Six Girls and the Tea Room

by Marion Ames Taggart

  CHAPTER X

  "SEEING IS BELIEVING"

  "WELL!" gasped Happie. "My mercy me! It's that Robert Gaston!"

  She said it aloud entirely forgetful of where she was, even of what shewas, in the amazing discovery of the identity of her rescuer. She toldher mother afterwards that it was nothing but good fortune and her sizethat kept her from falling into a teapot, a little like the Dormouse,and only the lack of space that kept her from dropping to the floor.

  She stood near Mrs. Jones-Dexter as the amazing conviction rushed overher that Robert Gaston did not resemble her mental portrait of him inany particular, and that he was actually there and had been helpingher serve tea for an hour. Mrs. Jones-Dexter looked up disapprovingly."Do you mean to say that you have been allowing a young man whom youdid not know to help you, Miss Secunda?" she demanded sternly. She hadfallen into the habit of calling Margery and Happie and Laura "Prima,Secunda and Tertia."

  Happie gazed at her blankly. "That isn't the worst of it," she said."The worst of it is that Margery does know him, and that he is reallyvery, very nice. I thought he'd be perfectly unbearable, but anybodycould bear him easily. Oh, dear, oh, dear! Margery will like him--I domyself!"

  Mrs. Jones-Dexter stared at Happie for an instant, then she laughed."I think I see!" she observed. "My dear, be consoled. There might be adegree of badness beyond this. Prima might see his charm and you notsee it. That would be far worse. And take an old woman's advice; don'tgrudge your sisters happiness of their own selection. It's better tofloat with currents than to beat yourself to tatters trying to stemthem. If Prima is drifting away, drift after her, don't hold back."

  Happie did not heed this excellent advice, based on Mrs. Jones-Dexter'spersonal experiences. She was watching Margery as she replied toRobert's questions, and understood his laughing glances towardsherself, surmising that he was relating to Margery the story of hislatest hour of usefulness.

  Herr Lieder stopped playing, disturbed, perhaps, with the quicktelepathic instinct of a musician, by Laura's perturbation, which wasnearly as great as Happie's, when she saw Margery greet the strangerand guessed his identity.

  Herr Lieder went away quickly without a word, as he had preferred doingat the end of his first playing. After he had gone the people who hadbeen lingering in the tea room stirred sighingly, and there was arustle of general departure, leaving space and opportunity for Margeryto come down the room with Robert Gaston to where Happie and Grettaexchanged rapid whispers till the approaching pair were at hand, whenGretta hastily slipped away to safety in the rear.

  "Happie, dear," Margery began, "I must introduce to you my friend, Mr.Gaston, but he already knows you. This is my Happiness-sister, Mr.Gaston, of whom I used to speak so often--who let me go away to be idleand happy all summer, while she stayed in the Ark, and bore the bruntof a great deal that was hard."

  "And who did such great kindness thereby to a young man from Baltimoreand his sister Mary, of whom she had never heard," added Robert Gaston,taking Happie's hand with that mixture of old-fashioned formality andboyish simplicity which was his charm. "I hope Miss Happie is going togive me her friendship, quite independent of Miss Margery,--the way itwas begun!" he added with a twinkle.

  Happie looked painfully embarrassed. "It won't matter about myfriendship, I am three years younger than Margery," she said awkwardlyand not too relevantly.

  "Do you regard the affections of your family through the wrong end ofa telescope, Miss Happie? I want the friendship of all the Scollards,down to the dancing-school pupils there, who are devoutly wishing I'dtake myself off and let their sisters lead them to class," said RobertGaston, passing over Happie's awkwardness so lightly that she wasgrateful. "I must carry out their desires."

  "You didn't know me the other day, in Mr. Felton's office?" askedHappie.

  "Not a bit," declared Robert. "Wasn't it a jolly chance that let mebox that impertinent stripling's ears for you? Not knowing you wereyou, I mean! But you see I knew whom to expect when I came here; Imean, that I should find the unknown Scollards here. I came intendingto surprise you all,--I flatter myself I succeeded! When I came downthe steps I saw you, Miss Happie, flying about, and I said to myself:'By all that's wonderful! My little Lady Disdain of the office is MissMargery's sister Happie!' And so you are," he ended with a satisfiedlaugh that made Happie smile up at him reluctantly.

  "Yes," she admitted grudgingly. "I am Keren-happuch Scollard. And youcertainly were very nice, both in boxing ears and serving tea." Thistime she smiled cordially, and Margery said as she put her arm overHappie's shoulder: "This is the dearest of the Scollards. You arecoming to see mother, and the Patty-Pans?"

