Chapter II: Part 2

"Mrs. Burton says that luncheon is ready if you will be kind enough to come in. I am going to ask you not to stay long afterwards; Mrs. Burton would not mention it I am sure, but she is supposed to lie down every afternoon for a short rest."

As the four Camp Fire girls followed Juliet Temple out of the room, Sally managed to whisper to Bettina:

"What is there about Juliet Temple that is so annoying? That little speech she just made is the kind of thing that makes me especially angry, as if she were far more intimate with Tante and more devoted to her welfare than any of her Camp Fire girls? I suppose she is devoted to her and certainly she makes herself useful and yet I never feel sure of her. In my opinion she represents one of the causes of Aunt Patricia's estrangement."

Bettina shook her head.

"I feel a good deal as you do, Sally, although I am not even so confident of the reason. Sometimes I think you are a better judge of character than any of the rest of us, so if you have an opportunity this winter I wish you would study Juliet Temple and find out what you can. Is she really devoted to Tante, or is she only devoted to her for what she thinks she can gain? Come, we must not keep luncheon waiting and I want you to see Elce. Suppose we talk to her of your proposal."

*CHAPTER IV*

*NATURAL HISTORY*

Mrs. Burton's New York apartment was not large.

In her present state of mind Bettina Graham was restless, so, as her mother had consented that she spend the week with her Camp Fire guardian, she devoted many hours each day to being out of doors and to sight seeing.

She was never alone; one of her excuses was that Elce must be amused and not allowed to be troublesome. The little English girl, the daughter of a Lancashire miner, who had been deserted by her father and in a way thrust upon the Camp Fire girls during a brief visit to Ireland, always accompanied her.

Elce was not a trying companion when one wished to pursue one's own train of thought. She talked but little and seemed shy and not particularly clever save for her extraordinary musical gift. Not that she had any gift for the technique of music. One of Bettina's puzzles and disappointments was that so far the younger girl had failed to show any proper interest in the study of music. Her talent seemed spontaneous and natural as a bird's ability to sing and she seemed as little capable of acquiring musical knowledge.

Undoubtedly a problem, Bettina believed that Elce was chiefly her problem. During the summer in "Merrie England," when the little girl had been a maid of all work in their household, she first had become interested in her and in return Elce, whom they then knew by the Lancashire title of "Chitty," had given her a devotion, which she revealed toward no one else. Indeed, the younger girl appeared curiously free from the ordinary affections and to be strangely shy, or self-contained.

It was at Bettina's request that her father had undertaken to pay for the little girl's education. There had been no thought of making her a member of their household, save perhaps during certain holidays.

With Marguerite Arnot the circumstances were different. Marguerite was older and in spite of her difficult background of poverty and hard work[*] was possessed of unusual beauty and charm. Then at once Marguerite had responded to her mother's influence. Indeed, Bettina, although recognizing the unreasonableness of her own attitude, frequently had to stifle pangs of something approaching jealousy at the sympathetic relation between them.

[*] See "Camp Fire Girls in Glorious France."

Marguerite was no longer shy save in a graceful and attractive fashion. If she played but an inconspicuous part in the social life now surrounding her, she had the French tact and resourcefulness. It seemed to Bettina that, as her own difference of opinion with her mother had grown and developed, Marguerite was beginning to fill her place. In justice she could not criticize Marguerite for circumstances with which she had nothing to do, although not enjoying the idea that her mother was turning to some one else for the sympathy and devotion which should have been her own to give and to receive.

This afternoon, wandering about the Natural History Museum with Elce, Bettina was not particularly intent upon the exhibitions, but instead was planning a letter which she contemplated writing home later in the evening, when Mrs. Burton had gone to the theater and she could be alone.

She meant to surrender her own desire; nothing else appeared possible, but she also wished her family to appreciate that she believed she was being treated unjustly and that she had the right to her own choice of life.

Reaching a secluded corner and discovering an unoccupied bench, Bettina sat down, suggesting that Elce wander about alone and come back for her later. They were on the floor devoted to the reproduction of wild birds in their native haunts. Since the collection was a rarely beautiful one, Bettina believed it would be of so great fascination as to keep the younger girl occupied for some time. Personally she was already fatigued. Moreover, she wished for an opportunity to think without the possibility of being interrupted at any moment.

After her original talk with her Camp Fire guardian she had not referred to the subject of their interview. There was little reason why she should. Definitely she understood that Mrs. Burton's sympathy was with her mother and that she had but scant patience with her rebellion against what might appear to most girls as a singularly fortunate fate.

Bettina was not only disappointed, but puzzled and aggrieved. From any one save her Camp Fire guardian she would have expected such a point of view. She herself was able to accept the fact that it was but natural other people should consider an opportunity to enter Washington society, chaperoned by her mother and with her father's prominent official position, to be the summit of any natural girl's desire. Yet from her Camp Fire guardian Bettina had hoped for another viewpoint. Had she not heard her oftentimes insist that every living human being must follow his or her own road, and that whether for good or ill she could have followed no career save the one she had chosen.

