"Mr. Hunt," Betty asked quickly, "won't you please close that window for us? It is too cold to have it open and besides one does not altogether like the idea that outside persons might be able to look into the room."

Perhaps Richard Hunt was just a moment longer at the window in the performance of so simple a task than one might have expected, but no one observed it.

As he took his place again and Betty thanked him she looked at him with a slight frown.

"Did you see a ghost, Mr. Hunt?" she queried. "It is not a comfortable night even for a ghost to be prowling about. It is too lonely an occupation for Christmas eve."

Richard Hunt smiled at his companion in return. "Oh, I am always seeing ghosts, Miss Ashton," he answered; "I suppose it is because I have an actor's vivid imagination."

CHAPTER XI-A Christmas Song and Recognition

The entire number of guests who had been together at Esther's and d.i.c.k Ashton's Christmas-eve dinner, agreed to be at church the following morning in order to hear Esther sing.

In spite of the fact that Boston is one of the most musical of American cities and Esther the most modest of persons, even in so short a time her beautiful voice had given her an enviable reputation. The papers in giving notice of the morning service had mentioned the fact that the solo would be given by Mrs. Richard Ashton. But church music must have been Esther's real vocation, for no matter how large the congregation nor how difficult her song she never felt any of her old nervousness and embarra.s.sment. For one thing she was partly hidden behind the choir screen, so she need not fear that critical eyes were upon her; she could be alone with her music and something that was stronger and higher than herself.

On Christmas morning Betty entered their pew with her brother d.i.c.k, Mollie O'Neill and Billy Webster. She was wearing a dark green broadcloth with a small black velvet toque on her red-brown hair and a new set of black fox furs that her brother and sister had given her that morning for a Christmas present. She was pale and a little tired from yesterday's festivities, so that a single red rose which had come to her from some unknown source that morning, was the only really bright color about her except for the lights in her hair. Mollie was flushed and smiling with the interest in the new place and people and the companionship of tried friends.

Betty thought that Margaret Adams also seemed weary when she came in with Mr. Hunt a few moments later. She was glad that the great lady happened to be placed next her so that she might feel the thrill of her nearness. For genius is thrilling, no matter how simple and unpretentious the man or woman who possesses it. Margaret Adams wore a wonderful long Russian sable coat and a small velvet hat and, just as naturally as if she had been another girl, slipped her hand into Betty's and held it during the service.

So that in spite of her best efforts Betty could not keep her attention from wandering now and then. She knew that Margaret Adams was almost equally as devoted to Polly O'Neill as she herself and wondered what she thought of their friend's conduct. She wished that they might have the opportunity to talk the matter over before Miss Adams finished her stay in Boston. Then, though realizing her own bad manners, Betty could not help being a little curious over the friendship between Miss Adams and Mr. Hunt. They seemed to have known each other such a long, long time and to have acted together so many times. Of course Margaret Adams was several years older, but that scarcely mattered with so unusual a person.

Moreover, there were other influences at work to keep Betty Ashton's mind from being as firmly fixed upon the subject of the morning's sermon as it should have been. For was she not conscious of the presence of Meg and John Everett and Anthony Graham in the pew just back of her? And though it did seem vain and self-conscious of her, she had the sensation that at least two pairs of eyes were frequently concentrated upon the back of her head or upon her profile should she chance to turn her face half way around.

When the offertory was finally announced and Esther began the first lines of her solo, not only was her sister Betty's attention caught and held, but that of almost every other human being in the church. It was not a beautiful Christmas day, outside there were scurrying gray clouds and a kind of bleak coldness. But the church was warmly and beautifully lighted, the altar white with lilies and crimson with roses, speaking of pa.s.sion and peace. And Esther's voice had in it something of almost celestial sweetness. She was no longer a girl but a woman, for d.i.c.k's love and a promise of a fulfilment equally beautiful had added to her natural gift a deeper emotional power. And she sang one of the simplest and at the same time one of the most beautiful of Christmas hymns.

Betty was perfectly willing to allow all the unhappiness and disappointments of the past few months to relieve themselves in the tears that came unchecked. Then she saw Margaret Adams bite her lips and close her eyes as if she too were shutting out the world of ordinary vision to live only in beautiful sound and a higher communion.

"Hark! the herald angels sing Glory to the new-born King; Peace on earth, and mercy mild, G.o.d and sinners reconciled!

Joyful, all ye nations, rise, Join the triumph of the skies; With the angelic host proclaim, Christ is born in Bethlehem.

Hark! the herald angels sing Glory to the new-born King.

"Christ, by highest heaven adored; Christ, the everlasting Lord; Late in time behold Him come, Offspring of a virgin's womb.

Veil'd in flesh the G.o.dhead see, Hail, th' Incarnate Deity!

Pleased as man with man to dwell, Jesus, our Emmanuel!

Hark! the herald angels sing Glory to the new-born King.

"Hail, the heaven-born Prince of Peace!

Hail, the Sun of righteousness!

Light and life to all He brings, Risen with healing in His wings.

Mild He lays His glory by, Born that man no more may die; Born to raise the sons of earth, Born to give them second birth.

Hark! the herald angels sing Glory to the new-born King."

At the close of the service, turning to leave the church, Betty Ashton felt a hand laid on her arm, and glancing up in surprise found Anthony Graham's eyes gazing steadfastly into hers.

"We are friends, are we not, Betty? You would not let any misunderstanding or any change in your life alter that?" he asked hurriedly.

For just an instant the girl hesitated, then answered simply and gracefully:

"I don't think any one could be unfaithful to an old friendship on Christmas morning after hearing Esther sing. It was not in the least necessary, Anthony, for you to ask me such a question. You know I shall always wish you the best possible things."