  "As soon as you will let me," returned Robert Gaston. "To-night? Thankyou. Perhaps your mother will let me borrow her two eldest daughters toshow me the way to the Charlefords' to-morrow night? I am anxious torecall myself to Mrs. Charleford as soon as possible."

  "Auntie Cam does not forget old friends, Mr. Gaston," said Margery. "Iam sure you have lots of messages to deliver to her from your mother. Ithought Auntie Cam and Mrs. Gaston were very fond of each other."

  "To be sure I have, so many messages that I can't carry them alone.You and Miss Happie will have to help me. And I have messages frommother to you, 'the dove-eyed little girl'--you remember mother's namefor you? And from Mary! Dear me, I can't remember half of Mary's, butmy consolation is that she will write you all that she told me tosay and no end more!" Robert glanced at Margery, and Happie saw thelook of satisfaction with which he noted her fluttering, delightedembarrassment as he hinted his mother's and sister's admiration forher. Happie's heart sank. He was nice, very nice. Nothing but actuallyseeing him could have convinced her of how charming he was. But thatwas just the trouble; here he was already charming Margery, her ownMargery, away into an atmosphere which rebellious fifteen-years-oldHappie could not breathe.

  Robert saw Happie's face cloud, as she turned away. "Please introduceme to the lesser Scollards, the musical child, and your two Sweet P's,and then I must leave the tea room and its maidens. Where is the ownerof the Ark? Miss Margery wrote me the wonderful story of finding thewill in the little worn-off horsehair trunk, up in the garret thatsnowy day. Is your Miss Gretta here? Please let me know you all, andthen when I come to-night I shall be among old friends. Remember I'man exile from the hospitable South and take me into your kindness,Miss Happie," he pleaded, with such a funny assumption of pathos thatHappie dimpled again. She took him in charge for presentations toGretta, Laura and the two little girls, with whom Margery immediatelyafterwards departed up-stairs, giving a pleasant little informal nod tothe menacing friend, that somewhat reassured Happie for the moment.

  Robert Gaston did not linger longer than was required to win the heartyliking of Gretta and Laura. He had an instinctive sense of the rightthing to say to put every one at ease. Gretta found herself replying tohim without fear, though she was still the shyest of the shy. Laura wasinstantly won by the suggestion that she sing and play some of her owncompositions to her sister's friend that night.

  "I think I will make a song of your coming, unknown, among us,defending Happie, and bearing tea to the thirsty and fainting in ourhour of need," said queer Laura in all sincerity.

  The tea room was deserted, save for a woman who sipped her tea witha novel propped up before her, and a man who took immense swallows,scalded himself, wiped away the tears and fell to figuring frantically;forgot the tea was hot, scalded himself with another hasty mouthful,repeating the performance thrice over to the fascinated marvel of thegirls, who watched him with ill-suppressed giggles.

  With only two, and two such absorbed customers, Happie, Gretta andLaura had no hesitation in discussing Robert Gaston, the one subject inthe world just then, and they gave themselves up to it unreservedly,elbows on table, chins in hands, over in a corner that suggestedprivacy. From comparing notes on his personal appearance--regardedby Happie differently, more analytically, since she knew
him forhimself--and agreeing that in face, air and manner there could hardlybe a finer gentleman, they went on to praise his kindliness anduniversal good qualities till Happie dropped her arms on the table andher face on them, and groaned dismally.

  "What's the matter?" demanded Laura, rather frightened.

  "Never mind, Happie, he may be rude and disagreeable to Margery,"suggested Gretta with an amused twist of the lips, understandingHappie's groan better than Laura did.

  "Oh, yes, it's likely!" said Happie from the muffling bend of herelbow. "Of course a blind man could see the end of this."

  "You mean it's going to be a romance?" inquired Laura. "Of course anyone would care for Margery--I should think they would love her madly,she is so very calm herself. I'm sure I don't see what you're groaningabout, Happie. Only think how perfectly beautiful Margery would lookunder a bridal veil, walking slowly to the strains of heavenly music!I'll write the music. I guess I'll have it a chanted march, somethinglike the Lohengrin one. I'll write the words, too. Do you suppose thetea room will make enough money for us by that time so we can afford tohire a lot of boys in white surplices to walk ahead, chanting? No, I'drather have them in velvet knee breeches, with buckles----"

  "Like Bobby Shafto," interrupted Happie, but she laughed.

  "And girls in--silver and pink!" cried Laura triumphantly, havinghesitated for an instant. "All chanting my lovely epitaphalium."

  "Your what? Oh, Laura, what are you talking about? Epitaphs are forgraves!" protested Happie.

  "Maybe that isn't the right word," said Laura with heightened color."I believe it's epithalami-something, now I think of it. I waslooking over the poets in our bookcase, and I saw they used to writeepithalami-things for weddings. I thought I'd remember it in case anyof you girls were married some day. Only I should write music too. Ibelieve I'll go now and compose something impertinent for Mr. Gaston'scoming."

  "Oh, Laura Scollard, you are enough to make Jeunesse Doree laugh!Wouldn't you rather be sensible than clever? What can you mean by_impertinent_ music? Are you trying to say pertinent?" cried Happie,forgetting her forebodings in a peal of such merry laughter that it wona glance from the lady of the propped-up-novel.

  "It doesn't matter," said Laura, walking away towards the piano withsufficient dignity to have compensated for Mrs. Malaprop's crookedtongue.

  Laura sat thoughtful before the key board for a while, then beganto strike chords reminiscent of the Lohengrin Wedding March, at thesame time singing below her breath words that were so satisfactory toherself that her color mounted in the pride of conscious poesy.

  Margery came down from Mrs. Stewart's just when this composition, ofwhich she was innocently unsuspicious, was well under way.

  "Laura, dear," she said pausing at the piano. "Mrs. Stewart's pianisthas not come; she has no music for her class this afternoon. Won't youcome up and play for her? I told her I was sure that we could spare youhere."

  "Oh, Margery, no, I don't want to! I should despise playing dancemusic the whole afternoon. I am doing something important, too," Lauraprotested, instantly clouding.

  "Laura, my dear! How can you say you don't want to help Mrs. Stewart,when she is taking Polly and Penny into her class so kindly!" rebukedMargery.

  "But not me!" cried Laura, betraying the feeling of some days'standing. "Besides, she told you she took our children for Aunt Keren'ssake. I should think that let us off from caring about it."

  "Laura! Nothing would let us off, as you put it, from our share of theobligation. It is Polly and Penny, not Aunt Keren, who are benefitedby the dancing class. In any case, if there were no Polly and Penny,wouldn't you be glad to do a kindness for sweet little Mrs. Stewart?Dear Laura, you positively must fight hard against selfishness; beat least as ready to give as to receive. And, however you feel aboutplaying for Mrs. Stewart this afternoon, I must insist on your doingso."

  Margery rarely put forth her claim of obedience as the elder sisterwhom circumstances had given a large share of the mother's headshipover the family, but when she did assert herself there was something ingentle Margery that got the obedience she asked.

  Laura arose somewhat sulkily, quite unwillingly, but she arose at once,and went towards the door. "If you only knew what I was composing!" shegrumbled.

  "Something that I shall care a great deal about, I'm sure, andsomething that will be all the better for my little sister's sacrifice,as all art gains from the artist's gain in character," said Margery,putting her arm around Laura affectionately. Laura's brow cleared.If there were a person in the world whom she loved better than herimportant little self, that person was Margery.

  "Oh, Margery, I don't mean to be unkind to people, but I don't seem tocare one bit about them. I don't see how you can care for everybody'sbothers, the way you do," said Laura candidly.

  "And I'm afraid you think that comes from your being wholly taken upwith your little talents, my Laura, and are a wee bit proud of it,"said Margery wisely, "when the truth is that the greatest artist, likethe highest art, has a sympathy for sorrow, and a knowledge of humanhearts far beyond that of ordinary mortals. Wait. I must tell Happiethat I have carried you off, and that I will come back soon myself."

  It was a listless Laura that began to play the two-step which Mrs.Stewart placed before her on the piano rack, a Laura not converted tozeal in her service by the little lady's warm thanks for her coming.But after a few minutes, as the rhythm of many feet chimed with themusic, Laura began to play with more spirit, and when the first dancewas ended, and she had got Mrs. Stewart's consent to turning the pianoa very little so that she might see the dancers, Laura forgot thatshe was a genius--with a big G--wrested from her task of composing anepithalamium, and became only a little girl of thirteen who playedremarkably well, and dearly loved dancing.

  Even the half hour in which the children were arranged in line topractice the waltz step up to a certain crack in the floor and backagain to their starting point, did not dismay Laura. She played herwaltz over and over, but her eyes were dreamy, with the far-away lookthat Margery, had she been there, would have understood, as a signal ofinspiration, and her cheeks were red with excitement.

  Laura was watching little Serena Jones-Dexter, filled with the thoughtof Ralph and Snigs, the unknown cousins, and fired with enthusiasm forthe child's loveliness.

  "Now, partners, if you please, children, and waltz!" Mrs. Stewartannounced, looking at her watch, and giving the longed-for signalfor her little pupils to test their practice in proper waltzing.She stepped over and placed another waltz before Laura, to give thechildren the incentive of new music, unassociated with drill. ButLaura did not see the notes before her. She began to play something sopretty, so dreamy, so full of the spirit of the waltz that Mrs. Stewartforgot her duty to listen, wondering where the little girl had found it.

