CHAPTER XX

"I am going to remind you of that tomorrow evening," d.i.c.k said quietly.

"I am confident now that Miss Sutherland will come off victorious."

Dolly was glad that a bevy of girls surrounded them just then, demanding all the latest information with regard to the contests on tomorrow. She slipped away from her companion soon, and managed to hold him at a distance until the next afternoon, when the great events came off. The best places for seeing had been reserved for the seniors and their friends, so when Dolly took her place by her mother, it was not at all strange that d.i.c.k Martin should be seated on the other side of her.

On the opposite benches were the friends of the other compet.i.tors, and college flags and college cries were much in evidence. Cornell and Va.s.sar seemed particularly confident, and as Dolly heard their shouts and noticed their jubilant flags, she grew despondent.

Beth was sitting just back of her. "Don't give up before we fairly commence, Dolly. We have just as much right to shout as they have. Mary did magnificently this morning."

"And don't forget that you are to take a walk with me this evening, and I'll tell you then what I want you to do for me." That was d.i.c.k Martin.

"Oh, don't you know that tonight we give a supper to the visitors from the other colleges? I can't go with you possibly."

"I mean to have my walk either before or after; you shall not snub me in that fashion."

But Dolly pretended not to hear. Her eyes were on the smooth stretch of road in front of her. They were jumping, yes--Mary was not as good at that as she was at running.

Dolly slipped her hand into her mother's.

"It is a very good thing that such events as this come only once in a lifetime. I am too excitable to stand the strain equably like Constance."

"Once in a lifetime is quite enough, I'll agree," said Mrs. Alden, looking rather anxiously at Dolly's flushed cheeks. "I shall be glad to have you safely at home, where I can keep you quiet and have you rest."

"Yes, Mother," said Dolly, not really hearing a word of what Mrs.

Alden was saying. "Oh, look! Wasn't that splendid of Mary? Do cheer her, Mr. Martin. Louder! Louder yet! Mary has gone farther than any of them, but I am afraid of Miss Smith of Va.s.sar. That is she now! Oh!" A despairing note in her tone as Miss Smith made a better record than Mary had done. "How dreadful! But Mary has won us a second at least, and that is really more than I dared hope."

"Cheer up, then. There are two more chances for you."

"We do not stand the slightest chance in the boat race, and I am afraid that Mary cannot do any better in the running. Still I am grateful for what she has won for us. We shall not be disgraced, at least."

"Now watch!" as the runners lined up in position. "I have a presentiment that you will feel jubilant when this race is over."

And it became evident, almost from the first second, that Westover would win. Mary's pride was fully roused. She knew how anxious her cla.s.s was to come off victorious in one of the contests at least, and she did her very best, but her best was needed, for Cornell was very close behind her.

The cheering and yelling were almost deafening. Really, Mr. Alden said, it was quite as bad as one of the Harvard football games. He didn't see to what the girls' colleges were coming, if this sort of thing continued.

But Dolly and Beth, to whom his words were addressed, heard not a syllable of his raillery. They were too intent on waving their flags and cheering Mary. Westover had covered herself with glory, and Dolly could go home tomorrow with not a wish ungratified.

Fred hurried up to his people. "Mary saved the day for you, didn't she?

She is having a regular ovation down by the Oaks. Shall I take you to her, Dolly?"

"Yes, yes, I am wild to see her and thank her. The idea of Mary's being the one to come to the rescue so n.o.bly. I always knew she was a dear! You need not save my seat for me, Mother, I would rather not see the boat race at all, we stand no show there."

And Dolly whisked down from her high seat of honor as president of the cla.s.s, and ran in search of Mary, whose father and mother could not comprehend the importance of all the athletic contests, but who were nevertheless filled with very pardonable pride at their daughter's triumph.

When Dolly reached the Oaks, Mary had disappeared, and the most diligent search in grounds and rooms failed to reveal her.

Dolly wandered back disconsolately just in time to hear the crowd cheering for Wellesley, who had won the boat race, with Va.s.sar a close second.

