Marjorie Dean at Hamilton Arms

Tucking her violin under her chin she drew forth the familiar marshalling strains of the Virginia reel. She raised her head a little from her violin and laughed softly as her quick ear caught the sound of another violin besides her own. As she continued to play a slim black-eyed boy with a shock of heavy black hair thrown off his forehead came forward from where he had been concealed behind the Christmas tree. Under his chin was a violin. He was playing the old reel in perfect time with Phil. This was her introduction to Charlie Stevens, now a “big” boy and qualified to play in “a big band.”

Miss Susanna and Santa Claus led off in the reel. The King of the North Pole followed with tiny Vera. Leila accepted Danny Seabrooke as a partner and Robin fell to Miles Burton. Ronny danced it with Mr. Macy, who had come up to “see the fun,” and Mrs. Macy danced with Harry Lenox. The rest of the girls paired off with the remainder of Hal’s delegation of Sanford boys, and the house rang with the laughter and cheer of the occasion.

Marjorie’s partner chanced to be Danny Seabrooke’s brother Donald, a junior at Weston High. As she stood between Leila and Barbara Severn in the merry line of girls awaiting her turn to dance she was reminded of the changes that had taken place since the first time she had danced a Virginia reel in the Macy’s ball room. She sorely missed Connie and Laurie. This was the second Christmas Eve without them. She recalled how she and Laurie and Connie had worked to make a happy Christmas for little Charlie when first she had known Connie and him. Now here was Charlie, a tall, sturdy boy, with not many years between him and manhood.

Three girls were missing tonight from the old happy sextette. Connie, Irma and Susan Atwell. Connie was far away across the ocean. Irma was visiting her aunt in New York and buying her trousseau. The Atwells had moved to San Francisco. Harriet Delaney, the seventh chum the sextette had invited into their close little band, had made a successful New York debut in grand opera. Mary Raymond, her first chum, had long been in distant Colorado. And Mary was going to be married!

They were all dearer to her than ever, she reflected. A warmth of fresh affection for her absent friends surged up in her heart. Followed a sense of tender exultation as she looked up and down the rows of gay, voluable dancers. How very rich in present friends she was! Present and absent, they were all hers; to have and to hold. Surely love, the love of which Hal had wistfully talked to her, could not be more wonderful than friendship.

Involuntarily her eyes strayed to Hal, vividly, romantically handsome in his sparkling white regalia of the frozen zone. “He looks like the hero of a Norse myth,” was her thought. “When we go back to Hamilton, I’m going to ask Leila to write a Norse play and call it – ” Marjorie deliberated. Her gaze continued to rest unsentimentally on Hal as he stood at the foot of the line, exchanging humorous sallies with the two fiddlers. “The Knight of the Northern Sun,” she decided inspirationally. “Gussie Forbes can play the part of the knight. Her shoulders are almost as broad as Hal’s.”

Occupied with the fun of the moment, Hal failed to note the admiring, concentrated gaze of the sparkling brown eyes he loved best. He had resolutely steeled himself to play the part for which Marjorie had cast him in the drama of life – that of devoted friend. Nor did Marjorie dream that in visualizing Hal as a magnificent Norse knight she had challenged a romantic side of her nature of which she had not believed herself possessed.

CHAPTER XII

CHRISTMAS AT CASTLE DEAN

“Have peace my lambs on Christmas Day,The white light shines across the way.The angelkind look down and singUpon the little new-born King.The manger’s straw – a sorry bedFor Him to lay His baby head;Yet, sweet, my lambs, the light streamed freeAcross man’s lost eternity.”

Miss Susanna awoke on Christmas morning with the sound of fresh, young, tuneful voices in her delighted ears. Her door stood half open which explained why she could understand so clearly the quaint words of the old Irish carol which floated up to her on an harmonic tide from downstairs.

She was so raptly engaged in listening she neither heard Marjorie’s light step or saw her witching face framed for a brief second in the half-open doorway. Marjorie gleefully tiptoed down stairs to report the awakening of the Lady of the Arms.

“Let us sing Brooke Hamilton’s favorite, ‘God rest you merry, gentlemen,’ though it is one merry little lady who will get no more rest in bed this day,” Leila said drolly, after hearing Marjorie’s report.

