The Girl from Arizona Part 35

"Do you really want me?" she asked, doubtfully; "I thought perhaps you would rather be by yourselves."

"Of course we want you," declared Barbara, heartily, while Marjorie--in the background--gave a little gasp of astonishment. Such humility from the proud Elsie was something that had never entered her imagination.

Elsie made no remark, but she came in, and followed Barbara to the sitting-room, where Marjorie smiled a welcome which appeared to set her cousin more at her ease.

"I am sure you must be almost as anxious as we are," said Barbara, "though of course you don't know Miss Jessie as well. No one could help loving her."

"No, they couldn't," agreed Elsie, in a rather low voice, and then she walked over to the window, and stood with her back to the others, looking out at the falling rain.

n.o.body talked much during the next half-hour. Marjorie and Barbara both had lumps in their throats, and words did not come easily. Elsie, too, was unusually silent. There was another little excitement when the bell rang again, and Beverly came in. Beverly had been through a great deal during the past two weeks, but boys of eighteen cannot live on high pressure for very long without a reaction setting in. Beverly was a very natural, healthy-minded boy, and the reaction in his case took the form of unusually high spirits.

"Don't all have such long faces," he remarked, cheerfully, surveying the solemn little group. "Just make up your minds everything is coming out all right, and you'll see it will. I've got more faith in Uncle George than in any other surgeon in the country. Think of what he did for that English boy we met at the Bells'."

"I know Uncle George is wonderful," said Barbara, a trifle more hopeful, "but even he may not be able to cure everybody. You would be just as anxious as Marjorie and I, Beverly, if you knew dear Miss Jessie as well as we do."

"I didn't say I wasn't anxious. I only said I didn't see any use in such long faces before you know whether there was anything to be mournful about. How do you do, Miss Elsie? I haven't seen you in a week of Sundays."

In his present exuberant spirits, Beverly was quite ready to forget past unpleasantness, but Elsie had not forgotten, as her heightened color and embarra.s.sed manner plainly showed.

Beverly went to the piano, and began playing rag-time, with the cheerful desire of raising the drooping spirits of the party. He proposed they should sing college songs, but n.o.body felt inclined for singing and the attempt proved a dismal failure.

"What a very uncomfortable thing suspense is," remarked Barbara, as the clock struck five.

"You would say so if you had been through the suspense Marjorie and I have," her brother said. "We know something of what suspense means, don't we, Marjorie?"

"Indeed we do," said Marjorie, rousing herself from present anxieties with an effort. "Oh, Beverly, those awful days when you and your uncle were on your way to Arizona, and I couldn't be absolutely sure I hadn't made a mistake about that photo after all. Suppose I had been mistaken, and you had had that terrible disappointment!"

"Well, you were not mistaken, you see," broke in Beverly, who felt that the recollection of those days was still too vivid to bear discussion.

"Come and sit by me, Babs," and he made room for his sister on the piano stool.

But all suspense, however long, must come to an end at last, and just as the clock was striking half past five, there was another ring at the bell, followed by a simultaneous rush to the door. Only Marjorie remained behind. Until that moment she had scarcely realized how great her anxiety was, and her knees shook so that she could not rise from her chair. She heard all the others talking at once, apparently asking some question, and then Mrs. Randolph's voice, but she could not hear her words.

"Marjorie, Marjorie, where are you?" cried Barbara joyfully; "here's Mother!"

"I'm here," said Marjorie, faintly, and the next moment Mrs. Randolph was beside her, holding both her cold hands. Marjorie's eyes asked the question her lips refused to form, and Mrs. Randolph bent and kissed her.

"Marjorie dear," she said in a voice that was not quite steady, though she was smiling, "your mother wanted me to tell you that the operation is over, and that Dr. Randolph feels almost certain it has been successful."

CHAPTER XXV

ELSIE REDEEMS HERSELF

"DO you know, Aunt Jessie, that to-morrow will be the first of May? It's nearly four months since you and Mother came to New York."

Miss Graham was leaning back in a comfortable arm-chair by an open window, through which the bright spring suns.h.i.+ne was pouring, flooding every corner of the pleasant hotel bedroom. She was still looking rather frail and delicate, but there was an expression of hope and joy in her face, that had never been there in the old days at the ranch. A crutch stood at her side, but there was no wheeled-chair to be seen. At Marjorie's words she looked round with a smile.

"Time has certainly flown," she said. "Have you had a pleasant ride?"

"It was glorious. Beverly and I had a splendid gallop. I hope you enjoyed your drive."

