John’s face flushed and Helène looked prettily embarrassed.
“Oh, I beg your pardon, Margy,” and then turning to John smilingly, she said slowly and distinctly: “Miss Helen Barton has the honor to present to Mr. Morton her dear friend and chum, Miss Margaret Fisher.”
Margaret offered her hand with somewhat cold reserve. This entrance of a male friend into her shy ward’s acquaintance was both unexpected and inexplicable. Mr. Morton looked all right—too much so, she thought with a tinge of resentment.
Morton, by this time, had regained his composure, and shook Margaret’s hand heartily.
“Now that we have been properly made acquainted with each other, may I inquire where you ladies are bound for? It is a long time since I last saw Miss-er-Barton. Have you had luncheon?”
No, they had not. And then, to Margaret’s astonishment, the timid, ingenuous Helène immediately accepted the offer which followed. On their way to the hotel, Morton did his best to appear calm and divided his attentions equally between the two girls. When they were settled comfortably near a window looking out on the avenue of one of New York’s famous hostelries, Margaret could not help speculating as to who this man was. He evidently possessed Ali Baba’s countersign, for he was waited on most assiduously. A seat at this particular hotel had always seemed to her to be the reward of the world’s elect. She glanced inquiringly at Helène, who was all unconscious of what was passing through her friend’s mind, and to Margaret’s increasing wonder Helène was taking the whole affair as if a luncheon at the Waldorf were an everyday occurrence. With the utmost sang-froid she removed her gloves and, to Morton’s delight, the protecting veil. Her eyes were sparkling with a light Margaret had never before seen in them. Who and what was this Mr. Morton? She was becoming really jealous of this interloper. She remembered that Helen had once casually referred to a Mr. Morton she had known “in the old country.” But this man was unquestionably an American! She watched him closely and noted the animation in look and tone whenever he spoke to Helen. Then she remembered that on meeting her in the avenue he had addressed her as “Countess.” What did he mean? Margaret was both puzzled and hurt.
Morton felt a restraint in himself and rightly judged that a similar feeling existed in the girls. He made an effort to remove it. Turning to Margaret, he said: “I cannot tell you, Miss Fisher, how glad I am to have met Miss Barton. When we said good-bye to each other last it was thousands of miles from here, and I suppose we both find it difficult to realize that the world is a very small place after all. You will, therefore, pardon me, I hope, for seeming unattentive. But I promise to behave better.”
Margery at once saw the situation now. She guessed they would have many things to say to each other which her presence prevented them discussing. “Two is company and three is a crowd,” she said to herself.
Smiling amiably in response to Morton’s explanation, she turned to Helène and said:
“Helen, dear, I’m sure you and Mr. Morton have much to say to each other. Now, please, don’t mind me. I am going to devote myself to the good things I see before me, and then I can enjoy looking at the styles of the women passing by the window. This is a rare treat for me.”