Part 15 (1/2)

CHAPTER XI

ALMA MAKES COMPLICATIONS

Charlotte was sitting in the easy chair which she had imported to her new lodging with the rest of her belongings, munching peanuts. Her bushy brown hair was pinned up into a droll little ”nubbin” on top of her head, her goggles had slipped down almost to the tip of her nose, and altogether her att.i.tude, when Nancy burst in upon her late on Sunday afternoon, gave evidence that she was in a thoughtful mood. She had often said that peanuts always disposed her to meditation. With her feet on the window-seat she gazed out upon a rather dreary scene of fog and rain, hardly blinking her big, heavy-lidded eyes, and devouring peanuts like an automaton. But the unchanging gravity of her face, as she turned around to greet her prodigal roommate, told Nancy that there was really some serious matter on her friend's mind.

”h.e.l.lo! Have a good time?” was her only greeting.

”Very. Did you like the play yesterday? I--I hope you understood why I--I mean after I had told you that I had to stay here----”

”Nancy, you know you don't have to explain anything to me. If you couldn't go with me, don't you suppose that I knew that you had your own reasons for not going?” interrupted Charlotte warmly. ”My idea of real 'bosom friends,' as they call 'em, is of two people who know when not to bother each other with questions.

”The reason why most of these ardent school-girl friends.h.i.+ps come to violent deaths is because they _will_ insist on telling each other everything, and demanding an explanation for every why and wherefore.

And that's that. Take off your things and have a peanut--or even two, if you like.”

Nancy tossed her hat on the bed and began to take off her heavy clothes.

”You seemed sort of grave, Charlotte, when I came in. Has anything happened?” she asked, as she slipped into her dressing-gown and shook down her hair.

”Well, in a way, yes,” replied Charlotte. ”Nothing to worry you really, and it's really not my affair, except that it concerns you and Alma. It's only that I'm afraid that that donkey Mildred Lloyd got Alma into rather a sc.r.a.pe yesterday. Oh, don't look so scared--it's all fixed up. Only, if I were you, I'd have a good talk with Alma about Mildred.”

”But what happened?” cried Nancy, who had turned quite pale, in spite of Charlotte's hasty rea.s.surances.

”Well, the chief trouble was that they overstayed their time in town yesterday. Ten o'clock is the very latest that any of us can come in on a holiday, As you know, and as they knew, and as that little pinhead, Mademoiselle, knew. It seems that one of the boys persuaded them to stay in for dinner and to go to the theatre again afterwards.

So they didn't get in until after twelve. Well, as you can imagine, Amelia went on a regular rampage. And I've a notion that she was a good deal harder on poor Alma than she was on Mildred. Amelia is more afraid of angering Mildred than Mildred is of angering her. Mildred always takes Mademoiselle as her chaperone because she is quite sure of being able to make that little poodle do anything she wants. And Mildred, being the daughter of Marshall Lloyd, is _persona grata_ here, and can wriggle out of any sc.r.a.pe. I know Mildred down to the ground.

I've roomed with her for a year. For some reason or other she never tried to coax me into any rule breaking--probably because we were never intimate at all, and because she knew that I don't think there's any fun or sense in that sort of thing. It doesn't take any great cleverness to break a rule, and you don't get anything much by doing so. If you want my opinion, I think that Mildred is a very unsafe sort of friend for a girl like Alma. I don't believe that Alma honestly likes her--Mildred is more than inclined to be a bully, and extremely capricious--but somehow a lot of girls feel flattered when Mildred 'takes them up,' and will do anything she tells them to, without using their own common sense for a minute. I'm saying all this to you, Nancy, when I wouldn't say it to anyone else. I don't like the idea of picking to pieces a girl whom you roomed with for a year, but I think that both of us ought to try to make Alma open her eyes before Mildred gets her into any more mischief.”

Nancy sat silent for a time, staring out of the window, and biting her finger thoughtfully. She longed to ask Charlotte's advice, but she hesitated to discuss her own sister even with this very close and sincere friend. She hated to admit Alma's weaknesses even to herself, and she could not bring herself to speak of them to anyone else. But she felt very uncertain as to how she was going to approach Alma on the subject of her friends.h.i.+p with Mildred; for in spite of their reconciliation, she knew that Alma was not ready to take any warnings, without flying up with a lot of notions about the n.o.bility of friends.h.i.+p and so on; true and idealistic notions in themselves, but so unwisely applied that she stood in danger of losing them altogether through disillusionment.

”I think Alma's alone now. Have you seen her?” said Charlotte. ”The poor little creature has been awfully unhappy about the scolding Miss Leland gave her--Mildred wasn't at all cast down and goes around looking as if she had done something very smart. The very fact that Alma is feeling so blue about it all, while Mildred is perfectly unconcerned, shows the difference in the sort of stuff they are made of. And we must take care that Alma doesn't change under Mildred's influence so that she, too, will think it very smart to get into silly sc.r.a.pes just for the fun of getting out of them.”

Nancy sprang up, and without a word left the room.

There was no light in her sister's room, but in the gray twilight that shone in forlornly she made out a pathetic little heap on the bed. She felt a lump of pity and motherly tenderness rise in her throat; not a particle of blame was in her heart--only a desire to cuddle and comfort her thoughtless little sister.

”Alma,” she called softly. A tousled head was lifted from the pillow, and even in the dim light she could see how Alma's rosy, childlike face was stained and swollen with tears.

”Oh, Nancy! I _am_ so glad you're back! Oh, don't be angry with me.

You aren't angry, are you?” sobbed Alma.

”Angry!” echoed Nancy, laughing tremulously. ”Oh, you poor little darling--don't be so unhappy about it all.” She hugged Alma tightly and kissed her hot cheek, feeling the tears on it.

”Then you _do_ know about it. It wasn't my fault, Nancy--that is, it wasn't Milly's, either. Don't think I'm trying to s.h.i.+ft the blame.

Oh, I have been so _miserable_.”

”Why, dearest, it wasn't anything very bad--it was only foolish. Cheer up!”

”You see,--you see--Frank was there, and another boy--and they hated to go back to Cambridge--and it all seemed perfectly harmless--and Milly said it was perfectly all right, and that Miss Leland wouldn't care a bit--and that she had often done it. I hadn't any idea--until I thought about you, and I knew you wouldn't like it. But I didn't think about that until we were coming home. But Milly just laughed.”