“Oh, but they are lovely! Don’t you think so, Irene?” asked Mary Louise.
“I don’t know them very well,” responded Irene. “If you like them so much they must be worth knowing, however.”
Mary Louise looked at her friend, astonishment expressed in her countenance. That did not sound like Irene MacFarlane. What faint praise she gave the Markles! And her voice sounded so cold. What could be the matter? Could she be jealous of these new friends? Hardly that! Of course, Irene had been her first and only friend when Mary Louise came to Dorfield and stayed with Irene’s uncle, Mr. Peter Conant and his wife, dear Aunt Hannah. But since then she, Mary Louise, had made acquaintance with almost everybody in town and it would take all her fingers and toes to count her intimate girl friends. Irene had never shown jealousy before but had been as eager to enlarge her acquaintance as Mary Louise herself. Poor Irene was lame and had spent the whole of her life either on her back or in the wheel chair. She had an intense interest in humanity in general and girls in particular. Her friendship with Mary Louise had opened up a new life for the poor girl, bringing her more and more in touch with the outside world. But why this coldness where the Markles were concerned?
Nobody could deny that the Markles were a delightful couple. Mrs. Markle was a woman of about thirty, while her husband was nearer fifty but he seemed to be as fond of young people as his wife. They were strangers in Dorfield, having settled there since the war, but already they had taken a place in the society of the town and were looked upon as agreeable additions to the four hundred of Dorfield. Mr. Markle was engaged in the real estate business, which seemed to be thriving. To be sure, they lived in a small apartment, but it was in one of the best houses in town and, while they were not classed with the reckless spenders, they entertained frequently and in lavish style. The soft Persian rugs and exquisite paintings and etchings filled their apartment with harmony and beauty. There were cabinets of rare and wonderful curios, bookcases of first editions and carved furniture that looked as though it belonged in museums, so wonderful was it in design and finish.
CHAPTER II
A ROSE AND A SONG
As Mrs. Markle tripped up the steps of Colonel Hathaway’s porch, where the girls were holding their sewing bee, one could but wonder why Irene MacFarlane should have been chary of her praise of anyone so altogether charming. She was perfect from the tips of her tiny grey suede shoes to the hat which shaded the piquant face at just the right angle. Nature had not only endowed Hortense Markle with a rare and glowing beauty but hers also was the gift of knowing exactly how to clothe that beauty. Every portion of her costume was as carefully thought out and planned by the little artist as had been the rarest of her rugs by some Hindu weaver or the most choice of her pictures by some famous painter. She delighted in soft greys and pastel shades which set off to perfection her rich, almost oriental, beauty.
“She knows perfectly well if she wore brilliant colors they would be becoming but would coarsen her,” Irene said to herself as she watched the charming little lady mount the steps, her arm around Mary Louise, who had hurried down the walk to meet her new friend.
“Oh, why didn’t you girls let me know you were here sewing? I have been so lonely sitting up in my stuffy little apartment all alone. Only think, I might have been here all morning having such a pleasant time with all of you! I believe you think I am too old for you.”
This she said so gaily, giving such a ringing laugh at the thought of anybody’s thinking she was too old, that all the girls joined in, even Irene. Irene had wondered at herself as much as Mary Louise had. For the life of her she could not account for a feeling of antipathy that she felt for both Mr. and Mrs. Markle. It was not like her to take unaccountable dislikes, or even accountable ones. Her theory of life was to live and let live and her sympathy embraced all mankind, good and bad alike. Why could she not find room in her heart for this charming, beautiful young woman whose manner to her had always been gracious and kind?