CHAPTER I

JANE WEARS PEARLS

A tap upon her door sent Mrs. Murray Townsend flying across the room to answer it. She expected to find her husband there, awaiting her permission to come in and see her in the cloud-like white gown which she had worn but once before--two months ago. He had vowed since that he had never seen that wedding-gown, being occupied wholly upon the occasion on which it was worn in keeping his head, in order to play his own part with dignity and self-command.

But to Jane's disappointment, she opened the door only to a maid with a florist's box. The box, upon being examined, yielded up among a ma.s.s of roses Murray's card, which bore this message:

Sorry to be delayed, dear, but father wanted to go over everything that has happened at the office during my absence. Will be up in time for the pow-wow. Wear one of these for

MURRAY.

Jane smiled regretfully. It had seemed a long day. Only that morning she and Murray had returned, belated, from their wedding journey across the continent, to find cards out for a reception in their honour to take place that very evening.

"You knew the date," Mrs. Harrison Townsend had said to her elder son, when, upon being told that his delay had caused much anxiety to the givers of the affair, he turned to his bride with a soft whistle of recollection and chagrin.

"I certainly did," he had owned. "I forgot, I 'm afraid, that there were such things as after-wedding festivities due to society, and that this was the date for the first of the series. I don't think Jane even knew."

"I didn't," said Jane, looking regretfully at her mother-in-law's handsome face, which betrayed a slight annoyance. It certainly had been trying to receive daily telegrams from the travellers throughout the past week, announcing delays at this place and that on the homeward way.

"Of course it's of no consequence now that you are safely here. I 'm only sorry Jane will have no chance to rest and visit. The florist's men will arrive within an hour, and the house will be generally upset."

"I 'll run away over to Gay Street, then," said Jane. "Murray 's going down to the office, and mother and Nan will be looking for me."

"My dear, I 'm sorry, but Olive has asked a few friends informally for luncheon, people from out of town who are coming for to-night. It would hardly do for you not to meet them--since two are cousins."

So Jane had had to be content with one brief hour in the little home round the corner in Gay Street, and then she had come back to the big house in Worthington Square, there to begin to act the part expected of her. Murray had been more than sorry to leave her on this first day, but his father's affairs were pressing, the office work had suffered in his absence, and he felt it a necessity to get back into the harness without an hour's delay. He had expected to be early at home, but his message showed Jane that even for her he did not mean to cut short the work of taking up again the routine of business at the point where he had left it two months ago.

Selecting half a dozen of the finest of her roses, Jane, with a long, light coat slipped on over her finery, opened the door and peeped cautiously out into the large, square gallery of the upper hall. n.o.body was in sight. The doors of Mrs. Townsend's and Olive's rooms were closed, the ladies dressing for the affair of the evening. The door of a guest-room, occupied by the two cousins from out of town, was slightly ajar, and a maid was to be seen inside, offering a cup of tea on a tray.

One of the cousins had a headache, and was fortifying herself for a fatiguing evening.

Jane slipped quietly by this door and round the gallery to the point where a staircase led to the lower landing, a place just now embowered in palms, which were to serve as a screen for the string orchestra. She paused an instant on this landing, to look down upon the brilliant picture presented by the entrance-hall and its opening rooms below. The look of it reminded her of an evening long ago, the first upon which she had set foot as a guest in the great unknown house in Worthington Square, when Murray had taken charge of her and brought her up here on the landing, to look down upon the scene in which neither of them had much cared to take part.

"Can this really be my home?" thought Jane, feeling as if it could not all be true, even yet. She ran quickly on downstairs and round the foot of the staircase to a door beneath, which furnished an inconspicuous exit from the big hall, and which opened upon a short pa.s.sage and a side entrance not much used by the family. This had long been a favourite entrance for Murray himself, for it shortened the way to Gay Street.

A very short cut Jane made of it, for a flood of light from the long row of windows in the dining-room fell across the path, and turned it into one less obscure than she wished it to be just now. Holding her delicate skirts well away from the dust of the road, she hurried across, through the warm air of the May evening.

There was n.o.body to be seen downstairs in the old house, although lamps were lighted and the small rooms wore their usual air of home-likeness and order. Jane ran up the steep little staircase which led to the sleeping-rooms above. She understood that, as at the big house, the family were engaged in arraying themselves for the Townsend reception.

She paused at the top of the stairs to listen and observe, for the various doors were all more or less ajar, and the usual atmosphere of friendly family comradeship gave her a little pang of homesickness.

The first thing distinguishable was the fact that Peter seemed to be having a bad time with his neck-gear, and that his cousin, Ross McAndrew, was enjoying his perturbation of mind.

"Either my neck is bigger than it was, or this neckband has shrunk."

Peter's growl rolled out into the tiny hall, and brought a dimple into Jane's cheek as she listened.

"Probably both catastrophes have happened." This was Ross's voice in reply. "Anybody who has seen you stow away buckwheat cakes and maple-syrup all winter could n't be surprised if your neck should take a seventeen collar this spring."