The difference in their positions Bettina Graham had far too much intelligence not to recognize. She was not choosing the career of an artist and had revealed no exceptional gifts. She merely wanted to give her life in service to persons less fortunate than herself, rather than waste it, as she felt, in a society existence for which she had neither liking nor taste. There was nothing romantic nor inspiring in her desire. Her mother and father were both convinced that such work should be left to older women, or to girls who possessed neither her position nor opportunities.

So since the prop upon which unconsciously she had been leaning, Mrs. Burton's approval and help, had failed her, Bettina decided to make no further protest for the present. Later she must convince her family that her desire was not a whim, a moment's caprice, the influence of a stronger personality, which would vanish when other interests became more absorbing.

Suddenly Bettina got up, realizing that the room in which she was seated was growing surprisingly dark and that a guard was moving about, announcing that the hour for closing had arrived.

Before leaving Bettina had first to find her companion.

At the farther end of the room she observed that a small crowd had formed, who seemed loath to depart.

Drawing near, to her amazement she heard a number of beautiful, birdlike notes with which she was familiar.

Undisturbed by her audience, Elce was standing by a showcase filled with birds from the northern part of England, birds which the little girl had known almost from babyhood, as she had spent the greater part of her time in the woods. To-day amid strange and different surroundings, with apparent unconsciousness, she was repeating such bird notes as she could recall.

The crowd about her was amused and admiring.

Bettina laid her hand on the younger girl's shoulder.

"Elce, we must go at once, it is growing late. And you must remember you are not in the woods, or you will have so large an audience surrounding us some day that we shall not be able to make our escape. You are an odd child! I thought you were exceptionally shy and afraid of people, and now you do a surprising thing like this and appear not in the least abashed."

In farewell Elce was nodding to several persons who had been standing near. She appeared entirely unaware that her behavior had been unusual.

Out in the street Bettina discovered that the darkness had not been due solely to the lateness of the hour, but that a thunderstorm was approaching.

A few moments she stood hesitating. The History Museum was on the west side of the city and uptown and she wished to reach the east side and down town as promptly as possible. By what method she could most quickly accomplish this result she was not certain. Holding tight to her companion's hand Bettina made a hurried rush toward the Broadway subway.

She had no umbrella and large drops of rain were descending. The darkness was surprising and interesting. Men and women stopped in their onward rush to look upward toward the sky, where the clouds were magnificent.

Then the rain became a downpour. Still Bettina and Elce rushed on, scarcely seeing where they were going.

A moment and Bettina found her horizon limited by an umbrella, which made a circular barrier directly in her path.

"Is it possible that people can meet by accident in New York City in this way? I do not see how you can remember us," she was saying the following moment.

"Our meeting is not so surprising as you think; people who live in New York never see their acquaintances unexpectedly, while strangers always do. I am taking it for granted that you are not a New Yorker. You will have my umbrella, won't you?"

Bettina shook her head.

"No, I cannot do that, but if you will see us to the subway and save Elce from drowning in this rain, I shall be under a second obligation to you. We did find Mrs. Burton the other evening in the fashion you suggested."

Bettina was smiling, amused and entertained by her unexpected encounter. The rain was dripping from her hat, her hair blowing, her cloth skirt whipped about her ankles.

"We are trying to reach Gramercy Square," she added, when they had set out, their companion vainly attempting to hold his umbrella above the two girls.

"Then I suggest you take the bus so as not to have to cross to the shuttle at Times Square at this rush hour. You won't think I intend being impertinent, because already I have discovered two things about you. You are staying with Mrs. Richard Burton and apparently she lives in Gramercy Park. You see, you have an unfair advantage of me in one respect, as you know that my name is Burton and I have no idea of yours."

Making no rejoinder, Bettina's manner became perceptibly colder. She was not an unconventional person and was beginning to fear that she had displayed too great friendliness in permitting herself to recognize an acquaintance whom she had met in so informal a fashion.

Yet until this moment he had seemed unusually courteous.

At her change of manner he turned and began talking to Elce, so that Bettina was able to look at him more attentively.

She had only an indistinct impression of him as he stood in his own doorway several evenings before, giving her the aid of his friendly advice. Curious that she should be appealing to his friendliness so soon again! Now she saw that the young man had brown hair and eyes, was a good deal taller than she, and that he had an expression of delightful gaiety. Unconsciously Bettina felt a slight sensation of envy. She knew the copy of Donatello's faun and there was something in her companion which suggested the famous statue. His brown hair, wet by the rain, curled in heavy clusters, his ears were slightly pointed, his face glowed with health and humor.

"I am sorry if I have offended you," he added. "For my own part, I never have understood why human beings require so much formality in learning to know one another. I confess I have been struggling to discover an acquaintance who knows your Mr. and Mrs. Burton ever since our accidental meeting the other evening. No one seems able to help me. The only human being I know named Burton outside my own family is a Captain Burton I saw in France. He was engaged in Red Cross work over there. But I met him on the street after our return and I remember he told me he was living in Washington."

