It seemed a very natural thing that Betty should accompany Countess Coletti and Lucia to church. Mr. Murchison came in later, Horace having returned for him, Betty supposed. Like a little mouse Betty sat quietly between the countess and Lucia to listen to the service. Mathilde Finn, whose church membership was unknown to Betty, sat a few seats in the rear and Betty hoped that Mathilde was not too jealous or that she herself would not appear too complacent over her entertainment. With some of the girls as they were, about notice from the “nobility,” it was impossible not to feel self-conscious at times. But Betty had none of that toadying quality in her and was rather inclined to the other extreme, of letting the “society” people go more than their half way if they wanted her company. She knew the sort of people her father and mother admired and numbered among their friends, people who were in character and ideals, and it must be confessed that Betty liked “folks that were smart!” By that Betty meant those who had certain qualities of mind, irrespective of clothes, or money, or, indeed, opportunity; for leaders do not always come out of the schools and colleges.
At first Betty could not sing the hymns for listening to the countess. But she soon piped away, sweetly, too, in a sort of duet with Lucia, whose voice was contralto. “I’ll sing with you when we go carolling,” whispered Lucia, with a bright glance, as she took the hymn-book which they had been sharing.
Betty was ashamed to think afterwards how little of the sermon she heard, after the first of it. The preacher was a little prosy compared to her own pastor; and Betty’s thoughts would wander to what Lucia had told her, to Count and Countess Coletti, and with a remorseful feeling to the “Sevillas,” who had moved without her knowledge. One moment she felt that it made no difference and that they probably were not in the least connected with Ramon; the next minute she was sure that they were related and had something to do with the mystery that surrounded the “Don.”
She thought of various things that Lucia could do, to bring her father—and knew that she could do none of them. But finally the response and the words of the Scripture, quoted or read by the minister, or held in the messages of the Christmas hymns that had been chosen, had their effect on Betty. It would all come right. Why not take it all to the heavenly Father in prayer, as the preacher suggested, and leave it there, so far as worry was concerned?
That afternoon Betty went up with Lucia to see Grandmother Ferris again, at Countess Coletti’s suggestion. “She asked for ‘Mary’ this morning,” said the countess. The girls found Mrs. Ferris in bed, the two dolls in a light single bed not far away.
She looked very white and weak, but held out a welcoming hand. Then she put her finger to her lips to caution them. “Speak gently,” said she. “‘Willie’ and ‘Josie’ have just gone to sleep.” She called Betty “Mary” again and spoke of her hair. “Mary, you always had such pretty hair!”
The girls remained only a short time and Lucia had tears in her eyes as they went out into the hall. “It’s a good thing that I happened to join the Lyon ‘Y,’” said Lucia, “and bought those dolls.”
“I wonder if things just ‘happen,’” suggested Betty.
The crimson car deposited Betty, with her baggage, at the Lee home, late in the afternoon. Doris, in a fine humor, was just helping her mother set out their light Sunday evening supper. Betty had wondered how Doris would be and had determined not to do any “raving” about her good time, for fear Doris might think she was “crowing” or “gloating” over it; for Doris was a little difficult at times; and it was not unnatural that she should wish to share her elder sister’s happy times. But Doris herself asked to hear “all about the life of the nobility.”
“I suppose you had a gorgeous time, Betty,” said she.