  She looked at Laura. With her usually pale face aflame, her eyesfastened on Serena as she floated around like a bit of milkweed silk,Laura was playing, not looking at the keys, her fingers guided byinstinct. And when the waltz was ended at the clapping of the littledancing mistress's hands, Laura's face bowed suddenly forward, droppedinto her hands, and she burst out crying tempestuously.

  "My dear, what is it?" cried Mrs. Stewart, frightened, as she hastenedto her. Serena ran over to the piano also. "I must take care of her,because she is lovely Miss Margery's sister," she said. And she gravelyput one of her tiny hands over Laura's clasped ones and stroked it.

  "There isn't anything the mat-matter," sobbed Laura, struggling tocontrol herself. "Only that was so beautiful."

  "Yes, dear; that was a charming waltz," said poor little Mrs. Stewarttrying to meet the occasion. "I don't remember hearing it before."

  "You never did," grieved Laura. "That is just it. I made it up. And nownobody can ever hear it again, because I played it and played it, in adream. And it was so beautiful! It was your waltz, Serena, it was theWaltz of the Lost Cousins."

  Mrs. Stewart looked dismayed, as well she might, lacking the clue toLaura
's idea. "Did you really improvise that pretty waltz, Laura?" sheasked.

  "Yes, thinking of Serena, and what she doesn't know," returnedmysterious Laura. "I am all right now. Shall I play another dance?"

  "If you please, dear, the lanciers. We always end with a square dance,and a lively chasse which I call 'good-night,'" replied Mrs. Stewart."There is your sister Happie, come up for you."

  "I should like to invent a dance for you--Serena alone, and then withall the other children, like a song and its chorus. I think I shouldcall it the Dance-of-the-Thistle-Down," said Laura. "Serena is solittle, and so light, and so white. Please let me have the lanciersmusic, Mrs. Stewart."

  "My dear Laura, your young head is filled with nothing but your dreamsof music, I am afraid," said Mrs. Stewart, pulling out the sheet Lauraasked for, and feeling inadequate to dealing with this strange littlegirl.

  "I don't think I care much for anything else," said Laura, and Happie,who had joined them, frowned.

  Mrs. Stewart shook her head. "There are other things, nevertheless. Iknew some one once who was an extraordinary musician; I never heard anyone else play as he played. Yet for the sake of his music he wreckednot only his life, but another life, and his one little child died forwant of his care. Don't ever put your skill, not even your art, abovelove that makes the music of the world, Laura. It is a fearful thing tohave made another suffer as this poor man made one suffer--and sufferedhimself, suffered himself, I am sure!" Mrs. Stewart said these wordsvery low, as if she had forgotten her surroundings, the girls, eventhat she was speaking.

  Then she aroused herself, and announced the lanciers, of which Lauraplayed the opening bars.

  Gretta had reversed the usual order of things by going to fetch Bobfrom the office to the tea room, whence they would all go home together.

  Bob took Happie's arm as they started out and told her, with manychuckles, the compliments paid her by Mr. Felton's two elder clerks andhow much they regretted that she had been but a substitute among them.

  "For Hapsie is not harmed by taffy as Laura is," Bob thought admiringly.

  Happie laughed, then she looked very sober. "I have real news for you,"she said holding him back from the rest of the little band, thoughMargery and Penny were separated from them by Gretta, Laura and Polly."Whom do you suppose the young man who boxed Dan Lipton's ears for meis?"

  "The spirit of Perseus, or Launcelot, or some of those maidenrescuers," hazarded Bob.

  "Not one bit!" cried Happie instantly. "He's a dragon that wants todevour the sweetest girl in the world, instead of being Perseus to saveher. He is Robert Gaston." She nodded hard towards Margery to point herallusion to dragons.

  "My soles and uppers!" ejaculated Bob.

  Happie told the story of his coming, and how he had helped in thecrowded hour of Herr Lieder's playing. "And he is coming this verynight to see us all in the Patty-Pans. And mark my words, RobertScollard: when we let him in to-night we shall never be able to drivehim out again."

  Whatever the future held to fulfil or to disprove Happie's prophecy,Robert Gaston was admitted that night. He went away leaving a criticalgroup won over to his favor. Even Mrs. Scollard, keenly observant ofMargery's friend, liked him greatly.

  Happie wound up her vociferous little one-day clock in her mother'sroom, whither she had strolled at bedtime.

  "Well, Happie?" hinted Mrs. Scollard, smiling at Happie's grave face.

  "Well, mother," echoed Happie. "I could never have believed he would beso nice if I had not seen it."