Bettina bit her lips to hide their smiling, not altogether displeased by this information.

"We have reached Broadway, haven't we? I am so much obliged to you, as here comes our bus. It would be odd, wouldn't it, if by chance we should both know the same Captain Burton. My Mr. Richard Burton was in France in the service of the Red Cross and did live in Washington for a time after his return to this country. He does not use his title at present, since he has given up his Red Cross work, although many persons continue to call him Captain Burton. Of course there may have been any number of Captain Burtons in the army. I have no idea that we can possess any acquaintance in common. Good-by and thank you."

*CHAPTER V*

*RENUNCIATION*

At the door of Mrs. Burton's private sitting-room, which was slightly ajar, hearing voices inside, Bettina paused. She had changed her wet outdoor costume for a simple dinner dress, but did not wish to disturb any visitor, knowing that her Camp Fire guardian saw only intimate friends at this hour and in this room. The room in which Bettina was standing at present was the ordinary reception room.

Mrs. Burton was speaking and an instant later Bettina caught the sound of her own name.

"I did not dream, my dear, that Bettina could be so selfish and unreasonable. I confess I _am_ deeply disappointed in her! Save that she told me what she wished with her own lips, I could never have believed she could be so inconsiderate of you."

Then a voice followed which surprised Bettina, although it was the one voice with which she was more familiar than any other.

"But, Polly, perhaps you do not understand Bettina. She never before has seemed either selfish or unreasonable. And if she now appears inconsiderate of me, the fault probably is mine. Bettina should have had a more serious-minded mother, one who would not have asked her to waste her gifts and her beautiful, generous nature in a society existence. I have been talking with Anthony since Bettina came to you. He seems unusually severe and for the first time I can recall is annoyed with his 'Slim Princess,' the title he used to bestow on Bettina. Anthony declares that Bettina should wish to be with me beyond any other possible desire and that she particularly needs my influence. This I am afraid is not true. I have been struggling to make Anthony see, and you must recognize this as an excuse for Bettina, Polly, dear, that her wish at present is merely an inheritance from Anthony. For as long as I can remember Anthony has been working to better conditions for people whom he considers less fortunate than himself. This has kept him many years in political life, when often his own desire has been to retire. Now Bettina simply is longing to express the same ideal in the work that, as a young girl, she feels herself by nature fitted for. I have been standing in her way, I am afraid the selfishness has been mine, although at first I was unable to see the situation in this light. I am so proud of Bettina and so wanted her to be with me in order to introduce her to the brilliant and charming friends Anthony and I have acquired in our years in Washington."

"You are an angel, Betty!" Mrs. Burton responded.

Her companion laughed, for the first time her voice revealing a happier tone.

"Polly, there is only one human being in this world possessed of fewer angelic attributes! That person is your famous self. It is ridiculous and not in the least fair of you to be so critical of Bettina. I presume you have forgotten that when you were a girl you disappeared--was it for over a year?--from all of us who cared for you. At that time you deliberately set out to try your fortune in so reprehensible a career as the stage. Now if Bettina had chosen so undesirable a profession as yours, I might be unhappy. The work she wishes to do is constructive and unselfish. I went to call on Miss Merton, the friend Bettina made last summer who interested her in social settlement work. She has a very different impression of Bettina from the one you seem to have acquired as her Camp Fire guardian. She is a remarkable woman and I never wish to forget what she said to me. She even agreed that Bettina should remain this winter with me and do what I planned for her, yet she believes that Bettina has a wonderful personality and unusual gifts and that one day she will do work that may be of permanent value. Under the circumstances it is I who have failed Bettina. In the future she will remember and find it hard to forgive me."

"Mother!" there was a little rush as Bettina entered the room. An instant after her arms were about her mother and her cheek resting against her beautiful soft hair.

"I have been playing eavesdropper outside the door for the past ten minutes and so heard Tante villify my character and your defence of me. She isn't to be trusted, is she, dearest?"

Bettina glanced toward her Camp Fire guardian. There was a little flash of understanding between them.

Immediately Mrs. Burton rose from her chair.

"I am going into my room to dress for dinner, Betty. I don't know what Bettina's idea of you may be, but I am convinced that you are unreasonable and inconsiderate. I have merely seen your side of this question because of my affection for you. In return you tell me that I have no true appreciation of your daughter and that I have chosen a profession for which you feel not respect while Bettina's choice is altogether admirable."

Mrs. Burton's eyes were lowered and her cheeks flushed as she moved toward her own door.

"Polly dear, I haven't wounded you? Please don't be angry with me, you never have been in all these years."

There was no reply. Bettina whispered, "Don't mind Tante, mother. I think she really intended to force you to defend me. Certainly I am grateful to her. Besides, she needs your criticism this winter, now her play is such a success and she no longer has Aunt Patricia or her Camp Fire girls to keep her in order. As for all those foolish, delightful things you said about me, I shall remember them always, although of course they are not true. When are you going home? I want to go with you, I mean to be the most popular debutante in Washington this winter. The other foolish dream of mine can wait."

