The Red Cross Girls with the Russian Army | Page 5

Although the older woman had promised to explain their connection later, she had only said that they had once known each other rather intimately in London. But as they were friends no longer, she preferred not speaking of him again.
All this passed swiftly through Nona's mind while the older woman was speaking. But the girl devoutly hoped that her face did not betray her thoughts. For here was the most surprising situation of all! Lady Dorian had seemed to be a woman of wealth at the beginning of their acquaintance and certainly had given a large sum of money to the Sacred Heart Hospital. Now to find her dressed as a peasant and living in a peasant's hut in Russia!
Her skirt was of some cheap black material and her bodice of velveteen, laced with black cords over a white cotton waist. She also wore a Russian peasant's apron of brighter colors.
Yet Nona recognized the older woman's beauty and distinction in spite of her costume, even while her present circumstances and her eccentricities antagonized her visitor.
The woman was sitting with her level brows drawn together looking closely at the younger girl.
"I am sorry you don't seem to feel your former faith in me, Nona," she began unexpectedly. "Not that I blame you, for I do not know myself whether it is wise for me to have intruded into your life again. I would not have done so if there had not been a reason more important than you can appreciate."
For a moment the girl's attention had been wandering, engaged by the oddness of her surroundings, but now she tried to conceal her growing discomfort. Lady Dorian was appearing more mysterious than ever! If she desired to renew their acquaintance because they had formerly liked each other, that was a sufficient reason for her summons. It was scarcely worth while to try to produce other motives.
But Lady Dorian had gotten up and now stood facing her.
"What I am going to tell you is extraordinary, Nona, although life is too full of strange happenings to make us wonder at anything. In the first place, will you please cease to call me Lady Dorian, for that is not my name. Nor is it remarkable for you to discover me living in Russia, because I am a Russian by birth. I have not always made my home in my own country, but that makes no difference, since my love and sympathy have always been with my own people. Here I am only known as 'Sonya.' But I do not wish to speak of myself, but of you. I have a strong reason for my interest in you, Nona, for although you may find it hard to believe, I once knew your mother."
"Knew my mother?" The young American girl scarcely understood what was being said. She was so many thousands of miles both in fact and in thought from her own home and her own history. She could not believe that her companion was telling the truth. In any case she was merely mistaking her for some one else.
So Nona shook her head gravely. "I am sorry, but I don't think that possible," she explained. "My mother was a southern woman, who lived very quietly in an old-fashioned city. I can't see how your lives could ever have touched."
Until this instant Nona had remained seated with her former friend standing before her.
She did not realize how much she showed her resentment at this use of her mother's name. Now she made an effort to rise from her chair.
"I am very happy to have seen you again," she protested in the formal manner which Barbara Meade sometimes admired and at other times resented.
But her companion was not influenced and indeed paid no attention to the younger girl's hauteur. She merely put a restraining hand on her shoulder, adding,
"It is not worth while for us to argue that point until you hear what I have to say. The fact is, I know more of your mother, Nona, than you do yourself. For one thing, your mother was also a Russian. She was older than I, but we were together at one time in the United States. She went to visit in New Orleans and there met your father and married. I knew she had a daughter by your name, but curiously when I first met you on board the steamer your name conveyed nothing to me. Perhaps the last thing I expected was to find the daughter of your father, General Robert Davis, serving as a Red Cross nurse. He was a conservative of the old school, and I supposed would never have allowed you to leave home. But after we came together again and I met you for the second time at the Sacred Heart Hospital, I