CHAPTER XI

NORA BECOMES INVOLVED IN DIFFICULTY

Luncheon was over--a wonderful luncheon, at which Nora had been treated to so many strange, new dishes, that she began to feel more strongly than ever that she must be living in a fairy tale. She had never before even known of the existence of such things as “lobster à la Newburg,” “chicken à la king” and “peach Melba.” And now they had gone out on the piazza, where many of the hotel guests had already assembled, to listen to the orchestra, and bask in the soft sea-breeze and glorious sunshine. Nora was enjoying herself as she would not have believed possible a few hours earlier. She stood by the piazza railing, letting the wind blow her curls about her face, and listening to the gay march, with which the musicians had begun their afternoon concert. Mr. Crawford and the Carews were chatting with friends. Nora was just beginning to wonder what had become of Reggie Starr, when she caught sight of him approaching in her direction, accompanied by another boy of about his own age and a girl possibly a year or two older. All three were talking excitedly, and Nora had an uncomfortable conviction that she, herself, was the subject of their conversation. She gave Reggie a welcoming smile, but to her surprise it was not he but the strange girl who was the first to address her.

“Kathleen Crawford,” she began, pausing in front of Nora, and regarding her with flashing eyes, “I want to know something! Did you tell Reggie Starr on the ship that you didn’t know Bobby and me?”

She was a tall girl, and there was such a determined, masterful way about her, that Nora instinctively shrank back against the railing.

“I don’t know; I--I don’t think I did,” she faltered.

The girl turned indignantly to Reggie, who was looking red and uncomfortable.

“What did she tell you, Reggie?” she demanded, sternly. “You asked her if she knew us, and what did she say?”

Reggie did not answer, but moved uncomfortably from one foot to the other, and glanced helplessly at Nora.

“Oh, shut up, Marjorie!” protested the other boy, who was evidently Marjorie’s brother. “What’s the use of making a row about nothing?”

“It isn’t nothing,” maintained Marjorie, her voice beginning to tremble. “Would you think it was nothing if somebody who was your best friend only a month ago told another person she didn’t know you?”

“Oh,” cried Nora in genuine distress, “I’m so very sorry. Did you really think--I mean am I really your best friend?”

Marjorie turned away, in wrath almost too great for words.

“Come, Bobby,” she commanded; “we don’t want to talk to people who don’t want to know us.” And she flounced away, followed by her brother. But Reggie remained standing by Nora’s side.

“I say!” he burst out indignantly, “what made you tell me you didn’t know the Campbells? I didn’t mean to get anybody into trouble, but I was talking about you, and Marjorie said you were her best friend, and I was so surprised that, before I thought, I’d blurted out what you said about not knowing them. I’m awfully sorry.”

Nora clasped her hands.

“I know it sounds dreadfully queer,” she said, “but you don’t understand, and I can’t possibly explain. I don’t wonder that girl thought I was horrid.”

“Well, it was all your own fault, if she did,” said Reggie, bluntly. “I suppose you’ve had a row, and didn’t want to know her any more, but you needn’t have told a fib about it.”

“I didn’t!” cried Nora, her quick, Irish temper rising at the accusation. “I never tell fibs. I wouldn’t do such a thing.”

“I don’t know what you call the thing you said, then,” maintained Reggie, whose temper was as quick as Nora’s. “You told me you didn’t know the Campbells, and Marjorie Campbell says you were her best friend only a month ago. Maybe you call it just imagination, but it’s----”

Reggie did not finish his sentence, for, with a stifled sob, Nora had turned and fled.

She hurried on, blindly, through the open door, along the hotel corridor, scarcely noticing in which direction she was going, until she nearly collided with a lady and gentleman, who had just come out from one of the card rooms.

“Hello!” exclaimed the gentleman, laughing; “why in such haste, young lady? By Jove, I believe it’s the little Crawford girl, isn’t it, Ruth?”

“To be sure it is,” said the lady. “Don’t you remember us, dear? Marjorie Campbell’s uncle and aunt. You came with Marjorie to have tea in our studio one day last winter.”

“Did I?” gasped Nora. “At least I mean--I mean----” She paused in such evident distress that her new acquaintances both felt rather sorry for her.

“Never mind, dear,” said the lady, kindly. “I suppose you go to so many places, and meet so many people, that it isn’t easy to remember everybody. We heard from your father that you were expected, and Marjorie has been so happy at the thought of having you here. Have you seen her yet?”

“Yes,” said Nora, in a very low voice, and then she added desperately--“Will you please excuse me? I want to go to my room, but I don’t know where it is.”

“What is your number?” Mrs. Allen asked, but Nora--who had not noticed the number on the door--could not tell her.

“Then I am afraid we shall have to go to the office to inquire,” Mrs. Allen said, and she was so kind that Nora did not like to object. She was longing for solitude, but solitude was not to be had just then, for on their way to the office they met Mr. Crawford, who was coming to look for her.