“You should have seen her! She was sitting straight up in bed, looking so happy, and as though she was loving the music. After we sing this carol, I’ll take her breakfast up to her. After breakfast we’ll escort her downstairs to see our tree and – ”

“You can’t lose me,” remarked a matter-of-fact voice from the doorway. Miss Susanna trotted toward the group at the piano, looking smaller than ever in her warm, blue eider down dressing gown.

“So we notice,” laughed Vera.

“And I notice you have been booning, as the Irish say, with Jeremiah Macy,” was Leila’s sly comment. “Such slang!”

“Something like that,” impishly returned Miss Susanna. She showed marked enjoyment of her own lapse into slang.

“What is your pleasure first, Lady of the Arms?” Marjorie inquired, as she led Miss Susanna to a brocade chaise lounge, the nearest seat to a gorgeous heavily-laden Christmas tree.

“Sing me his favorite carol.” Miss Susanna gently tweaked one of Marjorie’s brown curls. To please the girls she had allowed her curls to hang, decorated by a pale pink satin topknot bow, which matched her pale pink negligee.

“With pleasure.” Marjorie dropped a light kiss on the old lady’s hand, then joined the group at the piano. Robin instantly touched the light opening strains and started the stately English carol.

They sang it as they had sung it many times before with all the expression and animation of youth for its old-world charm. When they had finished Robin slipped from the piano stool with: “No more carols after that for a while. N’est ce pas, Miss Susanna.”

“Oui,” responded the last of the Hamiltons absently. She glanced immediately at Robin, however, with her quick bright smile. “I will tell you some day why it was his favorite carol,” she said. “Not today. It is too sad a story for today. I wish only to be happy while I am at Castle Dean.”

“And you’re going to be. The next happiness today will be breakfast. You upset Captain’s and my plan to serve it to you in bed. And the next happiness after that will be our Christmas tree.” Marjorie caught Miss Susanna’s hands and pulled her to her feet with a frisky show of energy. She placed light hands on the old lady’s shoulders and marched her ahead to the dining room.

Miss Hamilton was the only late breakfaster, the girls having been up and stirring early. Each had had a mysterious visit to the drawing room tree to make, there to deposit under its spreading branches her own consignment of holiday bundles. Miss Susanna’s consignment had been turned over to Captain Dean with due secrecy, shortly after her arrival at Castle Dean.

Her bodyguard trailed faithfully in her wake to the dining room there to supplement the breakfast they had already eaten with sticky cinnamon buns and coffee. “Not because we are stuffers,” Robin carefully exonerated; “merely to keep you company, Miss Susanna.”

Afterward they went upstairs in leisurely fashion to dress for the day. It was to be “a regular dress parade,” each girl having brought with her from Hamilton what she considered her prettiest afternoon gown. General Dean had ordered assembly in the drawing room at eleven o’clock sharp. He had placed conspicuously in the hall a large notice which stated:

“The Army is hereby ordered to appear in the assembly room of the barrack at eleven o’clock A.M. in full dress uniform. Any one appearing in forage cap, sweater, boudoir cap or goloshes will be severely disciplined. No carrying of canes, bumbershoots or other civil impedimenta will be tolerated. Tardiness and failure to comply with orders will be punished by loss of presents. Forfeited presents will be confiscated by General Dean as chief nabbing officer of the day. Signed. General Dean.”

The worthy general himself presently appeared and took a determined stand in the hall where he could keep an eye on matters. Frequent ringing of the door bell kept him occupied in hustling to the door. Before long he had admitted Lucy, Kathie, Ronny, Jerry, Helen, Hal, Charlie Stevens and Muriel.

Upstairs Miss Susanna and the four girls wondered as they completed their Christmas toilettes what was the occasion for the treble shrieks of mirth which invariably followed the opening of the heavy front door.

“What is that ridiculous general of yours up to now, I wonder?” Miss Susanna said to Marjorie and her mother, who had come into the old lady’s room to admire her in the beauty of an imported gown of wisteria satin, paneled and further embellished with rose-patterned deep natural silk lace.

“Let’s find out this minute. Come, my fair lady in silk and lace.” Marjorie crooked her arm invitingly to Miss Hamilton. “Ready, girls?” she called back, as the two began a buoyant descent of the stairs, with Captain, smiling indulgently, in their wake.

“Te, he, he,” Miss Susanna’s own special chuckle was heard as she caught sight of General Dean.

