CHAPTER XV
Waiting to Find Out
AS the days passed on, the little French girl did not find her difficulties grow less. At the office she continued to hear veiled discussions of the seriousness of the lost letters. No one, of course, except a few persons in the Governor's confidence, knew exactly what information the letters contained, but there was no question of their political importance, for everybody could feel the atmosphere of strain and suspense. Yet for one thing at least Angelique Martins was grateful: no one had in any way associated her with the lost or stolen papers. For whatever Kenneth Helm suspected, or Governor Graham feared, they had both kept their own counsel. Yet this did not mean that they both considered her guiltless.
Time and time again Angel tried to summon courage to speak directly to Kenneth Helm on the subject. She had frequent opportunities, for even if there was danger of notice or interruption at the office, he came very often to the Governor's mansion to see Faith or to dine with the family.
However, she simply did not know what to do or say. To go to Kenneth and ask him why he had accused her seemed to the girl almost like a confession of wrongdoing. For oftentimes it appears preposterous in this world to be forced into denying an act that one could never have even dreamed of committing. How can one suddenly say, "I am not a thief, I am not a liar," when every thought and act of their lives has been pure and good?
Neither could Angel persuade herself to tell Kenneth Helm that she felt just as suspicious of him as he could possibly feel of her. For she had no proof of any kind except her own dislike and distrust and the fact that she had seen him coming out of the Governor's private study on the same night on which he had suggested that she might have previously entered it. For of course the Governor's private secretary had a right to his chief's private papers at almost all times. No, Kenneth would only consider her accusation an expression of feeble revenge and be perhaps more convinced of her guilt in consequence.
Therefore there was nothing to do but wait with the hope that everything would soon be cleared up and the lost letters either found or their thief discovered.
Moreover, Angel was not even to have the satisfaction of talking the matter over with Betty, the one person in the world who could and would have helped her. For she had the Governor's strict command against this and did not dare disobey. Besides, Angel could see that Betty was unlike herself these days and so should not be troubled by any one else's trials. This, of course, was a mistaken point of view, as nothing would so have helped Betty Graham at this time as to have had some one to think about who really needed her. However, neither her friend nor her husband could have realized this.
Nevertheless there was one consolation that the little French girl enjoyed during these days and that was "the secret" which she and Bettina had been cherishing so ardently for weeks. Every spare hour she had from her work she and Bettina had spent together in a big room at the top of the house, which was Bettina's own private play-room, sacred to her uses only.
It was a lovely room with pale gray walls and warm, rose-colored curtains, and all about were pictures of girls and boys who had come straight out of fairyland and had their photographs taken by such wonderful fairy artists as Maxfield Parish and Elizabeth Shippen Greene.
For you see Angelique was absolutely attempting to draw one of these fairy pictures herself, while Bettina was acting as her model.
The picture was not to be a portrait, the artist had scarcely courage to have undertaken that, but it was to represent Bettina's favorite heroine, "Snow White and Rose Red."
All her life, ever since she was a little girl of five or six, Angelique Martins had been drawing and painting whenever she had the least chance or excuse. Of course it was this same artistic gift that had showed in her clever fingers and sense of color through all the work which she had done in the Camp Fire Club. But of her actual talent as an artist Angelique had always been extremely shy. You see, she cared for art so much that she did not consider that she had any real talent. But even confessing that she had the least little ability, of course it would take years of study and goodness knows how much money before she could have hoped to amount to anything.
Nevertheless there was nothing to forbid the little lame French girl's amusing herself with her fancy whenever she had the chance. And ever since she could remember, Angel had been drawing pictures for Bettina. It had been their favorite amusement as soon as Tina passed beyond her babyhood, which was sooner than most children.
Naturally Angel had drawn hundreds of pictures with Bettina as her model before, but never one half so ambitious as this. However, this last one represented about the sixth effort, and it was a great question even now whether this was to be the final one. For "Snow White and Rose Red" was not merely a play picture, one that had been painted merely for amusement; it had a most serious intention behind it.
