Christobel did not want to answer this, so she hurried into something else.
“Oh, you are the lady who was kind enough to take a message for me last night.” She tried to make her voice gracious without too much intimacy.
There was second of dead silence while the lady recalled something she had all too evidently forgotten.
“Why, yes, dear child. Was I so careless as not to mention that last evening when I talked to your father? You see, your old servant was not at home. We waited for some time, and I tried to find someone to leave a message with, but the people who lived near seemed all to be out. I hope I didn’t cause you any inconvenience. Could I take you there today, dear? This morning perhaps, and then you could all lunch with me later.”
“No, thank you!” said Christobel hurriedly. “I have other things I have to do. You are kind, but it won’t be necessary. My brother will attend to it.”
“Well then, dear, how about coming to lunch? Haven’t you got it arranged? I hope your dear father will come, and your little brother, too, if he would care to. I haven’t seen him since he was a chubby baby. He must be quite a little boy by this time.”
“My brother is seventeen,” said Christobel coldly.
“Oh, you don’t mean it! My dear! I had supposed he was only about ten. How time does fly!”
But Christobel was wondering. Did Mrs. Romayne’s friendship with her father date back as far as when Rannie was a chubby baby? Was she perhaps an acquaintance of her mother’s? Oh, she was being very wicked not to like this woman.
And then came the sound of the front doorbell again. Christobel was fairly frantic. It would not do to tell the woman on the wire the bell was ringing and she must answer it, for then she would have to explain all about the servants, and Father would not want his personal affairs talked about. And besides, this woman would immediately offer to come and run the house for them. She was quite sure of that. She might even suggest coming to cook for them if she knew how to cook, or at least getting new servants for them. Christobel was sure she would do that. And then she would somehow succeed in spiriting them all to her house for an indefinite time.
Meantime the smooth voice was going on and on, saying pleasant things, and Christobel, in her own thoughts, lost track of just what was coming into her ears over the wire. Pleasant nothings about how fast children grew and how pathetic it was that they had to be left without mothers who had always wanted young things about them and how not just anyone could step in and take their places.
Suddenly a great sob arose in Christobel’s throat. Oh, she didn’t want this woman to take the place of mother to her! Oh, what should she do, what should she say? If she could only round out the conversation to a polite close, say it was so kind of her to call and good-bye, or something like that. But somehow she could not bring her voice to say the words in just the right way. So she kept utterly still and let the woman talk on, except when she asked a direct question, and then Christobel answered in a low monosyllable, so low that she had to be asked over again because it was scarcely audible. All at once there came a thump on her ear, a clashing sound, and then silence. She had been cut off. She waited an instant to make sure and quickly hung up. Mrs. Romayne would doubtless get the conversation going again, but if the bell rang, she just wouldn’t hear it. She went out of the room, stopped just long enough to look out of the front window to see that the tramp had disappeared, and then hurried back into her own room and shut the door. As a further precaution she opened the bathroom door and turned on the water full tilt. She did not want to hear that telephone bell. Yet even above the water she seemed to hear the faint jingle of the far-off bell. And finally her conscience troubled her, and she turned off the water and opened her door. At least the bell was not ringing now. And what was that? A key in the front door? Half fearfully she listened, and then she heard her father’s voice calling her. She bounded downstairs eagerly, wondering if she ought to tell him about Mrs. Romayne telephoning.
But he gave her no time.
“Come on, Chrissie,” he called eagerly, using her childhood name by which her mother had called her most often, “get your hat and coat and come with us. We’ve finished up the disagreeable things and are going for a ride.”
Christobel dashed into her room for her wraps and came rushing down with great relief in her heart. To get away from this terrible house. How good it would be! “What have you got on?” asked her father, turning to look her over as she came out the door. “That’s not warm enough. It’s a cold winter day. Run back and get a good warm coat. You’ll need your fur coat this morning.” She paused in dismay and looked down at herself. She was wearing a fall costume of dark green, elaborately trimmed with baby lamb fur. It did not fit her and was altogether too old and sophisticated for her. She never had liked it. She hated these castoffs of Charmian’s, which were all she’d had for several years. Sometimes they were utterly impossible, and then she had either folded them away in her trunk or sold them to one of the seniors who admired stylish, sophisticated things.