The high executive of military maneuvers of the Dean Barrack had obeyed his own order to appear in full dress. He wore a pair of leaf green trousers and a scarlet uniform coat heavily trimmed with gilt braid. On his head perched a bright green fez with a long scarlet plume curving around it and far down on one shoulder. Added to the plume a sprig of holly had been neatly fastened on the front of the fez.

“I see nothing to laugh at,” he sternly reprimanded the mirthful trio on the stairs. “I am giving what I consider a faithful representation of the holiday spirit.”

“You look like a chocolate nut nightmare,” Lieutenant Dean disrespectfully compared.

“I never saw one, so how can I possibly know how I look.”

“A two-pound ration of chocolate nuts eaten before Taps will introduce you to one,” retorted the lieutenant.

“Two hours in the guard house for disrespect to a superior officer,” penalized General Dean. “Forward march. Don’t block the highway. Discipline must be preserved in the Army. Three at the head of the stairs – quick time, March,” he rumbled as he spied Leila, Vera and Robin about to descend.

Miss Hamilton’s entrance into the drawing room was the signal for a chorus of Christmas greetings from the lively company now in possession of the apartment. Jerry led her under the mistletoe bough, which decorated the top of the indirect dome, and kissed her on both cheeks. The others followed her example.

“What have you done with your guests?” she demanded of her affectionate callers. “I am surprised at you for running away from them! What must they think of you?” She drew down her small features in exaggerated disapproval. Her bright, bird-like eyes wandered from one to another of the frolicsome group. She read pleasant, suppressed excitement in every face. She innocently attributed the cause of the mysterious, smiling air of the callers to a probable delightful conspiracy on their part against General and Captain Dean. She did not stop to consider herself. She was of the grateful opinion that she had been already surfeited with generous, loving attention.

“We have to obey orders.” Lucy Warner volunteered this over-solemn information. “‘Obedience is a soldier’s first duty,’” she quoted tritely.

“When the bugle calls, et cetera, et cetera, you know,” Jerry helped the old saw along. She waved a plump hand by way of furthering her vague explanation.

“I never heard a bugle call et cetera, et cetera,” General Dean remarked in interested wonder. “I shall investigate the matter as soon as I am off duty.”

“I’ll help you,” offered Miss Susanna, to the open and pronounced glee of the high executive officer. “Such a phenomenon should be investigated.”

“We may need the services of these two civilians,” General Dean airily indicated Hal and Charlie Stevens. “Let me see. What was it we were going to investigate? I have so many important matters on my mind, I – ” He grew cheerfully apologetic.

“Don’t try to implicate us,” warned Hal.

“Please, sir, we’re only a couple of Christmas strays,” Charlie Stevens rolled humorous black eyes at Mr. Dean. He was still the droll youngster of early childhood days, but now coming into a boyish appreciation of the spirit of humor which always prevailed in the little circle of young folks unconsciously dominated by Marjorie’s friendly ways.

“Sh-h-h! I know it.” The General whispered loudly to Charlie behind his hand. “I hadn’t intended to mention it.” He elevated his heavy eyebrows to an alarming degree. “Since you’ve given yourself and your partner away you’d best try to become social successes.”

“Much obliged, old top.” Hal indecorously lifted the General’s Christmas fez from his head, then jammed it down again on the presiding officer’s crown. “I’m going to offer the season’s greetings to my little lavender Lady.” He and Charlie at once began to pay extravagant court to Miss Susanna.

General Dean continued to buzz about among the congenial little throng with a great deal of loud remark concerning “the promoting of good behavior in the Army.” At length he succeeded in seating the animated, festive detachment to his liking. He assigned Miss Susanna to the center of the gold brocade chaise lounge and ranged Marjorie and Leila on each side of her. The others he ordered into an open group about the golden dais. Finally he appeared satisfied. He crossed the room to the gift tree at a magnificent military strut:

“Attention,” he boomed in a voice so stentorian it set the chattering formation to laughing.

CHAPTER XIII

THE VIOLET GIRL

In spite of laughter the Army obeyed the command with gratifying promptness. They stood up, saluted; remained standing. Every pair of bright eyes was fixed on General Dean. Only one pair, however, betrayed curious speculation. Their owner had suddenly become canny. Miss Susanna decided the conspiracy was not against Mr. Dean, since he appeared to head it. Captain looked as though she knew all about it, too. The old lady concluded with affectionate vexation that it must be against herself.

