CHAPTER XV
WAITING TO FIND OUT
AS the days passed on, the little French girl did not find herdifficulties grow less. At the office she continued to hear veileddiscussions of the seriousness of the lost letters. No one, of course,except a few persons in the Governor's confidence, knew exactly whatinformation the letters contained, but there was no question of theirpolitical importance, for everybody could feel the atmosphere of strainand suspense. Yet for one thing at least Angelique Martins was grateful:no one had in any way associated her with the lost or stolen papers. Forwhatever Kenneth Helm suspected, or Governor Graham feared, they hadboth kept their own counsel. Yet this did not mean that they bothconsidered her guiltless.
Time and time again Angel tried to summon courage to speak directly toKenneth Helm on the subject. She had frequent opportunities, for evenif there was danger of notice or interruption at the office, he camevery often to the Governor's mansion to see Faith or to dine with thefamily.
However, she simply did not know what to do or say. To go to Kenneth andask him why he had accused her seemed to the girl almost like aconfession of wrongdoing. For oftentimes it appears preposterous in thisworld to be forced into denying an act that one could never have evendreamed of committing. How can one suddenly say, "I am _not_ a thief, Iam _not_ a liar," when every thought and act of their lives has beenpure and good?
Neither could Angel persuade herself to tell Kenneth Helm that she feltjust as suspicious of him as he could possibly feel of her. For she hadno proof of any kind except her own dislike and distrust and the factthat she had seen him coming out of the Governor's private study on thesame night on which he had suggested that she might have previouslyentered it. For of course the Governor's private secretary had a rightto his chief's private papers at almost all times. No, Kenneth wouldonly consider her accusation an expression of feeble revenge and beperhaps more convinced of her guilt in consequence.
Therefore there was nothing to do but wait with the hope that everythingwould soon be cleared up and the lost letters either found or theirthief discovered.
Moreover, Angel was not even to have the satisfaction of talking thematter over with Betty, the one person in the world who could and wouldhave helped her. For she had the Governor's strict command against thisand did not dare disobey. Besides, Angel could see that Betty was unlikeherself these days and so should not be troubled by any one else'strials. This, of course, was a mistaken point of view, as nothing wouldso have helped Betty Graham at this time as to have had some one tothink about who really needed her. However, neither her friend nor herhusband could have realized this.
Nevertheless there was one consolation that the little French girlenjoyed during these days and that was "the secret" which she andBettina had been cherishing so ardently for weeks. Every spare hour shehad from her work she and Bettina had spent together in a big room atthe top of the house, which was Bettina's own private play-room, sacredto her uses only.
It was a lovely room with pale gray walls and warm, rose-coloredcurtains, and all about were pictures of girls and boys who had comestraight out of fairyland and had their photographs taken by suchwonderful fairy artists as Maxfield Parish and Elizabeth Shippen Greene.
For you see Angelique was absolutely attempting to draw one of thesefairy pictures herself, while Bettina was acting as her model.
The picture was not to be a portrait, the artist had scarcely courage tohave undertaken that, but it was to represent Bettina's favoriteheroine, "Snow White and Rose Red."
All her life, ever since she was a little girl of five or six, AngeliqueMartins had been drawing and painting whenever she had the least chanceor excuse. Of course it was this same artistic gift that had showed inher clever fingers and sense of color through all the work which she haddone in the Camp Fire Club. But of her actual talent as an artistAngelique had always been extremely shy. You see, she cared for art somuch that she did not consider that she had any _real_ talent. But evenconfessing that she had the least little ability, of course it wouldtake years of study and goodness knows how much money before she couldhave hoped to amount to anything.
Nevertheless there was nothing to forbid the little lame French girl'samusing herself with her fancy whenever she had the chance. And eversince she could remember, Angel had been drawing pictures for Bettina.It had been their favorite amusement as soon as Tina passed beyond herbabyhood, which was sooner than most children.
Naturally Angel had drawn hundreds of pictures with Bettina as her modelbefore, but never one half so ambitious as this. However, this last onerepresented about the sixth effort, and it was a great question evennow whether this was to be the final one. For "Snow White and Rose Red"was not merely a play picture, one that had been painted merely foramusement; it had a most serious intention behind it.