"They can have their victory, and welcome," Dolly said contentedly to d.i.c.k Martin, who joined her just then. "We have all we want. I must go now and see if the tables are all in readiness for tonight."

"I just heard Miss Newby declare that everything had been done, so I hope you will walk down to the end of the grounds with me. Can't you do that, Dolly? I have been trying to get a moment with you for a long time. I must go back to Boston at eight o'clock, and this is my last opportunity to talk with you."

[Ill.u.s.tration: "Aren't you going to say anything to me, Dolly?"]

"Well," with an unaccountable hesitation in her manner. "I suppose that a cla.s.s president ought not to run away like this, but if you will not take me far--"

"I want to take you all along life's journey, Dolly. Is that too much to ask? You know what I hope to do, what my plans are and how I am longing to do a little good in the world. Will you help me? I think I have cared for you ever since the first time we met. Aren't you going to say anything to me, Dolly?"

Dolly's brain was in a whirl. How could she tell? Yet, did she want him to go off and never come back? No, no, she knew she could hardly endure that. And d.i.c.k, not knowing what her silence meant, and fearing that a bitter disappointment was in store for him, leaned down to look in her face. Dolly smiled up at him tremulously, and d.i.c.k had the answer he wished, although no words were spoken.

Late that night Dolly sought out her mother for a word. "I could not go to sleep tonight without telling you, Mother, but--"

"I understand, Dolly, d.i.c.k has spoken, hasn't he? I knew that he would, for he wished to do so a year ago, but I think he feared a refusal then.

We have known his feeling for you for a long time, Dolly dearest, and I know that he will make your life very happy. But he must let you stay with us for a long time yet."

"Of course," said Dolly hastily. "Of course, why, I would never, never go off from you now. d.i.c.k will not be through with his medical studies for two or three years yet. You will have me at home a long time, Motherdie."

"We can't have you too long, Dolly; we would like to keep you always, but that is impossible, evidently."

And then Dolly turned consoler, and there was a long, long talk, despite the fact that it was in the wee small hours, and that they were all to take a railroad journey that day.

Dolly got up at last reluctantly enough, but she stopped even then when she reached the door.

"Mother, did you notice Fred late last evening? What was the matter with him? He looked so grave and sober."

"He has not told me anything at all, Dolly, but I imagine that he has spoken to Mary."

"Oh, Mother, couldn't he see for himself that Mary cares nothing for him? The poor boy!"

"I am sorry for him, dear; I feared that he would speak too soon, but it was best to say nothing. Fred will not give up easily, and in time Mary may come to appreciate him. Now she does not give a thought to anything beyond her plans and her work."

"I do not believe that she will ever change," and Dolly went to her room with her own new joy tinged with sadness as she thought of Fred's disappointment.

It is more than two years later. The cla.s.s of '09 had been holding a reunion in New York. A number of the members lived in that city, and others were within easy access of it. So Constance had proposed that there should be semi-annual reunions at her home for as many as could come. Several of these reunions had been held now, and the girls enjoyed them, perhaps even more than the yearly gatherings at Westover during Commencement week, when they did not really have time to compare notes and gossip, as they liked to do, over all the little happenings of the past year.

This time there seemed even more news than usual to be talked over and discussed. Sarah Weston would sail the next week for India as a missionary, Grace Egle was studying medicine, Ellen Terence and Kate Seaton were doing work on New York newspapers, and were doing it well, too. Margaret had run off for a day from the well-known college in which she had a good position; Mary was there, too, but after the holidays she would go west, for she had accepted the chair of Biology in a new woman's college just started there. One of the girls was singing in a fashionable church, though, when she used that adjective, Beth protested vigorously.

"I think that it is horrible to speak of a fashionable church. I know that it is often done, but a church that merits such an adjective cannot be a church in the true sense of the term."

There had been some lively talk on the subject after Beth's remark, and the girls had enjoyed it, for it seemed like the old days at Westover, when they were constantly picking each other up and holding conversational tilts.