From a small carved frame Karl’s clear honest 158 face looked out at her, and a card in the corner read–in German–“Remember the compact, Comrade!”
Like a flash brightness came back to Frieda’s face. Good cheer was much more natural to her than moroseness. From the face in the picture she turned her gaze to the tousled reflection in the mirror. “The Fatherland is not much honored by such a representative!” she said, and began taking down her hair with a fine energy.
In the living-room downstairs teacups were clinking, and girls’ voices, subdued and sweet, mingled with laughter. Hannah, her back to the door, was talking merrily to Dot, to whom she had taken an instantaneous liking; Catherine bent anxiously over the tea-tray on the wicker table in the window when Polly, from the comfortable depths of a low chair, looked up and saw on the landing of the stairs a picture that made her catch her breath.
Frieda, in a pale pink mull gown, with roses in her long soft sash, her yellow braids wound into a garland around her head, her cheeks burning with shyness, and her big eyes looking wistful and sweet, stood waiting. Polly sprang up with a soft little “O!” Catherine, looking up, smiled a welcome, but Polly went forward and taking Frieda’s hands in both of hers, said eagerly: “We’ve been waiting and waiting for you, Frieda.”
159Dot was introduced, but her usual self-possession promptly deserted her. “I always feel as though I ought to shout to a foreigner,” she had confessed to Hannah, “and in order not to do that, I just have to keep still.” Catherine, who had felt a little rebuffed by Frieda’s chilly manner at the station, and Hannah, not quite sure what the present mood might indicate, were both willing to leave to Polly the rôle she had undertaken. Frieda sat quite near her, and watched her pretty bright movements with gentle interest, maintaining a silence meanwhile only surpassed in completeness by Dot’s. Hannah rattled on, but there was a hollowness in the rattle that made Catherine’s hostess heart falter. She was never fluent, herself. Her gentle art consisted in making her guests entertain themselves and each other.
Then Dr. Helen came in, big, strong and competent, socially and in every other way.
Her welcome to Frieda would have warmed an iceberg’s heart. She hugged Hannah, and gave her right hand to Polly and the left to Dot. “Give me a taste of your tea, Daughter,” she said, as she took off her gloves and her hat and seated herself. “It will take something as strong as tea to heal my weary spirit this afternoon. I’ve just had an emergency call.”
Dr. Helen’s eyes smiled reminiscently, and Dot awoke.
160“Do tell us, do, do, Dr. Helen,” she pleaded. “I know it’s something funny, by the twinkle in your eye. And we’ll never, never tell.”
Dr. Helen tasted her tea leisurely, and added a slice of lemon.