Weeks before in a magazine which the two friends had been looking overtogether they had come across an advertisement. A prize of two hundreddollars was offered for the best picture illustrating any fairy story.Moreover, no well-known artist was to be allowed to enter thecompetition; the drawings were all to be made by amateurs undertwenty-five years of age.
The first suggestion that Angel should take part in this wonderfulcontest had come, of course, from Bettina as soon as the older girl hadread her the amazing announcement, for Tina's faith in her friend waswithout limit. Then just as naturally Angel first laughed at hersuggestion and afterwards decided to try just for fun to see what shecould do; and here at last was most furiously in earnest, although stillundecided whether to send her picture to the competition or to throw itaway.
There were only a few days more before the time limit expired.Therefore, would it be possible for her to undertake an entirely newpicture here at the very last?
With these uncertainties weighing on her mind Angel was sitting in frontof a small easel with a box of pastels on a table near by. Closer to thebig nursery window Bettina was curled up in a white armchair, one foottucked up under her in a favorite attitude and in her lap were half adozen red roses.
She was tired, for she had been quiet an unusually long time while Angelmade slight changes in her work and then stopped to consider the wholething disparagingly. But somehow her weariness made Bettina's pose evenmore charming.
ANGEL HAD CAUGHT BETTINA'S ATTITUDE ALMOST EXACTLY]
Her long yellow-brown hair hung over her shoulders down into her verylap, her eyes were wide open and yet were plainly not looking at anyparticular object. For Tina was making up stories to amuse herself whileAngel worked. It was only in this way that she could manage to keepstill for so long a time as Angel needed.
But this was the picture that Bettina herself made; what of her friend'sdrawing of her? Naturally it was not so graceful or pretty as the littlegirl herself.
Nevertheless, by some happy chance Angel had caught Bettina's attitudealmost exactly. Then too she had drawn a little girl who did not lookexactly like other children. There was a suggestion of poetry, almost ofmystery, about her fairy tale girl, in the wide open blue-gray eyes,dreaming as Tina's so often were, and in the half uncurled lips.
Of course the lines of the drawing were not so firm and clear as anexperienced artist would have made them, yet glancing at the littlepicture, you felt something that made you wish to look at it again.
However, Angel sighed so that Bettina came out of her dream story andstretched herself in the big chair.
"What is the matter?" she inquired. "May I get up and walk about theroom now?"
The older girl nodded. "Thank you, dear. This is the last time I amgoing to trouble you to sit for this picture. I have just decided that Ican't do any better by trying it over again, yet I don't know whether Ishall send it to the competition after all."
The next moment Angel was startled by something that sounded almost likea sob from Tina. Since the little girl was so seldom cross, she wassurprised and a little frightened.
"I am sorry you are so tired. Why didn't you tell me?" Angeliquedemanded.
Bettina had crossed the nursery and was standing close beside herpicture.
"It isn't that, it is only that I do want you to send it so much,"Bettina answered. "You see, I think it is the best picture anybody everpainted and we have both worked so hard and it has been such a nicesecret," she said huskily.
Angel put her arm about her. "Of course I'll send it, dear, if you feelthat way," she conceded. "But you must not even dream that I shall getthe prize and you must promise not to be disappointed if we never hearof the picture again."
Bettina agreed and then there followed a most unexpected knocking at thelocked nursery door. The two conspirators stared at each other inconsternation.
"Who is it, please?" Bettina demanded. "You know Angel and I are havingour secret together and we can't let any one come in."
Betty's voice replied: "Yes, I know; but I thought maybe the secret wasover and you would like me to come and play too. I am feeling prettylonesome."
"Oh," Tina returned, and then she and Angel whispered together. Finallythe little girl came over toward the closed door.
"I wish you would not be lonesome just now, mother," she murmured, "justwhen we are most dreadfully busy. If you will only go away for a littlewhile and then come back, why, Angel and I will love to play with you."
"I am afraid I won't be here after a while," Betty answered and thenwalked slowly away. It was absurd for her to feel wounded by such atrifle, and yet recently it had looked as though Bettina preferredAngelique's company to hers. What a useless person she was growing tobe! Well, at least she and Meg were going to a Suffrage meeting thatafternoon! She had not intended going, but the baby was asleep andAnthony would not be home for hours. Perhaps after the talk ended shemight drive by and get Anthony to return with her. She had not thoughthim looking very well that morning.
The Camp Fire Girls in After Years Page 15
