?"

"I don't remember you said anything to make anybody mad. Come, let's go down, Ellen."

"But, Fan, I was wondering if that girl-- Do you know I--I kind of wish she hadn't come to Brookville. Everything seems--different, already. Don't you think so, f.a.n.n.y?"

"Oh, I don't know. Why should you think about it? She's here and there's no use. I'm going down, Ellen."

f.a.n.n.y moved toward the stairs, her fresh young beauty heightened by an air of dignified reserve which Ellen Dix had failed to penetrate.

Wesley Elliot, who had by now reached the wide opening into the hall in the course of his progress among the guests, glanced up as f.a.n.n.y Dodge swept the last step of the stair with her unfas.h.i.+onable white gown.

"Why, good evening, Miss Dodge," he exclaimed, with commendable presence of mind, seeing the heart under his waistcoat had executed an uncomfortable _pas seul_ at sight of her.

He held out his hand with every appearance of cordial welcome, and after an instant's hesitation f.a.n.n.y laid her gloved fingers in it.

She had meant to avoid his direct gaze, but somehow his glance had caught and held her own. What were his eyes saying to her? She blushed and trembled under the soft dark fire of them. In that instant she appeared so wholly adorable, so temptingly sweet that the young man felt his prudent resolves slipping away from him one by one. Had they been alone--...

But, no; Ellen Dix, her piquant, provokingly pretty face tip-tilted with ardent curiosity, was just behind. In another moment he was saying, in the easy, pleasant way everybody liked, that he was glad to see Ellen; and how was Mrs. Dix, this evening? And why wasn't she there?

Ellen replied demurely that it had been given out on Sunday as a young people's social; so her mother thought she wasn't included.

They entered the crowded room, where Deacon Whittle was presently heard declaring that he felt just as young as anybody, so he "picked up mother and came right along with Joe." And Mrs. Daggett, whose placid face had lighted with pleasure at sight of f.a.n.n.y and Ellen, proclaimed that when the day came for _her_ to stay at home from a young folks' social she hoped they'd bury her, right off.

So the instant--psychological or otherwise--pa.s.sed. But f.a.n.n.y Dodge's heavy heart was beating hopefully once more.

"If I could only see him alone," she was thinking. "He would explain everything."

Her thoughts flew onward to the moment when she would come down stairs once more, cloaked for departure. Perhaps Wesley--she ventured to call him Wesley in her joyously confused thoughts--perhaps Wesley would walk home with her as on other occasions not long past. Jim, she reflected, could go with Ellen.

Then all at once she came upon Lydia Orr, in her simple white dress, made with an elegant simplicity which convicted every girl in the room of dowdiness. She was talking with Judge Fulsom, who was slowly consuming a huge saucer of ice-cream, with every appearance of enjoyment.

"As I understand it, my dear young lady, you wish to employ Brookville talent exclusively in repairing your house," f.a.n.n.y heard him saying, between smacking mouthfuls.

And Lydia Orr replied, "Yes, if you please, I do want everything to be done here. There are people who can, aren't there?"

When she saw that f.a.n.n.y had paused and was gazing at her doubtfully, her hand went out with a smile, wistful and timid and sincere, all at once. There was something so appealing in the girl's upturned face, an honesty of purpose so crystal-clear in her lovely eyes, that f.a.n.n.y, still confused and uncertain whether to be happy or not, was irresistibly drawn to her. She thought for a fleeting instant she would like to take Lydia Orr away to some dim secluded spot and there pour out her heart. The next minute she was ready to laugh at herself for entertaining so absurd an idea. She glanced down at Lydia's ungloved hands, which Ellen Dix had just described, and reflected soberly that Wesley Elliot sat at table with those dainty pink-tipped fingers three times each day. She had not answered Ellen's foolish little questions; but now she felt sure that any man, possessed of his normal faculties, could hardly fail to become aware of Lydia Orr's delicate beauty.

f.a.n.n.y compelled herself to gaze with unprejudiced eyes at the fair transparent skin, with the warm color coming and going beneath it, at the ma.s.ses of blond hair drawn softly back from the high round forehead, at the large blue eyes beneath the long sweep of darker lashes, at the exquisite curve of the lips and the firmly modeled chin. Yes; Jim had seen truly; the ordinary adjective "pretty"--applicable alike to a length of ribbon, a gown, or a girl of the commoner type--could not be applied to Lydia Orr. She was beautiful to the discerning eye, and f.a.n.n.y unwillingly admitted it.

Lydia Orr, unabashed by the girl's frank inspection, returned her gaze with beaming friendliness.

"Did you know I'd bought a house?" she asked. "It's old and needs a lot of repairing; so I was just asking Judge Fulsom--"

"Deacon Amos Whittle is, so to say, a contractor," said the Judge ponderously, "and so, in a way, am I."

"A contractor?" puzzled Lydia. "Yes; but I--"

"If you'll just give over everything into our hands connected with putting the old place into A-number-one shape, I think you'll find you can dismiss the whole matter from your mind. In two months' time, my dear young lady, we'll guarantee to pa.s.s the house over to you in apple-pie order, good as new, if not better.... Yes, indeed; better!"

The Judge eyed his empty saucer regretfully.

"That's the best ice cream--" he added with total irrelevance. "Have some, won't you? I hear they're pa.s.sing it out free and permiscuous in the back room."

"I think we should like some cream, if you please, Judge Fulsom,"

said Lydia, "if you'll keep us company."

"Oh, I'll keep company with you, as far as strawberry ice cream's concerned," chuckled the Judge, his big bulk shaking with humor. "But I see Mis' Fulsom over there; she's got her weather eye on us. Now, watch me skeedaddle for that cream! Pink, white or brown, Miss Orr; or, all three mixed? There's a young fellow out there in charge of the freezers that sure is a wonder. How about you, f.a.n.n.y?"

The two girls looked at each other with a smile of understanding as the big figure of the Judge moved ponderously away.

"We never had ice cream before at a church sociable," said f.a.n.n.y.

"And I didn't know Mrs. Solomon Black had so many lanterns. Did you buy all this?"

Her gesture seemed to include the shaded lamps, the ma.s.ses of flowers and trailing vines, the gay strains of music, and the plentiful refreshments which nearly every one was enjoying.

"It's just like a regular party," she added. "We're not used to such things in Brookville."

"Do you like it?" Lydia asked, doubtfully.

"Why, of course," returned f.a.n.n.y, the color rising swiftly to her face.

She had caught a glimpse of Wesley Elliot edging his way past a group of the younger boys and girls, mad with the revelry of unlimited cake and ice cream. He was coming directly toward their corner; his eyes, alas! fixed upon the stranger in their midst. Unconsciously f.a.n.n.y sighed deeply; the corners of her smiling lips drooped. She appeared all at once like a lovely rose which some one has worn for an hour and cast aside.

"It's such a little thing to do," murmured Lydia.

Then, before f.a.n.n.y was aware of her intention, she had slipped away.

At the same moment Judge Fulsom made his appearance, elbowing his smiling way through the crowd, a br.i.m.m.i.n.g saucer of vari-colored ice cream in each hand.

"Here we are!" he announced cheerfully. "Had to get a _habeas corpus_ on this ice cream, though. Why, what's become of Miss Orr? Gone with a handsomer man--eh?"

He stared humorously at the minister.

"Twa'n't you, dominie; seen' you're here. Had any ice cream yet? No harm done, if you have. Seems to be a plenty. Take this, parson, and I'll replevin another plate for myself and one for Miss Orr. Won't be gone more'n another hour."