Mrs. Graham shook her head.

"No, Bettina, now I understand how you feel, I really don't desire you to do anything except what you wish. Don't leave us, please, Polly, not for a few moments, I want to talk to you. You can't be offended. Miss Merton suggests that Bettina take some special courses in social work this winter and that she come to her for practical experience in the work two or three times a week.

"I won't be lonely, I'll run over to New York frequently to see you both. And remember, Polly, that you promised me that you would come to me in the spring, no matter if your play is the greatest success in New York. You assured Richard and me that you would not try your strength by a too long engagement. Besides, you have never seen our 'House by the Blue Lagoon'. Bettina and I have given the place this title. It was Anthony's anniversary gift to me. The house is on an island in the sea, but there is an arm of water that has cut its way into the land that is blue as the Bay of Naples. You'll bring as many of your Sunrise Camp Fire girls with you as you can induce to come. This shall be my reward that you and Bettina both care more for what you are pleased to call your careers than for me. I shall try to persuade Aunt Patricia to join us. She must have relented by that time."

Mrs. Burton shook her head.

"Never, dear! But of course I am coming to you. I lie awake at night and dream of the happy time we shall have together when the winter's work is past. 'The Blue Lagoon', the very name is magical."

*CHAPTER VI*

*THE BOX PARTY*

The group of people entered the box nearest the stage a few moments before the curtain was to ascend.

In the effort to find places there was the usual brief confusion; in the end the youngest of the girls was seated in the chair next the footlights, with two other girls in the adjoining chairs, the chaperon and a fourth girl behind them, while a little in the background were three young men.

"Mother, do take the outside chair; I am afraid you will not be able to see properly, Bettina Graham suggested.

"Besides, Mrs. Graham, we wish the handsomest member of our box party to occupy the most conspicuous place."

Betty Graham arose to change places with her daughter.

"Never mind, David, I am perfectly willing to allow you to talk to Bettina rather than to me, without such arrant flattery which is not apt to make you popular. Besides, as I have not seen Mrs. Burton's new play and am deeply interested, I do not wish to be interrupted. I am afraid you young persons may wish to talk."

"There will be little danger of conversation once the play is started," a third voice interposed, "I have seen it three times and found it as absorbing the last time as I did the first."

Bettina Graham turned toward the speaker.

"I am glad you were able to come with us to-night, Mr. Burton. Do you remember that you were the first person in New York to mention, 'A Tide in the Affairs' to me? In any event, mother, you need not fear we shall be guilty of such bad manners as to attempt to talk while the performance is going on even if we dared. It is odd that I don't know the story of the play, but then I have done my best not to find out so as not to affect my pleasure."

Dressed in a new evening gown of pale green chiffon, which had been her mother's gift since her arrival in New York, with a silver girdle and a fillet of silver wound about her fair hair, her cheeks flushed with excitement, Bettina Graham had never been more beautiful.

At least this was the impression she made upon two of the three young men who were members of the same party; the third was too absorbed in his own train of thought and in his excitement over seeing Mrs. Burton act for the first time to pay any particular attention to any one of the four girls. Such interest as Allan Drain had expressed had been for Mrs. Graham, who was his especial friend.

As Robert Burton had seen Bettina only four times before this evening, his opinion was hardly of the same critical value as David Hale's, whom Bettina had met and known intimately several years before in France.

Robert Burton, however, had never made any effort to find out why Bettina Graham had attracted him since the first moment of their unconventional meeting. To analyze his own wishes had never been his habit. Accepting her half laughing challenge, he straightway had gone to call upon the Mr. Richard Burton, who was her host, and discovered him to be the Captain Burton he had known in France.

Telling the story of his accidental meeting with Bettina he had asked to be properly introduced and Captain Burton had been glad to agree. He knew something of Lieutenant Robert Burton's war record and also that his father was a prominent New York lawyer; but particularly he liked the young fellow's straightforward fashion of setting out to accomplish his design.

Twice in the past week Robert Burton had called to see Bettina and been introduced to her mother and Mrs. Burton. This evening he had been invited to be a member of their theater party. For the same pleasure David Hale had come from Washington.

"Some night you hope to be sitting in the theater like this, Allan, and have Mrs. Burton produce your first play. I wish you luck. Suppose in the spring you make us a visit at my 'House by the Blue Lagoon'. Mrs. Burton will be with me, resting, and perhaps we may be able to persuade her to read the play you are working on this winter. I shall always feel responsible for the loss of your poems,[*] although Mary Gilchrist was actually the guilty person," Mrs. Graham declared, leaning a little back in her chair and turning her head to speak to the young man behind her. "I still hope some day to make things up to you, or perhaps Mrs. Burton may."

[*] See "Camp Fire Girls at Half Moon Lake."