Weeks before in a magazine which the two friends had been looking over together they had come across an advertisement. A prize of two hundred dollars was offered for the best picture illustrating any fairy story. Moreover, no well-known artist was to be allowed to enter the competition; the drawings were all to be made by amateurs under twenty-five years of age.
The first suggestion that Angel should take part in this wonderful contest had come, of course, from Bettina as soon as the older girl had read her the amazing announcement, for Tina's faith in her friend was without limit. Then just as naturally Angel first laughed at her suggestion and afterwards decided to try just for fun to see what she could do; and here at last was most furiously in earnest, although still undecided whether to send her picture to the competition or to throw it away.
There were only a few days more before the time limit expired. Therefore, would it be possible for her to undertake an entirely new picture here at the very last?
With these uncertainties weighing on her mind Angel was sitting in front of a small easel with a box of pastels on a table near by. Closer to the big nursery window Bettina was curled up in a white armchair, one foot tucked up under her in a favorite attitude and in her lap were half a dozen red roses.
She was tired, for she had been quiet an unusually long time while Angel made slight changes in her work and then stopped to consider the whole thing disparagingly. But somehow her weariness made Bettina's pose even more charming.
Angel Had Caught Bettina's Attitude Almost Exactly
Her long yellow-brown hair hung over her shoulders down into her very lap, her eyes were wide open and yet were plainly not looking at any particular object. For Tina was making up stories to amuse herself while Angel worked. It was only in this way that she could manage to keep still for so long a time as Angel needed.
But this was the picture that Bettina herself made; what of her friend's drawing of her? Naturally it was not so graceful or pretty as the little girl herself.
Nevertheless, by some happy chance Angel had caught Bettina's attitude almost exactly. Then too she had drawn a little girl who did not look exactly like other children. There was a suggestion of poetry, almost of mystery, about her fairy tale girl, in the wide open blue-gray eyes, dreaming as Tina's so often were, and in the half uncurled lips.
Of course the lines of the drawing were not so firm and clear as an experienced artist would have made them, yet glancing at the little picture, you felt something that made you wish to look at it again.
However, Angel sighed so that Bettina came out of her dream story and stretched herself in the big chair.
"What is the matter?" she inquired. "May I get up and walk about the room now?"
The older girl nodded. "Thank you, dear. This is the last time I am going to trouble you to sit for this picture. I have just decided that I can't do any better by trying it over again, yet I don't know whether I shall send it to the competition after all."
The next moment Angel was startled by something that sounded almost like a sob from Tina. Since the little girl was so seldom cross, she was surprised and a little frightened.
"I am sorry you are so tired. Why didn't you tell me?" Angelique demanded.
Bettina had crossed the nursery and was standing close beside her picture.
"It isn't that, it is only that I do want you to send it so much," Bettina answered. "You see, I think it is the best picture anybody ever painted and we have both worked so hard and it has been such a nice secret," she said huskily.
Angel put her arm about her. "Of course I'll send it, dear, if you feel that way," she conceded. "But you must not even dream that I shall get the prize and you must promise not to be disappointed if we never hear of the picture again."
Bettina agreed and then there followed a most unexpected knocking at the locked nursery door. The two conspirators stared at each other in consternation.
"Who is it, please?" Bettina demanded. "You know Angel and I are having our secret together and we can't let any one come in."
Betty's voice replied: "Yes, I know; but I thought maybe the secret was over and you would like me to come and play too. I am feeling pretty lonesome."
"Oh," Tina returned, and then she and Angel whispered together. Finally the little girl came over toward the closed door.
"I wish you would not be lonesome just now, mother," she murmured, "just when we are most dreadfully busy. If you will only go away for a little while and then come back, why, Angel and I will love to play with you."
"I am afraid I won't be here after a while," Betty answered and then walked slowly away. It was absurd for her to feel wounded by such a trifle, and yet recently it had looked as though Bettina preferred Angelique's company to hers. What a useless person she was growing to be! Well, at least she and Meg were going to a Suffrage meeting that afternoon! She had not intended going, but the baby was asleep and Anthony would not be home for hours. Perhaps after the talk ended she might drive by and get Anthony to return with her. She had not thought him looking very well that morning.