Читать книгу: «Marjorie Dean's Romance», страница 11

CHAPTER XXVI
THE IRISH MINUET

The Travelers presented “The Knight of the Northern Sun” at the Hamilton Concert Hall on the evening after that of the re-opening day of college following the Easter vacation. Lucy Warner had asked and received President Matthews’s hearty permission to use the hall for the Norse play and afterwards for any other attractions which Page and Dean might wish to offer.

The Norse play was the most ambitious drama the Travelers had yet undertaken. They had gone to great trouble and pains to costume and produce the play inexpensively, but with realism. Nor was the audience which crowded the large hall to the doors composed entirely of students. Since the presentation of the first show by Page and Dean almost two years previous, interested citizens of the town of Hamilton and residents of Hamilton Estates had shown flattering eagerness to obtain seats for Page and Dean’s shows.

Augusta Forbes scored heavily as Godoran, the Norse hero, who, until he met the fair Nageda, boasted that he had looked earnestly at no woman’s face save his mother’s. Doris was the lovely, golden-haired Nageda, who fell in love with Godoran at sight but was carried off as a hostage by barbarian hordes on the day of her initial meeting with her hero.

The play netted the dormitory fund over a thousand dollars. Augusta and Doris stepped into the spot light of campus admiration and were fêted by their friends for upwards of a week afterward. Marjorie attended the presentation of the drama with her mother, Jerry, Miss Susanna and Jonas. It was her mother’s last evening at the Arms and this sad knowledge put her in a rather forlorn mood. Then, too, she could not help thinking of Hal. She had suggested the title of the play as a result of seeing the costume of polar knight Hal Macy had worn at the merry-making in Sanford on Christmas Eve. Now she saw Hal as the knight, rather than Gussie.

She wondered vexedly why she always thought of Hal in connection with the sentimental. It was because he had told her he loved her, she supposed. She watched fascinatedly the progress of the play and listened with half impatient sadness to the impassioned words of love which Katherine Langly, who knew nothing about love, had put into the mouth of Godoran.

Following the play and her mother’s departure for Sanford, Marjorie returned with conscientious interest to the work of the biography. Since the love story of Brooke Hamilton had entered into it she had revolutionized her whole idea of the plan. Now she plunged once more into the journal, working at it diligently. She tried to use every sentence of it which did not touch too personally on the side of the great man’s romance which belonged to him and not to the world.

After a time it seemed to her that she knew every line of the journal by heart. She worked steadily on through the bright spring weather until she had arranged the delicate matter to suit her critical mind. Miss Susanna was greatly pleased over Marjorie’s arranging of the sentimental part of her great-uncle’s history. She had taken a notion to edit the garden letters herself, and the two friends worked together in the study at the long library table, each with the same fond spirit toward the man in the portrait.

On the campus Leila Harper in fancy had ceased to be a post graduate. Instead she was living through an exciting period of Irish history as she rehearsed the heroic part of Desmond O’Dowd. As the time drew near for the presentation of the Irish drama she grew more pleased with the work of the cast than she had ever been with that of any other group of actors whom she had formerly used in her plays. Vera, as Mona of Lough Gur, the Irish maid from County Limerick, promised to be the chief attraction.

One thing to perfect her production Leila lacked. She needed a real man, one with an exceptionally sweet tenor voice to sing words to the minuet tune that accompanied the Irish minuet she and Vera were to give in the first act of the play. As the hero it was really Leila’s place to sing the quaint words as she danced. Not being possessed of a tenor voice she could not carry out this part of the program. She decided after much thought to place a singer in the wings to voice the pretty Irish words.

Next difficulty was to obtain the singer. Following a brief season of despairing calculation as to whether a church singer in Hamilton might not undertake the solo, Leila hit upon another plan that brought a true Cheshire cat grin to her keen Celtic features. She hastily mailed a very ragged piece of Irish music to Hal Macy with a short accompanying letter, and buoyantly awaited results.

Leila’s plan to bring Hal from Sanford to sing behind the scenes for her on the night of her play was not entirely one of self-interest. She had often thought Marjorie was nothing less than a sleeping beauty slated to awaken suddenly from a dream of life to reality and a lover’s kiss. She had long guessed for herself that Hal loved Marjorie. She had also been the only one besides Marjorie who had seen Hal’s heart-broken expression as he had stood before Marjorie’s portrait.

Of late Leila had shrewdly thought she had noticed signs of absent-minded dreaming on Marjorie’s part which might or might not have to do with Hal. Miss Susanna had decreed that Marjorie might tell the original Travelers of the journal if she wished. Leila had listened to Marjorie’s sad account of it and her wistful remarks afterward with her head on one side. She had there and then made up her mind to try out an experiment of her own upon Hal and Marjorie.