Allan Drain flushed. He was a tall fellow with strong features and reddish gold hair which he wore fairly long. A student of medicine, he was in reality only interested in writing. He had met the Sunrise Camp Fire girls, their guardian and Mrs. Graham during the past winter which they had spent in the Adirondacks.

"You have fully repaid me for any loss by your friendship," he answered, with a slight huskiness of voice. "To hope that Polly O'Neill Burton will ever be interested in my poor efforts at play writing is too much to expect, yet if it is possible I shall come for the visit with the greatest pleasure. There is nothing I should so enjoy."

A hush at this moment preceded the raising of the curtain. Out of sight of the audience an orchestra began the strains of an Irish melody famous half a century ago.

A suppressed quiver of excitement passed through the small group of Camp Fire girls.

In her seat nearest the stage Sally Ashton bit her lips to hide their trembling, feeling her cheeks suddenly flame. She had been scarcely aware of the conversation going on about her, or that the eyes of a number of persons in the audience had been admiringly turned toward her. She wore a dress of rose-colored net with no trimming save a broad satin girdle of the same shade.

Vera and Alice Ashton were in white, Mrs. Graham in an amber satin with a string of topazes about her throat, her wonderful auburn hair exquisitely arranged, her skin of a beautiful warm clearness, was more lovely than the girl of years before.

Waiting to see the curtain rise she was the Betty Ashton of long ago, who had been one of the first persons to believe in the genius of the girl, Polly O'Neill, always her dearest friend.

"I have not seen Polly act for so long a time, Bettina, I am almost as excited as if this was her debut night. Yet Polly is sure enough of her laurels these days!" Mrs. Graham whispered.

Then the curtain rose.

The first scene disclosed a small cabin set on a green hillside with a miniature lake in front.

A girl in a green skirt, a white blouse and a green velvet bodice is seen seated on the grass near the water. She is slowly crooning a love song with the words scarcely audible.

Finally becoming impatient, she rises and wanders about, a frown on her face, a pathetic droop to her slim figure.

"Mrs. Burton looks about sixteen, doesn't she? Younger than any one of you!" David Hale murmured.

Bettina paid not the slightest attention to his remark, and scarcely heard it, as at this moment a second figure entered the stage, a boy who is about to set forth on a journey; one recognizes this from his costume before any words are exchanged. He has come to say good-by.

The first act is devoted to their farewell. One learns that the girl is to be left behind with an old aunt who has been her foster mother, while the boy goes to the United States to seek a fortune for them both.

"Mother," Bettina said softly when the curtain had fallen, "don't you think Tante makes the parting between herself and her lover too tragic? It seems to me perfectly natural and there is no special reason for being unhappy, yet just because of her gift for expressing emotion she seems the most pathetic figure in the world as he goes away and leaves her."

Mrs. Graham smiled and shook her head, but made no effort to conceal the tears in her eyes.

"Perhaps you are right, Bettina, I don't know. Polly did not believe you Camp Fire girls would care for her play. It begins in a more sentimental age than the present one. Fifteen years elapse, remember, between the first and the second act. Perhaps the modern girl would not regard the separation from her lover so seriously; she has more interests, more occupations, and sometimes I wonder if love may not mean less to her; I am not sure.

"The girl whom Polly portrays is left utterly alone, save for the old woman, who, we have learned, is harsh and querulous. She has only her dream and her affection."

Talking to Bettina alone, Mrs. Graham discovered that, as the applause died away, the other members of the box party were listening to her little speech.

"I agree with Bettina," Alice Ashton interposed.

"See here, Mrs. Graham, if you believe in sentiment don't look for it among girls these days," Robert Burton protested. "If you want to know the kind of impression that parting scene of Mrs. Burton's inspires, ask any one of the three fellows in your party to-night. If I cared for a girl and was compelled to leave her for an indefinite length of time, I tell you I should expect her to feel as the heroine does in this play. If she didn't feel that way, I would not believe in her love."

Mrs. Graham arose.

"I'll leave you to argue the point without me. I want to speak to Mrs. Burton for a few moments and she asked that no one else come behind the scenes until the performance is over."

Immediately David Hale slipped into the chair beside Bettina, while Robert Burton moved forward to talk with Sally Ashton who seemed apart from the others. Allan Drain joined Alice and Vera.

"It cannot be possible, Bettina, that you are not returning to Washington to spend the winter," David Hale remarked in a low tone of voice. "Your mother spoke of it to me and then said perhaps you would explain to me yourself."

Bettina flushed, as the subject was not an altogether happy one and she was a little annoyed at its introduction at this instant.

"Why no, I believe not, anyhow not for some time. A group of the Sunrise Camp Fire girls has taken a little apartment together in New York and we are planning to work and study here. We are not to be with our Camp Fire guardian. In fact we are not even to have a chaperon with us permanently. You remember Miss Patricia Lord; one is not apt to forget Miss Patricia. She has a house near Boston and is to appear now and then to see how we are getting on. Alice Ashton and Sally, and Vera Lagerloff made the plan for the winter originally and are allowing my little English Camp Fire girl and me to join them. I am to do some studying, but what I shall like much more, I am to work in one of the settlement houses on the East Side. I shall try to organize new Camp Fire clubs, as I don't believe there are many of them in that neighborhood."