"Yes, it was lovely," said Miss Jessie, secretly thinking that Marjorie had grown very pretty lately. She looked so well in her perfectly fitting riding habit, with her rosy cheeks and sparkling eyes. "I wasn't at all tired when I came home either, which Dr. Randolph considers a distinct gain. He says I am one of his star patients. Have you finished your lessons for to-morrow?"

"Haven't any; it's Sat.u.r.day, you know. I shall have plenty of time to study between now and Monday. I came to have a little chat with you before I dress. I'm going out this evening, you remember. It's the last meeting of the Club, and quite an important occasion. The Bells are sailing for Europe to-morrow, and Lulu is our president."

"I thought you wrote me that Elsie was elected president," said Miss Graham, who seldom forgot anything Marjorie told her.

"She was at first," said Marjorie, hoping her aunt would not notice her suddenly heightened color. She drew a low chair to Miss Jessie's side, and settled herself for a comfortable chat.

"Why did she give it up?" Miss Graham inquired, with interest.

"I--I don't exactly know. It was after I came back from Virginia and Barbara came home. She said she would rather not be president any more, and asked Lulu to take her place."

"I like Elsie," said Miss Jessie. "She is very clever, and has been rather spoiled in consequence, but there is much that is fine about her.

She will make a n.o.ble woman, I am sure."

Marjorie looked pleased.

"Elsie likes you," she said, "and I don't think she is really fond of many people. She hasn't nearly as many friends as most of the girls at school have, but I love her dearly, and so does Babs."

"I had a letter from your father this afternoon," Miss Jessie said, after a little pause; "I am keeping it for you to read. He says things are looking up at the ranch, and he is hoping for a better season than last. He thinks he may possibly be able to come East for us himself next month. I do hope he can, for it would be such a treat for him."

"I suppose he is thankful to get Mother back," said Marjorie, "but, oh, how we do miss her, don't we, Aunt Jessie?"

"Yes, indeed, but it wouldn't have been fair to have kept her any longer when she was so anxious to get home to your father. After all, she had a good long rest, and your father declares she is looking ten years younger in consequence."

"What a wonderful winter it has been," said Marjorie, reflectively, resting her knee against her aunt's knee. "When I left home last October, how little any of us dreamed of all the strange, beautiful things that were going to happen. Those first weeks were pretty hard; I was a good deal more homesick than I let any of you know, but I knew everybody meant to be kind and I did try hard to make the best of things. Then came the Randolphs' invitation to spend the holidays in Virginia, and the wonderful discovery about Undine. And then--as if that wasn't happiness enough--Dr. Randolph saw you, and brought you and Mother back to New York with him. The operation was pretty dreadful, but ever since Dr. Randolph told us he was sure it had been a success, everything has been simply heavenly."

Miss Jessie said nothing, but softly stroked Marjorie's hair, and there was such a look of joy in her eyes, that the girl could not help being struck by it.

"Aunt Jessie," she said, laughing, "do you know, I never realized before how young you are. I used to think of you as quite a middle-aged lady, but I don't know how it is, you look different now somehow--almost like a girl."

"I was twenty-nine last week," said Miss Jessie, smiling; "I suppose twenty-nine may seem middle-aged to fifteen."

"But it doesn't," protested Marjorie; "not a bit; I think I must have been a goose ever to have thought such a thing. Beverly calls you a perfect trump, and he wouldn't say that about any one he considered middle-aged; it wouldn't be respectful."

"I am very much obliged to Beverly for his good opinion," said Miss Jessie, laughing and blus.h.i.+ng in such a very girlish manner that her niece regarded her in growing astonishment.

"I believe it's the thought of being well and strong again that has made all the difference," she said. "Oh, Aunt Jessie darling, think of it, you'll never have to sit in that dreadful wheeled-chair again! What walks and rides we'll have together. Are you sure Dr. Randolph will let you go back to the ranch in June?"

"He says I shall be quite strong enough for the journey by that time,"

Miss Graham answered, but she did not meet Marjorie's direct gaze as she spoke. "I feel that I ought not to trespa.s.s on the Randolphs'

hospitality any longer than is necessary. Think of what they have done for me, Marjorie. First all those weeks at the hospital, and then insisting on my coming here, and all of it just because we were kind to Undine."

"I don't think that is the only reason," said Marjorie, eagerly. "That was the beginning of it, of course, but now they all love you for yourself. Babs says her mother loves you dearly, and she and Beverly were both so pleased because you said they might call you 'Aunt Jessie.'

As for the doctor, I'm sure he likes you ever so much."