“Where have you been, Kathleen?” he asked, when he had greeted Mr. and Mrs. Allen. “I thought I saw you talking to Marjorie Campbell on the piazza.”

“I wanted to find my room,” Nora explained, humbly, “but I didn’t know where it was, and the lady said it had a number.”

Mr. Crawford looked very much surprised.

“Of course the rooms are numbered,” he said. “Surely a little girl who has been in as many hotels as you have cannot have forgotten that.”

Nora said nothing. Until that day she had never been inside of a large hotel in her life, but how could she explain that to Kathleen’s father? Mr. Crawford, however, did not appear to expect an explanation, or, if he did, he said nothing about it, but he led the way back along the corridor, to the room where Nora had left Sarah before luncheon.

“I have ordered a boat for four o’clock,” he said, pausing outside the door. “It is just three now. Will you stay here with Sarah until I come for you? I think a little rest will do you good.”

“Yes, I’d like to rest,” said Nora, eagerly. “I hope Sarah has gone out, though. She said she might go for a walk this afternoon. I think I should like to be alone by myself for a little while.”

Mr. Crawford looked at her long and earnestly. Then he took her hand, and laid his finger gently on her pulse.

“I am afraid you are feverish, Kathleen,” he said, anxiously. “Are you sure your head doesn’t ache?”

“Oh, no, not a bit; I feel very well indeed!” declared Nora. “I’m always well, you know. I was never ill except when I had the measles.”

“And bronchitis, and malaria, and a few other things,” said Mr. Crawford, smiling. “I am afraid you are not quite as well as you want me to think, little girl. Your pulse is too quick, and your cheeks are flushed, but perhaps if you rest for an hour, you will be all right. If Sarah has gone out, and you want anything, you must ring for the chambermaid.” And with these words, and a promise to return in an hour, Mr. Crawford left her, and went back to the piazza, where he sat for the next twenty minutes, trying to fix his attention on the news in the _New York Times_, which had arrived by the steamer that morning, but with thoughts far away from the printed page before his eyes.

Sarah had evidently carried out her intention of going for a walk, for the room was empty, and, with a sigh of relief, Nora closed the door, threw herself into the nearest chair, and clasped her forehead in both hands.

“It’s perfectly awful,” she said to herself. “I don’t believe any other girl was ever in quite such a dreadful scrape before. I shall never be able to keep on playing a part for three whole weeks; even Father didn’t have to do that. At least a real actor has some time when he can just be himself. But I’ve got to try just as hard as ever I can, for Mummy’s sake.”

The thought of her mother recalled another thought; there was something she must do at once. She had heard some one say that the steamer would leave for New York on Wednesday morning. It would carry the mail, of course, and she must somehow manage to get a letter to her mother. If Mummy did not know where she was, or what had happened, how terribly frightened she must be. She reflected, however, that this was scarcely likely, for when she had failed to appear at the studio on Saturday, it was only natural to suppose that Mummy had made some effort to find out what had detained her, and if she or Kathleen went to the Crawfords, the whole situation would have been quickly explained. She hoped Kathleen would not be very angry, and, oh, above all things, she hoped and prayed that her twin sister would be willing to stay at the studio until she could get back to New York and change places. But even if her mother knew where she had gone, she would still be very anxious; of that Nora felt sure. The only possible way of relieving their anxiety was to send a letter as quickly as possible. She glanced about the room; saw with relief that there were writing materials on the table, and two minutes later, she was writing away as if her very life depended on it.

“DARLING MUMMY:

“I have only got such a little while to write, and there is so much to tell you. I am in Bermuda at The Princess Hotel, and everybody thinks I am Kathleen. I suppose you have heard how they carried me off on the ship, before I knew anything was going to happen. It was to have been a great surprise for Kathleen, and perhaps she would have liked it, but I was never so frightened in my life, and I don’t think I have quite left off being frightened even yet.

“Every one is very kind, and tell Kathleen I don’t wonder she loves her daddy. I am sure I should love him, too, if I wasn’t so terribly afraid of his finding out. Oh, Mummy, it is terribly, terribly hard to keep people from finding out I am not Kathleen, and I keep making mistakes all the time. A boy on the ship asked me if I knew some people named Campbell, and I said ‘No’ because of course I didn’t, but it seems I ought to have said ‘Yes’ because they are great friends of Kathleen’s, and the girl is very angry with me. Of course I can’t explain, and I am afraid it is going to be very disagreeable.

