Two girls burst in, warm, tingling, with melted stars in their eyes, and moist bright cheeks. They really did need repairs! One’s hair was coming down, and the other had torn off yards of flounce.
“My dear! Every waltz with J.!”
“I didn’t! Well, anyway, you needn’t talk! Oh, that awful barn dance! I haven’t a hairpin left, and I look like a freak!”
“It wrecks one’s coiffure, doesn’t it?” said May eagerly, and one girl stared at her, while the other, who knew her, replied politely:
“Yes, indeed, Miss Campion.”
And then in her natural voice, a voice quivering with joy, singing with the knowledge of her prettiness, her white satin gown, her dance-card cram-jam full, and J. waiting for her, she cried to her friend:
“My dear! Look at the way these flowers have stained my new dress, if you please! I’m simply brokenhearted!”
Maggie slept lightly, dozing, waking, until she was sure “the children” were safely home. And after she heard their doors shut, she began to wonder if they had remembered to put out the hall lamp. Oh, it was much too cold to get up! But still, she wouldn’t be able to go to sleep until she was sure.
In the hall she thought she heard the sound of sobbing from May’s room, but, when she called softly through the crack of the door, “May! Are you all right?” there was silence. She must have heard the wind that had risen and was crying around the house.
Still, it was a relief to hear from May next morning that she had had a beautiful time, when Maggie brought her breakfast up to her to have in bed, late, for a treat.
“Did you have a good time?”
“Wonderful! Heavenly music, and the floor was divine.”
“Who did you have for partners? Anyone I know?”
“I-don’t-believe so. Most of them were strangers. Everyone’s wearing things in their hair, Maggie—I was glad I wore my gold lace butterfly, though it was very modest and meek compared to the diamond stars and crescents and things most of them had. Mrs. Kelsey had gold antennæ with diamond dangles on the tips.”
“Mrs. Kelsey with antennæ!” cried Maggie scornfully. “She’s a right hefty butterfly, is all I have to say. Didn’t everyone think your dress was pretty?”
“I guess so.”
“Didn’t you dance with anyone I know?”
“Judge Kelsey and Raymond Line, but they weren’t exactly thrilling. Here’s my card, but they’re mostly initials.”
And there it was, as full as could be, every waltz and barn dance and pas de quatre filled in by May herself with different handwritings.
“My, you must have had fun! Victor said you were evidently having a violent flirtation in some cozy corner, he hardly saw you all evening except at supper. Was it good? What did they have? I ought to be down making doughnuts.”
“Oh, broiled oysters and salad—you know.”
“May Campion! Who’s A. J.? Every waltz with A. J.! ‘Love’s Kiss,’ A. J., ‘Je T’Aime,’ A. J., ‘Mia Cara,’ A. J., ‘Love’s Confession,’ A. J.—why, May! Well, you certainly made a conquest—who in the world’s A. J.? Do I know him?”
“No, he doesn’t live in Wilmington. He came from a long way off.”
XXIV
Aunt Priscilla trailed across the fields under the soft spring sky, bringing her nieces the latest installment of “Trilby” in Harper’s Magazine. There were sticky circles all over the cover—how had they gotten there? Jelly glasses? She licked a finger and tried to wipe them off, but it only made them look worse. “Oh, fie!” she said out loud to herself, scrubbing away with a rather grubby finger.
A bird flew from the grass at her feet with a soft whirr of wings, up into the sky. “Goody!” cried Aunt Priscilla, startled; and added, “Cunning little fellow!” And she went on talking to herself as she climbed over the stile and plodded up through the garden, “Willie would have gone fishing on a day like this—”
The tears rose in her eyes and spilled over. They were always rolling down her cheeks now, every time anything made her think of Uncle Willie. And everything made her think of him, she was so lost without him.
“How does anyone ever get used to their husband being dead, or their wife?” she asked Maggie miserably, sitting down in the kitchen rocking-chair, out of the way of whisking drops of the purple dye in which Maggie was stirring May’s old cream-colored challis.
“Some people get used to it easy enough,” Maggie answered briskly, her heart aching with pity. “Look at Cousin Sam and his Daisy.”
“I know—Sam’s sixty-five, the old foolish, and she’s only twenty-four.”
“So she says, but I bet she’s thirty-five if she’s a day. Poor Cousin Lizzie!”
“You know, Maggie, I see a sort of likeness to Lizzie in May, every now and then. The way Lizzie used to be when she was younger.”
“Oh, I don’t, Aunt Priscilla,” said Maggie, looking troubled, for she did. “Poor May! She don’t have much fun, and she’s so bright and pretty—I’ve been worried about her. She’s a funny one, too; she went to a dance in Wilmington and had a wonderful time, and yet, I haven’t been able to persuade her to go to another since. But she has a new beau named Wadsworth Robinson, he seems kind of silly to me, but he certainly is devoted, and May acts happier than she has in a long time. I wish she’d get married, and Victor, too—”
“Oh, Victor’s so young!”
“He’s thirty-one—don’t seem possible, does it? Look, this is a pretty color, don’t you think? I believe I’ll slip up and get my old tan cape and dye