But now, as she stood there in the doorway of the marble mansion with her father’s eyes upon her, her cheeks suddenly reddened as if the objectionable garment had somehow been her fault.
“I didn’t bring anything else with me,” she confessed. “I thought this was the most suitable thing I had for a funeral.”
“But that’s not a winter coat,” protested her father, frowning at the suit, which somehow looked very inadequate and ungainly upon Christobel, who was tall and slim, while Charmian had been quite petite. The sleeves were too short, and the skirt was most abbreviated and very tight.
“Well, my winter coat is a bright sort of yellow,” said Christobel, fearful lest her father would be troubled. “It’s very bright, you know, with a big reddish-yellow fur collar of bear or fox or something. It really is quite conspicuous.”
“But, my dear, why didn’t you bring your fur coat? Surely gray squirrel is as quiet as anything you could wear. It is quite suitable for a young girl, I’m sure, for I see many girls wearing them.”
Christobel opened her eyes wide and then laughed.
“Why, I haven’t any fur coat,” she said. “I never had one.”
“You never had one? But I sent you one for a Christmas present this very Christmas! What do you mean?”
“No,” said Christobel with a look of loving pain in her eyes, “you sent me a little squirrel neck piece. Don’t you remember? I thanked you for the dear little squirrel. I didn’t bring it with me because I couldn’t wear it with this fur collar, and I had no other coat to wear. But it was dear. I loved it because you sent it to me.”
“Do you mean to say that you never received a long squirrel coat with a big high collar? Why, I helped select it myself!”
A sorrowful comprehension filled the girl’s eyes as she slowly shook her head. And a dawning comprehension came into her father’s eyes, and his jaw set in a firm line.
“I think,” he commented slowly, “that there have been a good many different kinds of things going on that I did not realize.” His face set sternly. Then he suddenly asked, “Did you buy that suit you have on, Chrissie?”
“Oh, no!” said Christobel quickly, and with distaste in her voice. “It was one that my—Charmian—sent me.” It had been Charmian’s wish that the children should call her by her first name. She had not wished to be called Mother. It made her seem too old she said, but Christobel had never been able to say Charmian’s name glibly. Her own mother had brought her up with a habit of respect for elders, and though Charmian was not much of an elder, still she occupied the position of a mother, and Christobel always felt she was being disrespectful, despite her sense of the fitness of things when she called the older woman by her first name. Of course, if Charmian had been at all loving and friendly, more of a pal, perhaps it would not have seemed so.
“I think it was one of hers she had got done with,” added the girl, feeling that more of an explanation was due her father.
Suddenly he turned to his daughter and looked at her with a searching, yearning glance.
“She was really very young you know, daughter,” he offered by way of apology.
“I know,” said Christobel quickly, eager to relieve her father from his worry. “She didn’t realize it wouldn’t quite fit me.”
Still he stood in the doorway thoughtfully.
“I am very much to blame for some things,” he said slowly. “I didn’t realize, or I would not have permitted them.”
“Oh, that’s all right, Father,” the girl hastened to say. “I didn’t mind.” And then thinking perhaps that was not strictly true she added, “At least, not very much.”
The father gave his child another keen look and read in her honest, troubled eyes some reflection of the bitterness and disappointment that had been in her young life. The chagrin, perhaps, and even humiliation. While at home her young stepmother was rolling in wealth, satisfying her every whim.
“I can never forgive myself!” he said severely and then, after an instant of thought, “Just go on out to the car, Chrissie. I’ll be there in a minute.”
Christobel got into the backseat. And in a minute or two her father came out bearing two big boxes and put them into the car.
“I thought we’d just stop at the store and return those fur coats,” he said casually as he got in beside Rannie, who was at the wheel.