General Dean had returned the salute. While the Army still remained at standing he went over to the Christmas tree and took from it a large, oval, canvas-wrapped object. He loosened the canvas wrapping, but did not remove it. Then he came forward with it and took up a position still well away from Miss Hamilton, but exactly opposite her.

As he faced the sturdy little figure in the chaise lounge his levity dropped from him. “Miss Susanna, the Eleven Travelers wish you a very merry Christmas,” he said, his tone impressive in its pleasant sincerity. “They have traveled far and wide in the country of College to find a fitting expression of their love for you. They now feel sure they have found the one thing under the sun which will please you most.”

A sudden swift movement of one hand and the enveloping canvas fell from the oval, plain gold setting of a portrait. Life size and wonderful from out of the oval frame smiled a lovely, familiar face. There was a life-like quality about the portrait of the beautiful girl in the violet-shaded evening frock, with the huge bunch of purple English violets pinned to the waist of her gown. It was so utterly natural as to wring a sharp emotional little “Ah-h-h!” from Miss Susanna. It claimed a united breath of admiration from the others as well.

“I’m going to – to – cry, Marvelous Manager,” quavered Miss Susanna. “I don’t – want – to – ”

“Cry right on Marjorie’s shoulder.” Marjorie cuddled the old lady’s head against her breast. “Only I’d rather you laugh.”

“I shall weep myself. Now I know why General set me foreninst Miss Susanna,” Leila grew unduly Irish. “Now for my tears, and I know I can weep the loudest.” She sent out a sudden melancholy banshee wail that raised a shout from the Army and sent Miss Susanna into wild, hysterical mirth.

“Start something jolly and keep it going,” counseled Jerry of the other girls. “We won’t give her a minute’s chance to be sad and splashy over beloved Bean’s beloved portrait.”

She stretched out a hand to Ronny, who took it and offered Muriel her free one. Next minute she had gathered up Mrs. Dean, Helen, Lucy, Robin and Kathie. They took hands and pranced about in front of the chaise lounge. Jerry led them vocally, loudly and a trifle off key with: “Come choose your east; come choose your west. These are the three we all love best.” The dancers were soon singing it at top voice.

General Dean, not to be outdone, hospitably formed another prancing little circle with Hal, Charlie and Delia, which gyrated so rapidly despite Delia’s giggling protests, and executed such quaint pas-seuls as to turn what might have been a tearful moment into one of wild hilarity.

“No, I couldn’t cry to save me,” Miss Hamilton presently declared. “I’m glad of it. I hate tears as much as a man hates to see them. I shall love my violet girl every day in the year, and hang her in my room where I can see her first thing in the morning; last thing at night. It is a magnificent study, child. Who painted it? When did you ever have time to sit for it?” The old lady showed decided curiosity upon this point.

“I posed for it at the beach last summer, Miss Susanna. The Travelers thought you might like it best of anything we could choose. It was Leila’s idea. We planned it at Commencement. Raoul Verlaine, a friend of the General’s, painted it. He is famed for portraits. He was in Sanford after I came back from Hamilton in the late summer. I gave him the last sittings then. That’s all.” Marjorie paused, overtaken by the sense of embarrassment which visited her whenever she stopped to realize that she had figured as the central object in the affair.

Placed upon a light easel which had held the portrait since completion, the party of friends gathered around it to admire afresh both the work and subject. Marjorie, overwhelmed by her own importance, left Miss Susanna’s side and slipped from the room. She went into the living room, and, standing at a window, looked out happily. She was glad to forget herself in a rapt contemplation of the wide snow-covered lawn, the tall bare trees, the deserted pagoda; all her treasures of home. She thought Miss Susanna could not love Hamilton Arms better than she loved her own Castle Dean.

Reminded that the tree was yet to be stripped of its Christmas bloom, she turned from the window to go back to the merry, buzzing company in the drawing room. She slipped back into the room as quietly as she had left it. General was calling for attention and making ready to bestir himself as a kind of military Santa Claus.

On the way across the room to her father, who was standing near the tree, Marjorie’s eyes came to rest on Hal. He and Charlie Stevens were standing back from the portrait in an interested viewing of it. Charlie was talking animatedly and gesturing like a foreigner. Hal was listening with apparent gravity. In his face, as he viewed the portrait, was an expression of repression that cut Marjorie to the heart. It was the look of a man, smiling under torture. She came into a new and depressing understanding of the depth of Hal’s love for her.