Then, without allowing the young man to reply or to accompany her down the aisle, she hurried away to her other friends, and, slipping her arm firmly inside Mollie O'Neill's, she never let go her clasp until they were safely out of church.

"It is no use, Meg, nothing matters," Anthony Graham said a quarter of an hour later, when he and Margaret Everett were on their way home together, John having deserted them to join the other party. "The fact is, Betty does not care in the least one way or the other what I say or do."

"Then I wish you would let me tell her the truth," Meg urged. "You see, Anthony, the Princess and I have always been such intimate friends and I have always admired her more than any of the other girls. I don't wish her to misunderstand us. She may not be so brilliant as Polly, nor so clever as Sylvia or your sister Nan, but somehow Betty is-well, I suppose she is what a real Princess ought to be. That is what Polly always declared. It is not just because she is pretty and generous, but she is so high-minded. Nothing would make her even appear to take advantage of a friend." And Meg sighed, her usually happy face clouding.

In silence, then, the girl and young man walked on for a few moments when Anthony replied: "You must do as you like, of course, Meg. I have no right to ask you anything else. But this understanding between us means everything in the world to me and it was your own offer in the beginning."

Meg nodded. "Yes, I know; but truly I don't think as much of my idea as I did at first. Still I am willing to keep quiet for a while longer if you wish it."

At this moment there was no further opportunity for intimate conversation, for Meg's Harvard friend, Ralph Brown, made his appearance with a five-pound box of candy, elaborately tied with red ribbon, under his arm, and an expression on his face that suggested politely but firmly that Anthony Graham retire for the present, leaving the field to him.

Of their friends in Boston only Margaret Adams and Richard Hunt had been invited by Esther and Dr. Ashton to have an informal Christmas dinner with them. For the dinner party the evening before had been such a domestic strain upon the little household that they wished to spend the following day quietly. But it was impossible to think of Margaret Adams dining alone in a great hotel, and she would certainly accept no invitation from her wealthier and more fashionable acquaintances in Boston. Moreover, Betty hoped that in the afternoon there might be a chance to talk of Polly. At the beginning no one had dreamed of including Richard Hunt in the invitation, as he was a comparative stranger; but d.i.c.k, having taken a sudden fancy to him, had calmly suggested his returning for Christmas day without due consultation with his family.

Five minutes after starting for home with d.i.c.k and Esther, Mollie, Betty and Miss Adams, Mr. Hunt, with a murmured excuse which no one understood, asked to be excused from going further. He would join the party later if possible, but should he chance to be delayed dinner must on no account be kept waiting for him.

His conduct did seem rather extraordinary, and although d.i.c.k and Esther betrayed no surprise, it was plain enough that Margaret Adams felt annoyed. She had introduced Mr. Hunt to her friends and so naturally felt responsible for his conduct.

Though the man was aware of his apparent eccentricity and though his manners were usually nearly perfect, he now deliberately turned away from the little company. And in spite of his half-hearted suggestion of re-joining them he had little idea at present of when he would return.

Deliberately he retraced his steps to the church which he had quitted only a few moments before.

Already the place was nearly deserted. On the sidewalk the clergyman was saying farewell to a few final members of his congregation, while inside the s.e.xton was closing the doors of the two side aisles, although the large door in the center still remained open. Hurriedly Mr. Hunt entered. And there, just as he had hoped to find her, was the figure of a girl sitting in a rather dejected att.i.tude in one of the last pews.

She had on a dark dress and a heavy long coat and about her head a thick veil was tied.

Before he could reach her she had risen and was starting away.

"Wait here for a moment, Miss O'Neill; we can find no other spot so quiet in which to have a talk," the man said sternly.

Then as Polly flashed an indignant glance at him, attempting to pa.s.s as though she had neither seen nor recognized him, he added:

"I know I have no right to intrude upon you, but unless you are willing to give me some explanation of why you are here and what you are doing, I shall tell the friends who are nearer to you than I am of my having seen you not only this morning, but last night as well."

"Oh, please don't!" Polly's voice was trembling. "Really, truly, I am not doing anything wrong in staying here in Boston and not letting people hear. My mother knows where I am and what I am doing and of course I am not alone. Yes, it was utterly silly and reckless of me to have peeped in at Esther's dining-room window last night, but I was so dreadfully lonely and wanted to see everybody so much. How could I have dreamed that that wretched curtain would go banging away up in the air as it did? But anyhow, Mr. Hunt, I shall always be everlastingly grateful to you for not telling on me last night. I did not suppose you saw me and certainly never imagined you could have recognized me when I crouched down in the shadow."

Unexpectedly Polly O'Neill laughed. "What a perfect idiot I should have looked if you had dragged me in before the dinner party like a spy or a thief or a beggar! I can just imagine Esther's and Mollie's expressions."

"Yes, but all this is not quite to the point, Miss Polly," Richard Hunt continued, speaking however in a more friendly tone. "Am I to tell Margaret Adams and Betty Ashton that I have discovered you, or will you take me into your secret and let me decide what is best to be done afterwards?"

"But you have not the right to do either the one thing nor the other,"

the girl argued, lifting her veil for an instant in order to see if there was any sign of relenting in the face of her older friend.

There was not the slightest. And Polly recognized that for once in her life she was beaten.

"Don't say anything today then, please," she urged, looking into her pocketbook and finding there a card with a name and address written upon it. "But come to see me tomorrow if you like. And don't think that I am ungrateful or-or horrid," she ended abruptly, rushing away so swiftly that it would have been impossible for any one to have followed her without creating attention.