In due time Hal’s answer returned. Yes, he would be pleased to help her with her play in any way he could. He would make it a point to keep out of sight until after the performance. This Leila had also requested. He had learned the Irish song and thought it very pretty. Leila was tempted more than once to tell Jerry. She triumphantly fought off the desire and cannily kept her own counsel.

Now wholly engaged in what promised to completely outdo “The Knight of the Northern Sun,” Leila paid little attention to anything else. As she worked steadily and patiently toward perfecting the various actors in the difficult Celtic characters they were to represent she did not dream that she had already been selected as an object for honor.

Leslie Cairns had determined that Leila should receive her gift, and her father’s, of a theatre on the last day of chapel. Leslie had always remembered and been impressed by the various honor citations which she had witnessed when a student at Hamilton. She believed that Leila would prefer to be honored in the company of her fellow students in chapel than at the regular Commencement exercises. She argued that the gift she wished to offer Leila was germane to the traditional side of the college.

While Leila was carrying on a lively correspondence with Hal, Marjorie was wondering now and then why she had not heard from him. With Hal so much in her mind of late it was not strange that she should notice his delay in writing. She had written him over a month ago. He had not written to Jerry, either. Perhaps he had been away, or had been ill. No; if he had been ill Jerry’s mother would have mentioned it to Jerry in a letter. Marjorie realized, all of a sudden, that she had grown quite concerned in the matter. She chided herself for being silly, and dismissed Hal from her thoughts – until he happened to walk into them again.

“Say, have you heard from old Hal lately?” Jerry asked her on the evening of Leila’s play, as the two girls were dressing for the event. “Because I’m going to wear my turquoise necklace I happened to think of him. He gave it to me, you know.”

“I’ve wondered myself why he hasn’t answered my last letter.” Marjorie stood before the long wall mirror surveying herself with a critical and unenthusiastic eye. She was dressed in the shaded violet frock of Chinese crepe which she had owned for five years and which was still a la mode. She had worn it only on rare occasions. It was still fresh and charming as on the night when she had worn it as a freshman to the Beauty contest. Leila had begged her to wear it “in honor of your Celtic friend and Irish playwright,” she had laughingly stipulated.

“He’s probably away on a business trip for the governor.” Jerry delivered this opinion as she poked her arms into her white fur evening coat. “Don’t forget your violets.” She patted the huge bunch of scented purple beauties at her own corsage.

Marjorie turned from the mirror. She took her own bunch of violets from the water, dried the stems and pinned them on. The faint exquisite perfume of them all but brought tears to her eyes. She thought of Angela, of Brooke Hamilton, of how they had loved violets. And then – back went her mind to the winter day when Hal had stood before the portrait of a girl who wore violets.

“I’m going for a long, long walk tomorrow,” she announced. “My head is full of cobwebs. I shall let the fresh air sweep it clear. I hope there will be a good old high wind blowing. I’ll love to walk out and fight with it.”

“I’ll go with you. Bean. Never believe you can lose me.”

“I look upon you as a permanent fixture,” Marjorie graciously assured.

“Make the most of me tonight. I’m going to leave you tomorrow. I happen to remember that I can’t be always with you.” Jerry trailed out the remark in a melancholy tone. “I like the permanent fixture idea, but I can’t be it. I have to go the round of the campus houses tomorrow and see what I can gather up for the auction. There are times when I wish I were not quite so necessary to Hamilton,” was Jerry’s regretfully modest ending.

“You don’t know what you are talking about.” Marjorie gave a funny little chuckle. “First you said I couldn’t lose you. Then you said just the opposite.”

“I know it. I seem to be like that, don’t I?” Jerry beamed foolishly upon her lovely chum.

Marjorie got into her own evening coat, a springtime affair of pale tinted silk and lace, and the pair paraded downstairs arm in arm. Jerry’s nonsense had served to restore Marjorie’s lighter spirits to normal light-heartedness. During the short ride in the limousine to Hamilton Concert Hall an energetic conversation occupied the attention of all three. It concerned the library which was to be presented to the dormitory girls when the dormitory should be completed.

Miss Susanna was determined that the students who were now the dormitory seniors should be present the next fall when the dormitory would be finished and opened. She had just announced her intention of defraying the railway expenses of the graduate “dorms” wherever they might be.