CHAPTER XIV

THE PURSUIT OF PLEASURE

Muriel Harding had gone home on the Christmas vacation more puzzled than hurt over Doris Monroe’s sudden swerve from affability to hostility. It was not in Muriel’s easy-going nature to trouble long over anything, no matter how serious.

Since Marjorie had wished her to invite Doris to go with them to Sanford she had promptly acquainted her chum with “the Ice Queen’s return to the glacial period.” When Marjorie had perplexedly questioned “Why?” Muriel had replied with good-natured impatience: “Why does it rain? Because it does? Why is the Ice Queen? Because she is.”

During the last two or three busy days before vacation claimed them Doris and Muriel had employed monosyllables in addressing each other. Of the two Doris was the more greatly disturbed over the strained relations she had brought about. She had more real liking for Muriel than for any other student on the campus. Underneath her cold, indifferent exterior she had a critical appreciation of Muriel’s quick wit and extreme cleverness. The majority of the students whom she graciously allowed to admire her she took small interest in. Her approach and Muriel’s toward mutual friendliness had been very slow. It had progressed, however, in spite of the groundless dislike she persisted in holding against Muriel’s intimates.

She had gone furiously out of the Hall to mail the letter to Leslie Cairns vowing that she would never speak to Muriel again. Her tempestuous resolve was not so much the result of anger as of wounded pride. What a poor opinion Muriel Harding must have of her had been her chagrined thought as she crossed the campus to the mail box. Muriel had invited those wretched, beggarly off-campus students to her home first. She had only served Muriel as a last resort. Besides Muriel had discussed her with Marjorie Dean; no doubt had belittled her. Miss Dean had chosen to regard her as a welfare problem. Very likely Miss Dean was jealous of her because she had won the Beauty contest.

Though Doris did not suspect it the full-grown soul she possessed was awakening and beginning to clamor for attention. The true depths of her nature were trying to rise and overflow her more superficial side. Selfish indifference alone was the barrier that stood between her and a fuller, freer, happier college life.

She had found the admiration she had been accorded, first at the old-time hop, later at the Beauty contest, far more satisfying than merely being trotted about the campus by over-fond freshies as a “crush.” There had been a spirit of fun and frolic about both social affairs which had appealed to her girlish imagination. She was only eighteen and in spite of her bored, sophisticated air rather childish at heart.

For this very reason she had never really approved of Leslie Cairns or her unscrupulous, high-handed methods. She had been a little dazzled at first by Leslie’s expensive clothes, lavish expenditures of money and apparently boundless liberty. At the time when Leslie had offered her the use of the white car she had named the Dazzler, Doris had felt some degree of liking for the ex-student of Hamilton. She had more reluctantly accepted the gift of the smart white costume and furs which Leslie had insisted upon giving her. She had demurred even more strongly against allowing Leslie to open an account for her at the Hamilton Reserve Bank. Leslie had over-ruled her in the matter and had deposited in the bank five hundred dollars to the account of Doris Monroe. She had assured Doris that she regarded the transaction as “a business proposition.”

Her chief argument had invariably been: “Make yourself popular on the campus and it will be worth a lot more to me than a few dollars, togs or buzz-wagons. I need you to keep me posted as to what goes on at the knowledge shop. Leave Bean and her Beanstalks alone, though. When I need news of them you can get it in a roundabout way. I’ll help you, and I’ll expect you to help me – when I need you.”

Just what Leslie meant by frequent covert allusions to a future day when she would need Doris’s help was something Doris occasionally pondered. She had firmly refused to interest herself in the tentative proposal Leslie had once made that certain anonymous letters should be written and sent to Marjorie Dean. Since that occasion Leslie had never suggested any other unscrupulous work for Doris to do.

While Doris accepted dinner and luncheons from Leslie and allowed Leslie to pay for the upkeep of the Dazzler, she was wary about spending Leslie’s money. She knew her father would be righteously enraged with her for accepting a penny from either stranger or friend. Her own allowance was a comfortable one for a girl of her age. The money she saved by sharing her room with Muriel also augmented it. She had a very fair wardrobe and had therefore done no shopping in particular since entering Hamilton. She developed no crushes. Consequently she did not spend much money. She was not mean or stingy in this respect. She was too selfishly indifferent and too indifferently selfish to care to give pleasure to others. Her beauty had always demanded for her, and met no denial.