David Hale stared at his companion incredulously.

"You cannot mean you prefer a winter of this kind to making your debut in Washington, where you would be invited everywhere! I don't suppose it occurs to you, or that it makes any difference, but I am bitterly disappointed?"

"Oh, you will have mother and Marguerite Arnot who will more than compensate for my absence. You know I long have hated the prospect of having to come out in society. I am too serious, I suppose, although I realize this is not an attractive trait of character. But, David Hale, do you recall how much you used to talk to me of your ambitions for the future in the days we knew each other in France? Well, I don't see why I am not allowed an ambition of my own even if I am not gifted. I have always been more interested in the Camp Fire organization than the other Sunrise Camp Fire girls. Now I see an opportunity to enlarge its influence along with other work I am undertaking. Mother did not approve at first, but she is an angel and has finally agreed. You see she was once upon a time a Camp Fire girl herself."

At Bettina's indifference to his point of view David frowned.

"Well, your mother is right; the new girl is hard to understand, even if one happens to belong to her generation; that is, hard for a fellow like me! I--"

Bettina was not paying a great deal of attention. In the alcove at the front of the box Sally Ashton and Robert Burton were laughing and talking together, Sally wearing her usual demure expression which could change to sudden gaiety. Evidently her companion admired her.

Her mother's return to her place and David Hale's vacating it, distracted Bettina's attention; moreover, the bell was ringing to announce the second act of the drama.

Fifteen years have gone by, but now for the first time the traveler, who had departed as a boy, is returning to the Irish village high up among the lakes and hills.

The report has come back that he has become wealthy and the village is preparing to welcome him. Hovering on the outskirts of the crowd one discovers the girl, no longer young, with whom he had parted many years before. She has not heard from him in a decade. Still she is interested and anxious to know if he will remember her, or if by any chance he may still care a little. She never has forgotten. Some misunderstanding may have divided them, which a few words, a touching of the hands, a meeting of the eyes may explain.

The hero returns. He has forgotten and even fails to recognize the girl who represented his youthful romance, is shocked by the change in her when she recalls herself to his memory.

At the close of the act she goes back to the little cabin and the lake and the green hillside, where she has lived alone these ten years, the old aunt having died.

The pathos of the years of waiting has departed. The meeting in the village has ended an old illusion.

In the third and last act the heroine has established herself in a picturesque little house in the town, where she has gathered about her many friends. She is witty and gay, her clothes are pretty and fashionable. In the lonely years she has read a great deal and has interested herself in politics. The friends and admirers she might have had, save for her faithfulness to a memory, are discovered around her, among them the man, who so easily had forgotten his plighted word. In the end he proposes a second time and is refused.

"Love has no value without faith and I have no faith in you;" with this line the drama closes.

"The play is delightful and Polly reveals all her gifts of laughter and tears, nevertheless it leaves one dissatisfied," Mrs. Graham insisted, as she allowed Allan Drain to help her with her coat. "Allan, in your new play give us a happier ending."

"My dear mother, what a sentimentalist you are! I could not imagine a more delicious climax. My sex is avenged!" Bettina replied. "Come, let us go back behind the scenes and offer our congratulations!"

*CHAPTER VII*

*THE APARTMENT*

The sitting-room was scrupulously clean. The Camp Fire candles, representing work, health and love were on the mantel, but unlighted; a small fire was burning in the grate.

At one side stood a tea table with the arrangements for tea-cups and saucers, the tea kettle and alcohol lamp. At the moment the room was empty.

Then a door swung open and a girl entered wearing a ceremonial Camp Fire costume, her strings of honor beads and insignia of the highest rank, but over her dress a blue apron which came up to her throat and down to her ankles.

Her hair was carefully arranged, parted at one side and drawn smoothly down, yet little tendrils of brown hair had escaped and her face was warmly Hushed.

Seating herself in a low chair she extended her feet toward the small blaze.

"The girls are late this afternoon, just because there was a particular reason why they should be early," she remarked in a maternal tone of voice, a little absurd in view of her appearance.

During the past few months Sally Ashton had been presiding over the small apartment in New York which sheltered a group of the Sunrise Camp Fire girls.

Getting up, she now walked over toward the window. In the distance one could catch a glimpse of the Columbia College buildings and in another direction the dome of the great, unfinished Cathedral. The winter afternoon was clear and cold.

Returning to her former place, after a glance at the clock, Sally drew a letter from the pocket of her blouse and began reading it. This must have been a second or third reading since the envelope had disappeared.

Nevertheless, the letter plainly occasioned her no happiness, for she frowned, bit her lips and looked as if only a severe determination against any display of weakness saved her from tears.

