Together | Page 7

the witticisms Vickers murmured in her ear. Every one glanced at
Miss Pallanton; she was a figure, as Isabelle realized when she finally
stood before her,--a very handsome figure, and would get her due
attention from her world. They had not cared very much for "Conny" at
St. Mary's, though she was a handsome girl then and had what was
called "a good mind." There was something coarse in the detail of this
large figure, the plentiful reddish hair, the strong, straight nose,--all of
which the girls of St. Mary's had interpreted their own way, and also
the fact that she had come from Duluth,--probably of "ordinary" people.
Surely not a girl's girl, nor a woman's woman! But one to be reckoned
with when it came to men. Isabelle was conscious of her old reserve as
she listened to Conny's piping, falsetto voice,--such a funny voice to
come from that large person through that magnificent white throat.
"It makes me so happy, dear Isabelle," the voice piped; "it is all so ideal,
so exactly what it ought to be for you, don't you know?" And as Percy
Woodyard bore her off--he had hovered near all the time--she smiled
again, leaving Isabelle to wonder what Conny thought would be "just
right" for her.

"You must hurry, Conny," she called on over Vickers's head, "and
make up your mind; you are almost our last!"
"You know I never hurry," the smiling lips piped languidly, and the
large hat sailed into the library, piloted on either side by Woodyard and
Vickers. Isabelle had a twinge of sisterly jealousy at seeing her younger
brother so persistently in the wake of the large, blond girl. Dear Vick,
her own chum, her girl's first ideal of a man, fascinatingly developed by
his two years in Munich, must not go bobbing between Nan Lawton
and Conny!
And here was Margaret Lawton--so different from her cousin's
wife--with the delicate, high brow, the firm, aristocratic line from
temple to chin. She was the rarest and best of the St. Mary's set, and
though Isabelle had known her at school only a year, she had felt
curiosity and admiration for the Virginian. Her low, almost drawling
voice, which reflected a controlled spirit, always soothed her. The
deep-set blue eyes had caught Isabelle's glance at Vickers, and with an
amused smile the Southern girl said, "He's in the tide!"
Isabelle said, "I am so, so glad you could get here, Margaret."
"I wanted to--very much. I made mother put off our sailing."
"How is the Bishop?" she asked, as Margaret was pushed on.
"Oh, happy, riding about the mountains and converting the poor
heathen, who prefer whiskey to religion. Mother's taking him to
England this summer to show him off to the foreign clergy."
"And Washington?"
Margaret's thin, long lips curved ironically for answer. Hollenby, who
seemed to have recollected a purpose, was waiting for her at the library
door.... "Ah, my Eros!" Isabella exclaimed with delight, holding forth
two hands to a small, dark young woman, with waving brown hair and
large eyes that were fixed on distant objects.

"Eros with a husband and two children," Aline Goring murmured, in
her soft contralto. "You remember Eugene? At the Springs that
summer?" The husband, a tall, smooth-shaven, young man with glasses
and the delicate air of the steam-heated American scholar bowed stiffly.
"Of course! Didn't I aid and abet you two?"
"That's two years and a half ago," Aline remarked, as if the simple
words covered a multitude of facts about life. "We are on our way to St.
Louis to settle."
"Splendid!" Isabelle exclaimed. "We shall have you again. Torso,
where we are exiled for the present, is only a night's ride from St.
Louis."
Aline smiled that slow, warm smile, which seemed to come from the
remote inner heart of her dreamy life. Isabelle looked at her eagerly,
searching for the radiant, woodsy creature she had known, that Eros,
with her dreamy, passionate, romantic temperament, a girl whom girls
adored and kissed and petted, divining in her the feminine spirit of
themselves. Surely, she should be happy, Aline, the beautiful girl made
for love, poetic, tender. The lovely eyes were there, but veiled; the
velvety skin had roughened; and the small body was almost heavy. The
wood nymph had been submerged in matrimony.
Goring was saying in a twinkling manner:--
"I've been reckoning up, Mrs. Lane. You are the seventh most intimate
girl friend Aline has married off the last two years. How many more of
you are there?"
Aline, putting her arms about the bride's neck, drew her face to her lips
and whispered:--
"Dearie, my darling! I hope you will be so happy,--that it will be all
you can wish!" After these two had disappeared into the library, where