The household was early astir on the following morning, although Miss Lochinvar was not to go into the West until early in the afternoon—not to start, that is.
But it was a pity to waste time sleeping, when, as Gladys pathetically said, Jan would have time enough to sleep on the cars when she was all alone.
The cook—who was usually as grumpy as her profession seems liable to make people—outdid herself in her efforts to get up a luncheon-box for Miss Jan which should lighten her journey and weighten—now isn’t it a shame there is not such a fine verb as that?—her own slender frame. Susan was clipping the stems of the flowers she had gone out early to buy and putting them between damp cotton on the ice in the butler’s pantry. There seemed to be no one, from the top to the bottom of the big house, which had struck Jan on her entrance to it as so cold and empty, who was not eager to show regret at losing, and desire to serve Miss Lochinvar.
Gwen and Gladys had begged Jan to bring her things into Gwen’s room, and let them all dress together, not to lose one moment of the precious few left them. And it was with no small difficulty that Jan managed her toilet, for one cousin insisted on buttoning her shoes, while the other brushed her hair; Gwen tied her ribbon, while Gladys fastened down her collar in the back, and she was so inundated with tender services, interspersed with sighs and caresses that she—not being accustomed to a maid—began to wonder if she should be ready, not merely for breakfast, but for the train at somewhere about two in the afternoon.
Viva, the unobtrusive, insisted on her right, as the elder, to take the place beside Jan at breakfast for which Jerry was clamoring, and Jack made himself detestable to both his small sisters by appropriating it for himself while they were disputing.
The three girls came down like a group of the graces, Jan in the middle, supported by tall Gwen on one side and Gladys on the other, each with an arm around Miss Lochinvar, who encircled them with hers.
Sydney, who did not approve of sentimental affection, though he was quite as sorry to part with Jan as his sisters could be, laughed as they entered. “Hang on to one another, girls!” he said. “If you hug Jan tight enough maybe the train won’t start till three.”
No one had much appetite that morning—no one but Mr. and Mrs. Graham, who ate their breakfast with what Viva found almost heartless calmness. She was not able to conceive of a state of mind in which departures mean the possibility of return, nor had she journeyed far enough into life to learn that “journeys end,” not only “in lovers’ meeting,” but in all kinds of pleasant meetings. Jan’s uncle and aunt were confident that she would return to them soon, but to the younger folk the parting seemed eternal, the distance between New York and Crescendo an impassable gulf, and even the recollection of what and whom awaited her at the end of her travels could not sustain Jan’s spirits under the present gloom.
“I’ll be down to the station, Miss Lochinvar, and start you properly with the conductor of the train and of the sleeping-car, and with the porter,” said Jan’s uncle, putting out his hand for a brief farewell. “I’ve got you a whole section, so you won’t have any one dropping down on you to-night through the ceiling of your berth, and there’ll be no one sitting opposite to you through the day. Don’t forget that both seats are yours, and don’t let any one bother you, by the way. However, I’ll fix that with the proper authorities.—Get down to the train a little early, Tina, and see that Jan’s trunks are checked, if I’m a trifle late—it’s a bad hour to leave Exchange, just before closing, but I’ll be there. Don’t look so melancholy, chicks; we couldn’t have the fun of getting Jan back, if we never let her go.” And Mr. Graham was off, wondering if he had ever taken small events so ponderously.
“Now, Aunt Tina, when are you all coming out to see us?” asked Jan, as the family, excepting only its head, gathered in the library with that tentative feeling of waiting one has when some one is going away, although it is hours before the time to start.