"I have not heard from Dan Webster in a month. Now he has written me exactly one page which says nothing at all except that he is so busy and so tired at the end of each day that any letter he could write would only bore me. He is kind enough to hope we may meet in the spring in the 'House by the Blue Lagoon.' And this when I was foolish enough to think that Dan actually cared for me when we were together last winter!"

"I do wish I were not one of the persons who cares for only a few people! No one understands, or believes this of me, save Tante, and she is too busy this winter to be disturbed by Camp Fire confidences, even though she remains our guardian. I wonder if she will be here this afternoon? As for Dan, I suppose I must stop thinking of him in spite of the fact that we are such old friends."

There was a little sound of a key scraping in a lock. Thrusting her letter inside her pocket, Sally arose hastily.

"Sally, are we first to return home?" Bettina Graham's voice inquired. "I was delayed at the Neighborhood House a quarter of an hour longer than usual. Then I had to make a special effort to persuade the children to allow Elce to come with me. We had been having a lecture on birds and she attempting to reproduce certain of the bird sounds and to teach them to the other children. I wish you had been with us. You have not been lonely?" Bettina observed an unaccustomed expression on the other girl's face.

As if slightly annoyed by the suggestion, Sally shook her head.

"No, certainly not; I am never lonely, I have had everything arranged for our Camp Fire meeting and for tea afterwards for so long that I am tired waiting."

"Very well, Elce and I will change into our Camp Fire costumes and be with you in a few moments. I am surprised Vera and Alice are so late! I hoped Tante and Juliet Temple would have arrived. By the way, Sally, what do you think of admitting Juliet into our Sunrise Camp Fire? We have known her so many months that I am convinced she and Tante must both expect it, although they have not said so definitely. If we have an opportunity before they arrive, suppose we discuss the question."

Bettina Graham's conversation had been continued from inside her own bedroom, with the door opening into the sitting-room which adjoined it. In fact the six-room apartment the Sunrise Camp Fire girls were sharing for the winter, was so built that the three bedrooms and kitchen opened into a single large room. This served as their dining-room, sitting-room and reception room. A small room, apart from the others, Miss Patricia Lord's room, could be used as a study the greater portion of the time, since Miss Patricia was rarely in New York.

Only twice in the last few months had she appeared unexpectedly. Confessing herself as satisfied with the life the girls were leading and the work they were accomplishing, almost immediately she had returned to her home near Boston, never at any time mentioning Mrs. Burton's name, even to make an inquiry concerning her health.

The little apartment was comfortable. There were no signs of the wealth and luxury with which in the past, during the periods when their guardian was with them, Miss Patricia had surrounded the Sunrise Camp Fire. This, Miss Patricia explained, was due to two reasons. The erection of a home for French war orphans in one of the devastated regions of France was absorbing more of her capital than she had anticipated; moreover, she wished the girls to live simply and to resist the temptation of the worldliness of the city she professed to abhor.

The front door of the little apartment now opened a second time. Carrying several books under her arm and a package in her hand, Vera entered.

"Sorry to have been delayed, Sally, but I had to go several places before I could find the kind of cake you said you wished for tea. I wanted to help you get things ready; you seem to do so much more work these days than the rest of us in spite of our classes and Bettina's social settlement."

"You are not the last, Vera. Where is Alice? I thought you would come home together."

Vera smiled; there was a unique quality in her appearance which made her interesting always, even if she were handsome to only a few persons. In her large eyes with their heavy lashes, her wide mouth and irregular nose there was a charm of character and intelligence more marked than conventional beauty.

"Alice and I said farewell half an hour ago and she was to hurry home. I saw her stop to speak to her cousin, Philip Stead, for a moment and I suppose they have not been able to separate. Dear me, I hoped that Alice and I were to remain eternal friends without masculine interference, but these last few weeks Alice is failing me! She insists that she is only friendly with Philip Stead because he is her cousin and a stranger in New York, and lonely."

"Never mind, Vera, you may have me to take Alice's place. I shall never desert you. I am through with all masculine friendships forever, besides their being through with me!" Sally Ashton returned, thinking of the letter she had just finished re-reading. At the same time she extended her hand for the package.

"Thanks for the cake, but I did find time to make the kind Tante specially likes! However, we will manage to get through with both. You girls are becoming so learned as college students that I try to cling to the few useful feminine arts which represent my only talents."

"And the greatest of us is Sally!" Bettina Graham exclaimed, coming into the sitting-room, clad in her Camp Fire costume. "There is Alice at the door. Suppose we light our candles and begin our Camp Fire meeting, while she slips into her Camp Fire dress. Tante told us not to await her arrival. She is too uncertain of coming. And besides I hope we may have an opportunity to discuss the addition of Juliet Temple to our Sunrise Camp Fire club. We have had this in mind for some time. Is it our duty to add to our old group now so many of the original group have vanished? Juliet Temple has lived in the same house with us and is at present living with our Camp Fire guardian, so she seems the most natural person to invite."