All three were also happy over Guiseppe Baretti’s present to the dormitory. He had long announced his intention of giving the “dorm a nice present.” A few days previous he had sent for Robin and Marjorie and solemnly informed them that he wished to take the expense of furnishing the dorm with the best grill room that money could secure. “I buy all for it; all,” he declared with an inclusive spread of the arms. “Then I do this. What you want buy. You give me the list ev’ry week. I buy for the dorm same I buy for me. This don’ cost me half’s much it cost the dorm.” His offer was accepted with the same deep gratitude which it seemed to Marjorie that the Travelers owed almost everyone.

The orchestra pit of the hall looked like a florist’s shop. As the trio entered the fragrance of roses and violets was wafted to their nostrils.

“Um-m. All the actors are in line for a donation,” muttered Jerry. “I hope our offerings to the bunch haven’t been side tracked.” The Travelers had gathered up among themselves a goodly sum of money for the purpose of honoring the members of the cast with flowers. Vera’s dainty pen and ink were all gone before the Hamilton Arms detail reached there.

“Miss Mason said to tell you that she had saved some sketches for you,” was the comforting assurance that met the party at the door. The message was delivered by a sophomore who was doing usher duty.

Seats of honor well up front had been reserved for the mistress of the Arms and her bodyguard. Seated in the brilliantly lighted room, the perfume of flowers on the air, the pleasant, well-bred murmur of subdued voices in her ears Marjorie thrilled to it all as she had always vibrated to the social side of Hamilton College.

She loved to think of herself as a part of it, alive and moving along with that busy, mind-profitable life. She was glad that she had such clever, wonderful friends. Not one of her chums but that had specialized in some particular talent or craft. She alone was the only one who had no hold on the fine arts beyond being an appreciative worshipper of those who were talented. Thus her thoughts ran until the rise of the curtain on “Desmond O’Dowd.”

From then on she thought only of the play itself. Leila herself had arranged the most of the setting for the first act. The opening scene was laid in the old-fashioned hall of an Irish country house of early eighteenth century. Desmond O’Dowd, the hero, whose free thinking and free speech had placed him in disfavor with the Earl of Claflin, had come to Claflin Eyrie, the earl’s home, in the hope of seeing Mona, the earl’s niece. He wished to say goodbye to her before joining a revolutionary political party which he believed to be the only one working for the good of Ireland.

It was during this act that Leila and Vera were to dance the Irish minuet of which the Hamilton girls were so fond. The play opened with a number of young men and women of Mona’s acquaintance gathered for a little evening party. The high-waisted, comparatively simple costumes of the young women were dainty foils for the dark knee trousers, square cut coats, silk stockings, fancy low shoes and lace falls of the young men. Shoulder length hair, ribbon-tied, formed a part of the picturesque dressing of the young Irish gentlemen of this period.

After a gay little dance in which the whole company joined, came the entrance into the hall of Desmond. Leila played the part with true Celtic intensity and understanding. Vera who took color from constant association with Leila, was no less convincing in the role of dainty Mona. Marjorie leaned forward in her seat breathlessly waiting for the moment to come which would introduce the minuet. She had seen it danced by the two a number of times and never tired of it. She was particularly fond of the charming setting of words that went with a part of the tune. The minuet had special music which Leila had brought from Ireland and which was very old.

“Leila can’t sing the words this time,” Marjorie whispered to Jerry. “She was grumbling to me about it not so very long ago. She can’t sing like a man and she doesn’t care to sing them in her own voice.”

The pleading, persuasive voice of Desmond to Mona, saying: “Just one dance, acushla. Tomorrow I’ll be far away across the lakes and with only the thought of you and your love to keep my poor heart from breaking.”

Marjorie breathed a long sigh of anticipatory pleasure as the preliminary strains of the minuet rose from the orchestra pit where Phillys Moore was conducting her own capable ten piece orchestra. With the usual number of deep, courtly bows the minuet began. Followed the gradual advance down the center of the pair of dancers. The odd, dainty stepping, dignified in its deliberateness. Each step in perfect accord with each note of the music combined to make a poetry of motion difficult to describe. Then – From somewhere off stage a voice suddenly began to sing:

 
“Down the center little one,
Life for us has just begun:
Down the center, step together,
Only you and I are one forever.
Colin he is watching me,
His love you can never be,
Step together, part we never
Sweetheart wee.”
 

It was a high, sweet tenor voice, vigorous of tone yet giving the Irish lilt the true lyric delicacy necessary to the rendering of any Irish song. Marjorie listened to it, entranced, yet with the vague impression that she had heard it somewhere before.

 
“Forward, forward,
Higher, sweeter, sounds the measure,
You for me, my small white treasure
You for me, for now and aye, love.”
 

