She marched straight across the lawn.The hostess, the fashionable visitors, the fashionable guests soon centered upon the extraordinary figure moving toward them under that blazing sun.The figure was extraordinary not for dress--the dress was plain and unconspicuous--but for that expression of the free and the untamed, the lack of self-consciousness so rarely seen except in children and animals.Jane rushed to the steps to welcome her, seized her extended hands and kissed her with as much enthusiasm as she kissed Jane.There was sincerity in this greeting of Jane's; but there was pose, also.Here was one of those chances to do the unconventional, the democratic thing.
``What a glorious surprise!'' cried Jane.``You'll stop for lunch, of course?'' Then to the girls nearest them: ``This is Selma Gordon, who writes for the New Day.''
Pronouncing of names--smiles--bows--veiled glances of curiosity--several young women exchanging whispered comments of amusement.And to be sure, Selma, in that simple costume, gloveless, with dusty shoes and blown hair, did look very much out of place.But then Selma would have looked, in a sense, out of place anywhere but in a wilderness with perhaps a few tents and a half-tamed herd as background.In another sense, she seemed in place anywhere as any natural object must.
``I don't eat lunch,'' said Selma.``But I'll stay if you'll put me next to you and let me talk to you.''
She did not realize what an upsetting of order and precedence this request, which seemed so simple to her, involved.Jane hesitated, but only for a fraction of a second.``Why, certainly,'' said she.``Now that I've got you I'd not let you go in any circumstances.''
Selma was gazing around at the other girls with the frank and pleased curiosity of a child.``Gracious, what pretty clothes!''
she cried--she was addressing Miss Clearwater, of Cincinnati.
``I've read about this sort of thing in novels and in society columns of newspapers.But I never saw it before.ISN'T it interesting!''
Miss Clearwater, whose father was a United States Senator--by purchase--had had experience of many oddities, male and female.
She also was attracted by Selma's sparkling delight, and by the magnetic charm which she irradiated as a rose its perfume.
``Pretty clothes are attractive, aren't they?'' said she, to be saying something.
``I don't know a thing about clothes,'' confessed Selma.``I've never owned at the same time more than two dresses fit to wear--usually only one.And quite enough for me.I'd only be fretted by a lot of things of that kind.But I like to see them on other people.If I had my way the whole world would be well dressed.''
``Except you?'' said Ellen Clearwater with a smile.
``I couldn't be well dressed if I tried,'' replied Selma.``When I was a child I was the despair of my mother.Most of the people in the tenement where we lived were very dirty and disorderly--naturally enough, as they had no knowledge and no money and no time.But mother had ideas of neatness and cleanliness, and she used to try to keep me looking decent.But it was of no use.Ten minutes after she had smoothed me down Iwas flying every which way again.''
``You were brought up in a tenement?'' said Miss Clearwater.
Several of the girls within hearing were blushing for Selma and were feeling how distressed Jane Hastings must be.
``I had a wonderfully happy childhood,'' replied Selma.``Until I was old enough to understand and to suffer.I've lived in tenements all my life--among very poor people.I'd not feel at home anywhere else.''
``When I was born,'' said Miss Clearwater, ``we lived in a log cabin up in the mining district of Michigan.''
Selma showed the astonishment the other girls were feeling.But while their astonishment was in part at a girl of Ellen Clearwater's position making such a degrading confession, hers had none of that element in it.``You don't in the least suggest a log cabin or poverty of any kind,'' said she.``I supposed you had always been rich and beautifully dressed.''
``No, indeed,'' replied Ellen.She gazed calmly round at the other girls who were listening.``I doubt if any of us here was born to what you see.Of course we-- some of us--make pretenses--all sorts of silly pretenses.But as a matter of fact there isn't one of us who hasn't near relatives in the cabins or the tenements at this very moment.''
There was a hasty turning away from this dangerous conversation.
Jane came back from ordering the rearrangement of her luncheon table.Said Selma:
``I'd like to wash my hands, and smooth my hair a little.''
``You take her up, Ellen,'' said Jane.``And hurry.We'll be in the dining-room when you come down.''
Selma's eyes were wide and roving as she and Ellen went through the drawing-room, the hall, up stairs and into the very prettily furnished suite which Ellen was occupying.``I never saw anything like this before!'' exclaimed Selma.``It's the first time I was ever in a grand house.This is a grand house, isn't it?''
``No--it's only comfortable,'' replied Ellen.``Mr.
Hastings--and Jane, too, don't go in for grandeur.''
``How beautiful everything is--and how convenient!'' exclaimed Selma.``I haven't felt this way since the first time I went to the circus.'' She pointed to a rack from which were suspended thin silk dressing gowns of various rather gay patterns.``What are those?'' she inquired.
``Dressing gowns,'' said Ellen.``Just to wear round while one is dressing or undressing.''
Selma advanced and felt and examined them.``But why so many?''
she inquired.
``Oh, foolishness,'' said Ellen.``Indulgence! To suit different moods.''
``Lovely,'' murmured Selma.``Lovely!''
``I suspect you of a secret fondness for luxury,'' said Ellen slyly.
Selma laughed.``What would I do with such things?'' she inquired.``Why, I'd have no time to wear them.I'd never dare put on anything so delicate.''
