Part 84

"I should think you might give Cathie and me a chance to talk a little, Jasper."

"Oh, I don't want to talk," cried Cathie in terror. "I don't know anything to say."

"Well, I do," said Clare, in a dudgeon, "only Jasper goes on in such a streak to-night."

"I believe I have been talking you both blue," said Jasper, with a laugh.

"You certainly have," said Clare, laughing too.

And then Cathie laughed, and Polly Pepper, looking over, beamed at her, for she had begun to be worried.

"The best thing in the world," said old Mr. King, "was to turn her over to those two boys. Now, don't give her another thought, Polly; she'll get on."

And she did; so well, that before long, she and Clare were chatting away merrily; and Cathie felt it was by no means such a very terrible experience to be sitting between two boys at a play; and by the time the evening was half over, she was sure that she liked it very much.

And Polly beamed at her more than ever, and Jasper felt quite sure that he had never enjoyed an evening more than the one at present flying by so fast. And old Mr. King, so handsome and stately, showed such evident pride in his young charges, as he smiled and chatted, that more than one old friend in the audience commented on it.

"Did you ever see such a change in any one?" asked a dowager, levelling her keen glances from her box down upon the merry party.

"Never; it was the one thing needed to make him quite perfect," said another one of that set. "He is approachable now--absolutely fascinating, so genial and courteous."

"His manners were perfect before," said a third member of the box party, "except they needed thawing out--a bit too icy."

"You are too mild. I should say they were quite frozen. He never seemed to me to have any heart."

"Well, it's proved he has," observed her husband. "I tell you that little Pepper girl is going to make a sensation when she comes out," leaning over for a better view of the King party, "and the best of it is that she doesn't know it herself."

And Clare made up his mind that Cathie Harrison was an awfully nice girl; and he was real glad she had moved to town and joined the Salisbury School. And as he had two cousins there, they soon waked up a conversation over them.

"Only I don't know them much," said Cathie. "You see I haven't been at the school long, and besides, the girls didn't have much to say to me till Polly Pepper said nice things to me, and then she asked me to go to the bee."

"That old sewing thing where they make clothes for the poor little darkeys down South?" asked Clare.

"Yes; and it's just lovely," said Cathie, "and I never supposed I'd be asked. And Polly Pepper came down to my desk one day, and invited me to come to the next meeting, and I was so scared, I couldn't say anything at first; and then Polly got me into the Salisbury Club."

"Oh, yes, I know." Clare nodded, and wished he could forget how he had asked one of the other boys on that evening when the two clubs united, why in the world the Salisbury Club elected Cathie Harrison into its membership.

"And then Polly Pepper's mother invited me to visit her--Polly, I mean--and so here I am"--she forgot she was talking to a dreaded boy, and turned her happy face toward him--"and it's just lovely. I never visited a girl before."

"Never visited a girl before!" repeated Clare, in astonishment.

"No," said Cathie. "You see, my father was a minister, and we lived in the country, and when I visited anybody, which was only two or three times in my life, it was to papa's old aunts."

"Oh dear me!" exclaimed Clare faintly, quite gone in pity.

"And so your father moved to town," he said; and then he knew that he had made a terrible mistake.

"Now she won't speak a word--perhaps burst out crying," he groaned within himself, as he saw her face. But Cathie sat quite still.

"My papa died," she said softly, "and he told mamma before he went, to take me to town and have me educated. And one of those old aunts gave the money. And if it hadn't been for him, I'd have run home from the Salisbury School that first week, it was so perfectly awful."

Clare sat quite still. Then he burst out, "Well, now, Cathie, I think it was just splendid in you to stick on."

"Do you?" she cried, quite astonished to think any one would think she was "just splendid" in anything. "Why, the girls call me a goose over and over. And sometimes I lose my temper, because they don't say it in fun, but they really mean it."