Yet memories can linger to disturb, and Missy was accompanied by memories that moonlit Wednesday evening when, in her “best” dress of pale pink organdie, she carried her note-book to the Bonners' to report the lawn-festival.
She had hesitated over the pink organdie; not many of the “crowd” were going, and it was to be for her a professional rather than a social occasion. Perhaps it was sentiment that carried the day. Anyway, she was soon to be glad she'd worn the pink organdie.
Before she had a chance to get in any professional work, Mrs. Bonner bore down on her with a tall young man, a stranger.
“Oh, Missy! I want you to meet Raymond's cousin, Archie Briggs. Archie, this is one of Raymond's friends, Miss Merriam.” Missy was grateful for that “Miss Merriam.”
“Pleased to meet you, Miss Merriam,” said Mr. Briggs. He was dark and not very good-looking—not nearly so good-looking as Raymond—but there was something in his easy, self-assured manner that struck her as very distingue. She was impressed, too, by the negligent way in which he wore his clothes; not nearly so “dressed-up” looking as the Cherryvale boys, yet in some subtle way declassing them. She was pleased that he seemed to be pleased with her; he asked her to “imbibe” some ice-cream with him.
They sat at one of the little tables out on the edge of the crowd. From there the coloured paper lanterns, swaying on the porch and strung like fantastic necklaces across the lawn, were visible yet not too near; far enough away to make it all look like an unreal, colourful picture. And, above all, a round orange moon climbing up the sky, covering the scene with light as with golden water, and sending black shadows to crawl behind bushes and trees.
It was all very beautiful; and Mr. Briggs, though he didn't speak of the scene at all, made a peculiarly delightful companion for that setting. He was “interesting.”
He talked easily and in a way that put her at her ease. She learned that he and his sister, Louise, had stopped off in Cherryvale for a few days; they were on their way back to their home in Keokuk, Iowa, from a trip to California. Had Miss Merriam ever been in California? No; she'd never been in California. Missy hated to make the admission; but Mr. Briggs seemed the kind of youth not to hold it against a pretty girl to give him a chance to exploit his travels. She was a flattering listener. And when, after California had been disposed of, he made a wide sweep to “the East,” where, it developed, he attended college—had Miss Merriam ever been back East?
No; she'd never been back East. And then, with a big-eyed and appreciatively murmuring auditor, he dilated on the supreme qualities of that foreign spot, on the exotic delights of football and regattas and trips down to New York for the “shows.” Yes, he was “interesting”! Listening, Missy forgot even Mr. Ridgeley Holman Dobson. Here was one who had travelled far, who had seen the world, who had drunk deep of life, and who, furthermore, was near to her own age. And, other things being equal, nothing can call as youth calls youth. She wasn't conscious, at the time, that her idol was in danger of being replaced, that she was approaching something akin to faithlessness; but something came about soon which brought her a vague disturbance.
Missy, who had all but forgotten that she was here for a serious purpose, suddenly explained she had to get her “copy” into the office by ten o'clock; for the paper went to press next morning.