“Oh, I say, Dad, it’s good to get at this wheel again!” said the boy. “My, this engine is slick! Say, Dad, why can’t I have a car at school this spring? A lotta fellas have cars. I’m old enough now ta be trusted, I should think.”
“I’m sorry,” said his father, “but I’m afraid you’re not.”
“Aw, Dad! What’s the little old idea? You let me drive this car. You said if I had good marks all right you’d consider it this spring.”
“Yes,” said the father thoughtfully, “but some things have happened since. In fact, I found a letter down at the office just now from the dean of your school. You see, Rand, I took it for granted that those marks were to be well and honestly earned.”
Rannie cast a startled glance at his father and waited, but the father closed his lips and gave his attention to looking out for the address he wanted.
The traffic was heavy, and Rannie had to give entire attention to driving the car. He did not know just what to say. How did his father know of his doings? What did he mean by that word “honest”?
“Stop right here, Rand,” commanded his father. “Let us out, and then drive around to the parking place in the street at the rear. Wait there till Chrissie and I come back. Yes, Chris, hop out. I shall need you, perhaps.”
Christobel followed her father into the grand and beautiful exclusive store. It was like a fairyland to her unused eyes. The school where she had been for the past two years was in a little country town, not near to any large city, and the wildest, most exciting shopping trip possible was in a five-and-ten-cent store that had recently raised a pert little head among the country stores of the community near the school.
They took the elevator up to the fur department, and her father disposed of the two boxes he was carrying, speaking in a low tone to a salesperson who seemed to know him and who showed him utmost deference. The two fur coats were turned over to another salesperson, and the first one led them over to another corner of the great quiet room, where there were glass cases of fur coats.
“Now, what kind do you want? Squirrel did you say?” he said, turning to Mr. Kershaw.
“There you are, Chrissie, pick out your fur coat. What do you want? Squirrel, or some other kind?”
“Oh, squirrel!” said Christobel, her cheeks glowing and her eyes shining. Then turning to her father as the salesman swung open a glass door, she said, “Oh, Daddy! Am I really to have a fur coat? A new coat?”
“You certainly are,” said her father grimly. “And I want you to pick out the one you want, understand. Never mind what it costs. I want you to look like the other girls.”
Christobel was soon arrayed in a lovely squirrel coat. Her father surveyed her critically as she tried on several of them. He found he had to be critic after all, for the girl was so ecstatic over each one that a decision would never have been reached. She was like a little child in her pleasure, and a wave of almost shame mantled her father’s face as he realized what his own little girl must have had to suffer of mortification and disappointment in wearing an older woman’s freakish garments instead of those suitable for her age.
He studied the hat she was wearing. Did he recognize that, too, as one that had belonged to his wife? Yes, he remembered expressing disapproval of the outlandish ornament on the side. What had Charmian done anyway? Taken the money he had given her to buy things for Christobel and spent it on herself, and then sent Christobel her old things of which she had grown tired? Strange he could have been so blind as not to suspect that his little girl was not having the right things. He had wondered sometimes that she never wrote to thank him when he had thought he had sent her some especially nice thing. But Charmian had explained that all young things nowadays were merely little animals who had no such virtue as gratitude in their makeup, that he expected too much from a child. Ah! What a fool he had been!
When the coat had been selected, the thin little jacket sent up to the house, and Christobel, in her new fur coat stood ready to thank him enthusiastically, he put his attention on the hat again.
“That hat is awful!” he said. “Come, we’ll get a new one right away. Where is the millinery department?” he asked the salesman.
“Right through the arch on this same floor,” was the direction.
“Oh, Father! You’re wonderful!” breathed Christobel and then showed herself quite capable of picking out the right hat, a jaunty little dark blue felt with a streak of white and green quill cockily stuck in at exactly the right angle.
“Oh, I’ve wanted one of these cute little hats all winter!” she sighed joyously as she came with the hat on for her father’s approval.
