The Bacillus of Beauty Part 17

"You're living right on Union Square?" she said; "in the same building with--with--"

"A milliner, a dentist, a school for theatrical dancing," I enumerated, laughing happily. I knew that it was I myself, and not my mode of life, that bewildered her.

"But--is it--_nice_?"

"Better than a boarding-house. Two or three other girls lodge there, the housekeeper is obliging, and the experience--well, at least it's enlightening."

"I wish you'd come here. Why don't you?"

"Oh, could I?" I cried with sudden frankness. "You can't think how glad I'd be! The studio was awfully nice at first, and I've made the best of it, but I know Ma--Mother and Father would be pleased. If it wouldn't be too much trouble--"

And so easily it was all arranged. Of course after she had seen me, heard me, felt the charm of me--of Her--Aunt Frank couldn't leave Her in the studio!

I'd have been glad to avoid the journey back to Union Square with John; for the evening, with all its perplexities, had been paradise, and I dreaded to have him bring me back to earth with words of love. I ought to be more than usually tender towards John now, when he has just lost his mother; but when the Bakers' door had closed behind us, and we stood together under the crispy starlight--for it had cleared and turned cold during the evening--I talked feverishly of things that neither of us cared about, and kept it up all the way home.

John scarcely seemed to listen to my chatter. He was as if under a spell, and his dark, strong face glowed with the magic of it. As we approached the Square, he looked down at me, and slipped my hand from his arm into the clasp of his warm fingers. Through my glove he felt the ring, and gave the hand a little, almost timid pressure.

"Am I doing right? Ought I to wear it?" I cried. "Won't you help me think, just as if you didn't--didn't care? This isn't like last summer. We are different; I am very different. You must have seen to-night, that I am not at all the same girl. I've told you that I can't be certain; I am dazed."

"I shall remember everything--all you told me when I came, and now," he said. "But you are doing right--darling!"

He held my hands when we parted and looked into my eyes, and I saw that his own were s.h.i.+ning. His love seemed too deep for any outburst of pa.s.sion, or else he feared to alarm me; and yet he seemed so sure.

I wish--I wish--oh, I don't know what I wish; I ought not to be bound to any one; but I suppose I love John.

CHAPTER II.

A LOOKING OVER BY THE PACK.

Jan. 2.

If women are not meant to study, Prof. Darmstetter should be pleased with me. Instead of working up my laboratory notebooks, I have sat until midnight, dreaming.

"Go to bed early and get your beauty sleep," says Aunt, but I push open the window and lean upon the sash and let the cold air blow over me. I'd like to dance a thousand miles in the moonlight; I'm so young, and so strong, and such glorious things are coming!

To-morrow I shall have a foretaste of the future; I shall know what other people--not John and my relatives--think of me. Ah, there's only one thing they can think! To-morrow'll be the beginning of the world to me.

To-morrow! To-morrow! Aunt Frank has sent out cards for an "At Home." And it's to-morrow!

Oh, I'm glad I came here! I revel in the new home.

I like the house; it looks so big and solid. I like my cousins--quiet little creatures. They wait upon me, antic.i.p.ate my smallest wish, and defer to my opinions as if I were a white star queen dropped from the ether; all but Boy, and even he respects me because I can construe Caesar.

I like my Aunt--devoted to clubs and committees, though she's forgotten them now in her eagerness to introduce me. Ah, to-morrow! Blessed to- morrow! And I like Aunt Marcia Baker. I wonder if, when I am older, I too shall be serene and stately, with a face that seems to have outlived sorrow; I can hardly believe now that I shall care to live at all when people's eyes have ceased to follow my beauty. When for me there are no more to-morrows.

I think I shall like Mr. Hynes; he's almost one of the family, for he is betrothed to Milly, and I'm glad--ah, so glad I'm not she! What a life she looks forward to--each day exactly like its fellows; a droning, monotonous existence, keeping house, overseeing the cooking--perhaps doing it herself; for he's only a young lawyer, just starting in life!

But I like his face, so full of impulse and imagination. I believe he's a man who might go far and achieve much. Why should he handicap himself with an early marriage?

It's well enough for Milly; she doesn't understand her limitations. Why, she's almost as eager over to-morrow as if it could mean to her what it does to me; and that is an outlook into a life so glad, so wonderful!

Dear, good Aunt Frank proposed the tea before my trunks were fairly unpacked.

"Won't your Professor give you a holiday from--is it microbes you study?"

she inquired. "Sure they're not dangerous?"

"The afternoon tea bacillus is not wholly innocuous," suggested Uncle, pinching her cheek.

It was good to see the loving look that reproved and repaid him.

"Why, Bake," she protested, "tea never hurt anybody."

"Oh, I've time enough," I said; "I have no regular days for going to Prof.

Darmstetter, and the other studies--"

It was on my tongue to add: "and the other studies don't matter," but I checked the words.

"Well, you'll find it takes time," Aunt reminded me. "How about clothes, now? Suppose you show me what you brought."

And in a few minutes we were all chattering at once in discussion of my modest little wardrobe. I could feel, as each new dress was shaken from its folds, that Aunt was more dissatisfied than she would confess.

"Everything's pretty and tasteful," she conceded at last; "but--for a tea--if you could--"

If she had dared, she'd have offered to get me a dress herself.

"Oh, of course I'll need something new," I said hurriedly; "I meant to ask your advice. Nothing very costly," I was reluctantly adding. But at that moment an inspiration came to lighten the gloom.

The very thing! I'd use the money I'd saved for the microscope! I don't need one the least bit.

So I was able to add with some philosophy:--

"I never did have a nice dress, and I'd like something pretty good this time. Why, I haven't nearly spent all my allowance," I cried with kindling enthusiasm, jumping up to pace the floor. "Tell me what I ought to have-- just exactly what is most suitable. I don't know much about teas, but I'd like something--fine!"

Aunt's face glowed with excitement. I think she saw in imagination fifty Helens dancing before he eyes in a kaleidoscopic a.s.sortment of dresses.

"You're right. We'll get--oh, what shall we--what shall we get that'll be good enough for you?" she cried in a flutter. "Something simple of course, you're so young; but--I'll tell you: We'll go right to Mrs. Edgar!"

Perhaps my own face burned, too.

"Who's she? Some one on the Avenue?"

"No; no one knows her, but--she's a marvel! It'd mean the world and all to her to please some one sure to be noticed, like you. She's a widow; has two children."

So to Mrs. Edgar we went. Her eyes devoured me. She is a mite of a woman, young, white-faced, vivacious.