“There are so many puzzling things that I wish I could talk to you about. It seems so wicked and deceitful to call Mr. Crawford ‘Daddy,’ as Kathleen does, but if I didn’t he would think it so queer, and perhaps his feelings would be hurt. I try to keep thinking of Father, and of how you said he used to live in his parts. I am trying to live in my part, but it is much harder work than I ever supposed anything could be. I am going to keep on trying just as hard as I can, though, only we are not to go home for three weeks, and that does seem a terribly long time to be another person instead of yourself. The minute I get back to New York I shall manage to slip away somehow, and, oh, how happy I shall be to see you, and to change back into your own Nora again. I used to think it would be so wonderful to be rich, and have lovely clothes, but it isn’t. If I could only be safe at home with you again this minute, I wouldn’t care one bit how shabby my dresses were. It’s so worrying to have a secret that you mustn’t tell any one, and to be afraid all the time that you’re going to be found out.

“I hope you and Kathleen are very happy together. I know Kathleen is; she couldn’t help it, being with you. Please don’t worry any more about me than you can help, for I am perfectly well, and it is very beautiful here. I would like to write you all about it, but I am afraid Sarah will come in and ask questions, so I guess I had better stop. The steamer is going back to New York on Wednesday, and this is Monday afternoon. I will post this letter just as soon as I can do it without any one’s seeing me.

“With all the love I have in my heart, and ten thousand kisses, I am,

“YOUR OWN NORA O’NEIL.

“P.S. Tell Kathleen I will be very careful with all her things, and try not to make any more mistakes than I can possibly help. I am glad you have her for a little while; it seems only fair, but I am afraid it will be very hard for her to have to give you up, and go back to Mr. Crawford, for, although he is very nice indeed, of course there is nobody in the world half as dear and precious as you.”

Nora folded her letter, and, having sealed and directed the envelope, began a hasty search for a postage stamp. But alas! no stamps were included in the hotel supply of writing materials, and she suddenly remembered, with a pang of dismay, that she did not possess a single penny with which to buy one. This was a new and unlooked-for difficulty. If she asked Mr. Crawford or Sarah to post her letter, they would naturally notice the address, and ask awkward questions. To ask Kathleen’s daddy for money appeared an equal impossibility. Her proud, independent little mother had impressed upon her that to accept money from a stranger--even the smallest sum--was a thing never to be thought of for a moment. Of course Mr. Crawford was not exactly a stranger, and the circumstances were certainly unusual, but still----

She was pondering this question when the opening of the door caused her to hastily slip the letter into her pocket.

“Ready, Kathleen?” said Mr. Crawford’s pleasant voice, and his keen, kind eyes scanned Nora’s flushed face anxiously.

“Oh, yes, thank you, I’m quite ready. I’ll get my hat.” And Nora flew to the closet; where she was rather startled by the number of hats which met her view. Sarah had finished her unpacking before going out, and the closet was full of pretty clothes.

“I wonder which hat I’d better put on,” said Nora, pausing in uncertainty before the well-filled shelf.

“It doesn’t matter; wear any one you like,” Mr. Crawford answered absently. “You are sure you feel better, Kathleen?”

Nora assured him that she felt quite well, and having decided upon a jaunty shade hat, which struck her as particularly “stylish,” she followed Mr. Crawford out into the corridor.

“The Campbells are coming with us,” Mr. Crawford said, cheerfully. “Aunt Kitty is tired, and Uncle Stephen has letters to write, so I asked Mr. and Mrs. Allen and the two Campbells to join our party. Marjorie didn’t seem very keen about going at first, but her aunt persuaded her. What’s the trouble, Kathleen? Have you and Marjorie been quarreling again?”

“Oh, I’m so very sorry about it,” said poor Nora, the tears starting to her eyes. “It isn’t her fault. She’s angry about something I said to Reggie Starr on the ship. I didn’t mean to be horrid, but she doesn’t understand. Do you think I could make it all right if I apologized?”

Mr. Crawford looked both surprised and pleased.

“I am sure you could,” he said, heartily. “Marjorie is very fond of you, notwithstanding your many disagreements, and you have no idea how much pleased she was when she heard you were coming to Bermuda.”

Nora’s heart was beating very fast when they reached the piazza, where Mr. and Mrs. Campbell, and their nephew and niece, were waiting for them. Marjorie still looked very much aggrieved, and greeted her supposed friend with an air of haughty indifference. With a desperate determination to do her best to make amends for her unintentional slight, Nora walked straight up to the injured one, and held out a trembling hand.

“I’m dreadfully sorry about--about what I said to Reggie Starr,” she began, humbly. “Will you please forgive me?”

Marjorie Campbell’s blue eyes opened wide in astonishment. Never before, in all their many quarrels, had Kathleen been known to offer an apology, or even to admit having been in the wrong.

“I suppose I shall have to forgive you,” she said rather grudgingly. “I can’t see what in the world ever made you say it, though. It was a fib, you know, an awful fib, and even if I forgive you, I don’t see how I can ever forget.”

At the mention of the word “fib,” Nora had flushed indignantly, but before she could speak, Mr. Crawford--who had been watching the little scene with considerable interest--hastened to interpose.

“Come along, children,” he called pleasantly; “this way for the glass-bottomed boats. You must keep your eyes wide open this afternoon, Kathleen, for you are going to see some very interesting things.”