“Well, you certainly have good taste,” he said, noticing how pretty she was in the new coat and hat. “And now”—he looked at his watch—“one more thing. You need a new dress right away. I don’t like what you’ve been wearing. You’ll need a lot of them, I guess, but we’ll only stop for one this morning, or Rannie will get impatient.”
Christobel tried on two dresses to see which her father liked best, a dark blue wool, beautifully tailored with a touch of white and green in the brilliant scarf that adorned the neck; and a dark blue silk, with white crepe vest and deep cuffs in lovely young lines.
“Take them both!” said her father with a satisfied tone to his voice. “And there! That garnet velvet thing on the model there,” he said, pointing to a lovely dinner dress in transparent velvet with a deep, scalloped cape collar. “I like that. Is that her size? Well, send that up, too. No, we can’t stop now to try it on. We’re in a hurry. If she doesn’t like it, we’ll return it. Just keep that dress you have on Chris, and let them send up your old things.”
“Oh, Father!” said Christobel when she was arrayed once more in her fur coat and new hat and they were hurrying away. “You’ve fixed me up like a princess.”
“Well, you are, aren’t you? My princess!” he said with a look of wonder at the transformation a few garments had wrought. What would Mary, the child’s mother, have thought if she had known that he had neglected her little girl so long? Oh, what a fool he had been to marry that spoiled, selfish Charmian just because she had a pretty face and had seemed fond of him! How the fondness had disappeared when she had him hard and fast! How he had had to pour out the money upon her until there was nothing left for his business! That great mountain of a house that she would have!
He sighed and hurried Christobel down to the car.
“Now,” he said, “we’re going anywhere you want to go for an hour, and then we’ll stop at a restaurant and have lunch. Where do you want to go?”
�
�Oh, Father! Anywhere?” said Christobel blissfully. “Or—could we? Would that be too far? I guess it would. Suppose instead we just drive to where Maggie lives and let me say good morning to her? Would that be out of your way?”
“Maggie? Oh, Maggie! Your old nurse? Why, where does she live now?”
Christobel told him.
“That’s all right,” he said, looking at his watch again. “It won’t take long to get there, and if you don’t stay too long, we’ll have time left to go eat somewhere. Where else was it you wanted to go?”
“Oh, I would love to see the old house where we used to live. I’d like at least to drive past there sometime. I do want to see if it looks the way I remember it.”
“Yes, that’s some distance,” said the father. “I guess we’ll have to let that go till this afternoon or some other time, but I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed in it. It’s not in a very exclusive neighborhood.”
“I don’t care,” said Christobel. “I’d love to go see it.”
“All right!” promised her father. “We’ll go and see it before you go back to school.”
The conversation was cut short by Randall’s exclamation as he saw his sister.
“Good night! Some baby doll! No wonder you were gone so long! I thought you’d got lost! I was just getting ready to have you paged. Say, Chrissie, you’re a looker in that outfit. Never knew you were looking so good. Say, Dad, how about staking me a couple o’ suits o’ clothes? I ain’t so flush with garments as I’d like ta be either.”
“We’ll see!” said his father, and Randall couldn’t tell for the life of him whether there was a coldness in his father’s voice or not. He had had a most uneasy half hour while he waited, thinking over what his father had said and wondering which of his misdeeds at school had been recounted to his parent in the letter from the dean. He had thought everything had been pretty well concealed from that official’s knowledge, but perhaps somebody had squealed about something. He wished he knew what it was. It would be well to be prepared with excuses. However, he fixed up one or two that would do for any of them and then began to work on each separate sin, providing excuses or alibis for all of them. By the time his father appeared, he had felt pretty well prepared for almost anything, only it was a bit disconcerting not to have his father more affable. It must be one of his more serious offenses—that act, for instance, of burning the principal in effigy—only, he wasn’t the only one involved in that affair. Practically the whole class had been in on that, as a protest against sending Hi Spencer home without a chance of returning just because he sneaked some liquor into the dorm.
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