The voice sang on, seeming to grow more and more impassioned. The tender import of the love words brought a quick veil of tears to Marjorie’s eyes. It was all so real. The two lovers, surrounded in the very beginning with unsurmountable difficulties, their brave attempt to defy life and fate. Ardent Desmond pleading for the constancy of his “small white treasure.” Then that voice, ringing, a thread of defiant laughter running through its music.

Marjorie came back to reality in time to hear an excited voice in her ear growling softly: “Old Hal. Now can you beat that. It is Hal that’s doing the singing. I know it. That’s some of Leila Harper’s work. Oh-h-h. Wait until I grab both of them. I’m going behind the scenes the minute the show’s over. I’d go at the end of the first act, but I might make a nuisance of myself. If Hal Macy knows what is good for him he will march himself out front like a kind and loving brother.”

Marjorie heard Jerry’s words in a kind of pleased daze. She was conscious of one emotion above everything else. She would be very glad to see Hal. She wished he would soon come to them. But Hal did not appear. Wily Leila had enlisted his services in helping with a mob scene at the end of the second act. She needed him again to direct another third-act ensemble where the revolutionists gather about their chief, Desmond O’Dowd, in the haunted house at the foot of the Cragsmore cliff. Leila knew precisely what she was about in keeping Hal from Marjorie. She was certain both Jerry and Marjorie must have recognized his singing voice.

When the final curtain had descended after Leila and the cast had been surfeited with flowers and curtain calls, and after Leila had made a speech of few and embarrassed words, Hal had still not appeared.

“Let him go.” Jerry had grown out of patience. “I disown him. I never had a brother. I’ll will old Hal to Leila Harper for a stage hand. She has kept him back on the stage and made him work. She – ” Jerry suddenly subsided with an articulate murmur.

Marjorie looked blank. She had never before thought of Leila Harper in conjunction with Hal. How had Hal happened to know the words to the old Irish song? Leila must have sent them to him by letter. No, she must have sent the music for the minuet. She thought that he had not been in Hamilton more than a few hours. Still he might have been on the campus all day and she had never —

There she stopped. Leila was her most devoted friend. She was glad that Hal had at last shown a preference for some one beside herself. Marjorie stopped the thought process again. She found she did not wish to think about Hal and Leila as being interested in each other. She wondered next if they had been corresponding long. Leila had never mentioned in her presence that she had received a letter from Hal. Leila had —

“Marjorie.” The sound of the voice whose tender cadences had lately thrilled her was now speaking her name, and in the same ardent tone.

“Oh, Hal.” Involuntarily both hands went out to meet the strong warm ones which clasped her slender fingers close.

“You gave us a positive electric shock,” complained Jerry. “How long have you been here? Give an account of yourself.”

“Not very long.” Hal relinquished Marjorie’s hands slowly, deliberately. She stood looking at him with an expression of sweet welcome which came to him vaguely as something he had not hitherto seen in her face.

He had already warmly greeted Miss Susanna. She was now engaged in conversation with Professor Wenderblatt, who had come up to speak to her.

“There’s Lillian Wenderblatt over by the orchestra pit talking to Phil. I must see her about the auction. Back in a minute.” Jerry had not noticed any difference in Marjorie’s demeanor toward Hal. She left the two together on general principles.

“Were you surprised to hear my voice before you saw me?” Hal asked with a smile. He was trying to tell himself that he must not show Marjorie that he loved her. She did not like that.

“Yes; I didn’t recognize it for a minute. I only knew it was familiar – and beautiful,” she added with her charming lighting up of feature.

“Thank you. How are you, Marjorie, and the biography? You are the portrait girl tonight, aren’t you?” Hal was struggling valiantly to be impersonal. He wished instead to say to this lovely violet girl: “I love you. I love you.” The grace of her beauty was in his heart. The perfume from the violets at her waist was a breath of sweetness to his hungry soul.

“Yes, I am wearing my violet dress. I am well. The biography is progressing very slowly.” Marjorie felt an odd little chill at Hal’s pleasant inquiries.

“I’m going to the Arms with you,” Hal announced. “Miss Susanna insists that I shall stay there tonight. I must be on my way tomorrow. I’m planning a trip to Alaska. Expect to be gone all summer. I’ll go over to the campus tomorrow before I leave and call on Leila. She certainly is a grand old comrade.”

“I love Leila Greatheart, Hal,” Marjorie said loyally. “I’m so glad you came here to help her with her play.”

“Aren’t you just a little bit glad to see me for myself, Marjorie?” Hal could not resist putting this one question.

“You know I am.” Marjorie attempted to look into his face with her old-time frank smile. She smiled, but the smile was one of shyness. Her brown eyes rested on Hal only an instant. The rose deepened in her cheeks. Hal looked at her, and wondered.