Beth wondered if she ought to make a house-to-house canvass of Hudsonvale for the elusive Cynthia. And if the girl was in the village, why had she not been to the cottage on Bemis Street? Cynthia knew Beth’s address.
Beth went to the Haven house that evening with several interesting matters in her busy mind—and she went again in a taxicab. Marcus paid for it out of his own pocket. He rode along with her, “so as to get his money’s worth,” he said.
To tell the truth, Beth was rather disappointed when she found it was not merely an evening dance—for she “adored balls,” so she said. The larger dancing floor at Mrs. Haven’s was littered with chairs and benches, and, at first, when the guests came down from the dressing rooms, they were officiously herded into the rows of seats by ushers.
Mrs. Haven addressed her guests in her very best platform style. Larry’s mother was president of two clubs, vice-president of another, and principal speaker at most of their meetings. So she had pat the public speaker’s manner.
“I have brought you together this evening, dear friends, to be first entertained in a rather novel way. Afterward we shall have dancing. I met not long ago a very bright young lady from Philadelphia, who interested me very much in a subject now coming largely before the public, and I felt the wish to have her come here to talk to us of Hudsonvale, who may be helped by her experience.
“The question of domestic service has of late years become of grave importance. This brave young lady—whose name you will all recognize, and whose social position you all know—had the temerity to go forth and gain information at first hand regarding the real conditions of such service, and of the characters of the girls who enter into domestic service. I take great pleasure in introducing to you, ladies and gentlemen, Miss C. Emeline Freylinghausen, of Philadelphia, my guest for the holidays.”
A lithe girl, in a perfect evening gown, her hair piled high on her head, a plentiful sprinkle of freckles across the bridge of her nose, and wonderfully compelling blue eyes, stepped forward and bowed. When she began to speak it was a pleasure to listen to her—whether or not one believed in her theories or cared about her subject.
Beth was seated far from the speaker and to one side. Was it——? Could it be——?
Beth heard the speaker’s tongue arraign mistresses who ill-treated their servants or were careless of their comfort. Her biting sarcasm was just what one would expect from Cynthia Fogg’s lips.
But, Miss Freylinghausen, of Philadelphia, the heiress to millions, to houses and lands; and Cynthia Fogg, of whose green hat with the purple feather which Molly had knocked overboard from the Water Wagtail, Beth still retained a very vivid memory——