A few moments later, when the business had been disposed of, Alice Ashton, continuing the subject Bettina had introduced, said slowly, with the seriousness characteristic of her:

"I feel as you girls do about Juliet Temple. I never have really liked her, although it would be difficult to say why. Perhaps it is because she has been so reticent about her past history and revealed so little interest in us. I feel that she does not especially desire to become a member of our Sunrise Camp Fire. She only wishes it because Tante wishes it and is our guardian. Possibly you girls may not agree with me, but now and then I have been afraid that my own distrust is largely jealousy. Juliet seems to have been able to make herself useful to Tante in ways none of us has succeeded in doing. Of late she depends upon her for a great variety of things."

Sally Ashton smiled.

"Good old Alice, of course we realize that we are jealous of Juliet Temple! Are you actually only beginning to be conscious of the fact? Now I for one am in favor of asking her to become one of our Camp Fire girls for certain reasons I do not care to divulge at present. As I am more candid than the rest of you, besides having a less agreeable disposition, I want to say frankly that I shall be glad when for any cause Juliet and Tante separate. Aunt Patricia has always disliked her and believes she has interfered with their devoted relation. I think she remains one of the reasons why Aunt Patricia refuses to be even friendly with Tante, when she is eating her heart out with loneliness and hurt pride. But goodness, there is the door bell and doubtless Juliet is outside! A reflection on our Camp Fire to be caught gossiping! Now if Tante suggests our inviting Juliet Temple to join our Sunrise Camp Fire group, and if Juliet wishes it and can pass the requisite tests, I see no reason we can offer for not including her. For a good many reasons I think it may be wiser to learn to know her better. Please put fresh wood on the fire, I'll open the door."

The following moment the Camp Fire guardian entered the room, followed by Sally Ashton, Juliet Temple and a third girl.

*CHAPTER VIII*

*THE ENIGMA*

Half an hour after, seated at the tea table, Sally Ashton was presiding over the serving of tea. She had agreed to relieve the Sunrise Camp Fire guardian of the responsibility in order that she might be able to talk more freely.

A few feet away, surrounded by the other girls, Mrs. Burton was occasionally drinking her tea, but more frequently answering or asking questions. Her custom was to devote one afternoon each week to the ceremonial meeting of the Sunrise Camp Fire. Now and then her visits were interrupted and until to-day she had not been present in several weeks at one of the councils.

Dressed in exquisite taste in olive green, trimmed in an odd, oriental embroidery of green and gold, her dark hair simply dressed, her health entirely restored, the Camp Fire guardian appeared not more than ten years older than the oldest of her group of girls.

"I can't tell you how glad I am that you came directly to us, Gill, without even waiting to telegraph," she was saying at this instant, speaking to the third girl who had entered the little apartment with her only a short time before. She was in deep mourning.

"You will stay on here with us at least until you can make some arrangement you like better," Bettina Graham added, slipping her hand inside her companion's and looking at her with an expression of sympathy and affection.

For the first time in their acquaintance Mary Gilchrist's eyes filled with tears.

"I knew no one else would be so kind, or give me such help, so, as soon after my father's death as I could arrange my affairs I started east. But I did write and gave the letter to one of the men on the place to mail. We are several miles from a post-office and I wanted it to go at once. He must have forgotten, so the letter will probably arrive later.

"I have scarcely any relatives. My father left the farm in Kansas to me. Some day I shall go back and try to become a successful farmer, but when that time arrives I hope to take all the Sunrise Camp Fire home with me. At present I felt that I could not live on in the big empty house alone, so I left one of our men in charge and came to you. I know I failed to live up to the ideals of our Camp Fire when we were together last winter at Half Moon Lake, yet I believe you realize I shall try not to fail again."

"My dear Gill," Sally announced from her place of honor at the tea table, "you have always taken the attitude that no one of us ever committed a fault in our Camp Fire life together until you failed to confess last winter to Allan Drain that accidentally you had thrown away the manuscripts of his poems. You did confess finally so why not forget the whole occurrence! Certainly you are to live here with us this winter and occupy the room with me; Vera and Alice are together and Bettina and Elce, so I have been alone. Tante is so occupied with her work you will be less lonely with us and Miss Patricia I know will be delighted."

"Nevertheless, Sally, don't you think Gill had best be with me for a few weeks, or a few months, until she has rested?" the Camp Fire guardian protested glancing at the girl in whom the past few months had wrought such changes.

Gill's former air of almost boyish strength and vigor had vanished. Her cheeks were sunken, her eyes had lost their gaiety, even the characteristic light sprinkling of freckles, due to her constant outdoor life, were gone.

Many weeks Mary Gilchrist had nursed her father with a completeness of devotion that had left no opportunity for an hour away from him.

"No, certainly not, Tante; Gill will be a great deal better off here with us. I am sure she would be lonely with you; you are so busy these days and have so many strange people calling on you. There would be no one with whom Gill could talk, or who would look after her as I shall. I believe she needs being taken care of for a time."

Mrs. Burton glanced toward Sally, frowning.