“Uncle Brooke was so much pleased with his growing collection of things Chinese, that he announced his intention of having a Chinese room in his home when he returned to America,” continued the old lady, a gleam of pride in her eyes. “He told his Chinese friends of his idea and they were delighted. Eventually a rich noble, who had been one of Uncle Brooke’s truest friends, died. He bequeathed a priceless collection of Chinese antiquities to my ancestor. Among them was this tea set, those two peachblow vases, and that print on the east wall. When he returned to America it took him six months to arrange this room to his satisfaction. He arranged it and pulled it to pieces dozens of times before he produced the effect he desired.”
“Do you remember him, Miss Susanna?” asked Marjorie eagerly, then blushed for fear her question might be considered too pointed by her hostess.
“Very well, indeed. I was a young woman when he died. He was seventy-nine years old the week before his death. My father was the son of his only brother who was several years older than Uncle Brooke. Father was an invalid during the last years of his life. We came here to live when I was twelve. As a child, Uncle Brooke would often take me for walks about the estate. He taught me the names and habits of trees, shrubs and flowers. He was a true nature man.”
“It seems odd to hear so much, all at once, of Mr. Brooke Hamilton,” observed Helen. “We have not heard anything of him before except what little is known on the campus. He is almost a mystery at Hamilton College.”
“The fault of the college,” retorted Miss Susanna with bitterness. “There was a time when the college board might have had the data for his biography. That time has passed. They shall never have one scrap of information concerning him from me. What I have told you of him today is in strict confidence. I have spoken freely of him because Marjorie has assured me that you are to be trusted. Were you to break this confidence, I would refuse to verify whatever you might tell and forbid any publication of the information.”
Miss Hamilton glanced defiantly about the circle. Her kindly expression had entirely vanished.
“We can but assure you of our discretion.” It was Leila who made an answer, a hint of wounded pride in her blue eyes.
“You can trust us, Miss Susanna,” added Marjorie, smiling bravely. She was experiencing a queer little sinking of the heart at the displeased old lady’s intent to permanently withhold from the college the true history of its founder.
“I daresay I can, child. Let us change the subject. It is unpleasant to me. You girls had better walk about the tea room and enjoy the curios until I recover my good humor.”
Prompt to obey the mandate, the girls spent at least a half hour in the Oriental room, examining and admiring the departed connoisseur’s individual arrangement of a marvelous collection. Miss Susanna sat and watched them, almost moodily. Returned to the library, the sight of her roses mollified her. She decided to do a certain thing which had risen to her mind. The desire to give pleasure to these young girls who had thought of her conquered her sudden gust of spleen against Hamilton College.