"Seventeen nothing! Sixteen's my size, and when I wear a bigger it 'll be because---- O jiminy, I 've burst that b.u.t.tonhole! What on earth am I to do now? I don't own but one dress shirt that 'll fit the barn-door opening in my white waistcoat."

"Your mother 'll sew that up on your back. I 'll do it myself if you won't howl at a p.r.i.c.k or two."

"Much obliged, but I know the general style of your repairs in a case like this. Nan 'll do it, if she's dressed," and Peter's door swung open. Intent on reaching his younger sister, whose door was next beyond his own, he did not observe the figure at the head of the stairs in the shadow. He proceeded to perform a double tattoo upon Nancy's door.

"What's the matter, Petey?" sounded an amiable voice from within.

"Neckband of my shirt's a wreck. Want you to come and splice the main brace."

"All right--if you 'll b.u.t.ton me up the back. I can't reach below the fourth b.u.t.ton, and mother's busy dressing, too. It's so inconvenient having Janey married."

"Give and take's fair play," agreed Peter, as a charming young figure in pink-flowered muslin backed out of the door, both bare arms strenuously demonstrating that they could not reach below the fourth b.u.t.ton. "Stand still now--no fidgeting. What on earth a girl wants her rigging fastened behind for is beyond me! If it must be, why not use b.u.t.tons big enough to get hold of?"

"Look out, don't treat my b.u.t.tonholes as you did your own, or I 'll have to be sewed up, too."

"All right--you're done. Turn round and let's see how you look in front. Good work! You 're a stunner, and tremendously grown up, too, with your hair that way. Put it up the day you were eighteen, did n't you?"

"Of course," admitted Nancy, with her comely head held high. Then, as Jane's white skirts in the shadow caught her eye, "Why, there 's Janey!

You dear! Oh, how good it looks to see you standing there!"

At the cry three doors flew wide open, and Mr. Bell, Ross, and Rufus appeared simultaneously upon their respective thresholds, while a voice from within called, "Is Jane there? Come here, dear!"

"O mother, let me do your hair, will you?" offered Jane, eagerly, when she had succeeded in making her way past the embraces of her delighted family.

"Not in that dress, child! Mercy, remember it's your wedding-gown, and don't whisk round so! Sit down there and let me look at you while I put my hair up; it won't take but a minute, and then you shall help me into my dress."

"If you won't let me do your hair, I 'll go sew up Pete's b.u.t.tonhole. I must do something for somebody. It seems so funny to have got dressed over in the big house. I just had to come over here and see the rest of you getting ready and consulting each other on details as usual. Where's your work-basket, mother dear? Nan," running to the door--"don't you _dare_ to mend Peter's shirt! I want to do it myself."

"All right, Mrs. Townsend, nothing will suit me better," declared Peter, with satisfaction, kneeling in front of his sister with his back to her, while she sat on the edge of his splint-bottomed armchair and threaded her needle. "What does Murray think, by the way, of having his bride rush over here to a.s.sist her family, and leave him to shift for himself?

Why are n't you putting in his studs and things, like a dutiful wife?"

"He could n't get home from the office till the last minute.

Mr.--Father Townsend wanted to consult him on so much that's happened while we 've been gone. Of course I 'm going back before he comes,"

responded Jane. "Dear me--wreck is certainly the word for this b.u.t.tonhole. Did you try to put your thumb through it?"

"Tried to climb through it myself bodily at the last. Anything better calculated to put a fellow into a lovely frame of mind for an affair where's he's expected to make himself agreeable I don't know. Wrestling to get an iron collar on a steel neckband is--well--it's a trifle upsetting to the nerves. Be sure you get that b.u.t.tonhole the right size. Better try the collar-b.u.t.ton in it before you make fast."

"When you 're done with him you can tie my tie for me, if you 're looking for work," announced Rufus, appearing in the doorway. "I can't seem to get the right curve on the thing."

"Janey, would you wear this bracelet Shirley gave me last Christmas, or would n't you?" Nancy looked in over Rufus's shoulder. At eighteen she was tall for her years; at twenty-one Rufus, although st.u.r.dily built, had no advantage of her in inches. It was Peter, with his six feet of brawn, who was the family pride in the matter of size.

Jane snipped off her thread and turned to look at her younger sister.

"Do as you like, Nan, of course," said she, "but--if you want to look quite perfect in my eyes you 'll leave it off."

"Good for you!" Peter observed Nancy's simple frock and fair neck with approval. "Lots of time for the gewgaws when they 're needed to cover up the hollows."

"Now I 'll go help mother," said Jane, having adjusted Rufus's cravat to his satisfaction, mended a tiny rip in Ross's glove, and given her father a hug, since his dressing was completed, and there seemed to be nothing else she could do for him. He had held her fast, regardless of her bridal attire, for he had missed her sorely during her two months'

absence, and the thought that, however often she might seek it, his roof was no longer hers, was one not easily a.s.similated.