Her hand trembled now so that she could scarcely address the envelope, and seal it. But it was done at last. She rose, and paused a moment to collect herself. Her mouth was dry, her forehead was hot under the hand that she pressed upon it. Nervously she poured a glass of water from the crystal pitcher that stood on a little table by the window, and gulped it down. Her eyes, as she did so, fell again upon the bouquet of columbines lying forlorn, their tender faces half buried in the dry 131 grass. A cry rose to her lips, but she forced it back, and with a tightening of her lips, turned and went rapidly out into the room where Seth and Claire awaited her.
“What do you think?” she cried, in a voice that sounded strangely shrill and unmusical in her ears. “It’s from Robert––Robert Hillyer––Papa’s good friend––and mine. He wants to come up and see me––he’s in Denver––on business. He wants to come up––he says––just for a day or two––do you mind––if I ask him?”
“Of course, dear!” cried Claire, with enthusiasm.
“Sure!” seconded Seth. “Tell him he’s very welcome.”
“I knew you’d say that!” said Marion excitedly. “So––the letter––it’s all ready. Can it go out––the stage goes to-morrow, doesn’t it?”
“Yes,” replied Huntington. “I’ll take it down in the morning––before you’re up.”
“Please!”
She stood a moment, smiling at them. Then her eyes wandered aimlessly around the room. She must do something quick, or she would go to pieces. She saw the piano, and fairly ran to it. Crash! went the chords. Rippling and tumbling on one another came the notes under her nervous fingers. Out of the jumble of unrelated sounds presently emerged a gay and sparkling melody; and then a gayer one; and after that a rollicking song from one of the latest musical comedies. There followed two of the sauciest, most irresponsible tunes that ever made a vaudeville success. She played with abandon, a kind of reckless fury, sitting erect, with 132 her head flung back, an insouciant smile flickering about her lips, her lithe body swaying with the music. Then suddenly, in the midst of a tune, she stopped, arose, faced Seth and Claire with flaming cheeks and eyes unnaturally bright.
“Great, Marion!” cried Seth, slapping his thigh. “Go on, please!”
But Claire had seen what Huntington had not. She turned to him swiftly, with a quick command, as if she had suddenly remembered something.