“You have made me dangerously angry. You must find that money. Heretofore there has been no thievery in my house.” Signed, “Mrs. Elisabeth Cecil Somerset-Calvert.”
The farrier whistled softly, and slowly refolded the document; then drew Dorothy’s wet face to his shoulder and said:
“Yes, little girl, we must find that money. We must. There is no other way.”
“But how can we? And why should she—she be so angry after having told me I was all the world to her and that all she had was mine, or would be.”
“Well, dearie, ‘would be’ and ‘is’ are two widely differing conditions. Besides, she is Betty Calvert and you are you.”
“That’s no answer, as I can see.”
“It is all the answer there is. She is an old, old lady though she doesn’t realize it herself. All her life long she has been accustomed to doing exactly what she wished and when she wished. She has idealized you and you have idealized her. Neither of you is at all perfect—though mighty nice, the pair of you!—and you’ve got to fit yourselves to one another. Naturally, most of the fitting must be on your part, since you’re the younger. You will love each other dearly, you do now, despite this temporary cloud, but you, my child, will have to cultivate the grace of patience; cultivate it as if it were a cherished rose in your own old garden. It will all come right, don’t fear.”
“How can it come right? How ever in this world? I’ve promised to adopt one of the twins and Molly trusts me in that and I haven’t a cent. I’m poorer than I used to be before I was an heiress. Molly will never believe me again. Then there’s all this expense you’re paying—the circus tickets and railway fares and all. It was to be my House Party, my very own, to celebrate my coming into my rightful name and home and it isn’t at all. It’s yours and—Oh! dear! Oh! dear! Nothing is right. I wish I could run away and hide somewhere before Aunt Betty comes home. I shall never dare to look at her again after I’ve made her ‘dangerously angry.’ What can that mean? I used to vex Mother Martha, often, but never like that. Oh! I wish I was her little girl again and not this——”
Seth laid his finger on her lip and the wish she might have uttered and bitterly regretted was never spoken. But the old man’s face was grave as he said: