“Mary,” she said, “will you please introduce my friends to the girls, while I speak a moment with Miss King and Miss Wallace?”
Mary, who began to see through the situation, managed to introduce the painfully embarrassed Mrs. Murphy and shy little Mary to girls who, with the exception of Imogene, responded civilly enough. Cordiality certainly was lacking, but that was largely due to surprise. Meanwhile, Virginia had explained matters to Miss King and Miss Wallace, who, when they heard the story, lost their momentary astonishment in sympathy. Of course such a proceeding was slightly out of the course of ordinary events at The Hermitage; but Virginia’s thoughtfulness, though perhaps indiscreet, was not at the present to be criticised. They came forward and shook hands heartily with the guests, much to Virginia’s comfort. It must be all right after all, she concluded.
Mrs. Murphy laid off her hat and shawl, Virginia took Mary’s coat and hood, and the family and guests passed to the supper table. Conversation languished that evening. The girls talked among themselves, but only infrequently. Even Miss Wallace and Miss King apparently found it difficult to think of topics for general conversation. But Virginia, true to her duties as hostess, chatted with Mrs. Michael Murphy until the embarrassed, troubled little woman partially regained her composure. As for little Mary, she was fully occupied in devouring the first square meal she had had for days.
But Virginia was not unconscious of the atmosphere. Something was wrong. Perhaps, after all, Mrs. Murphy had been right when she said the ladies of The Hermitage mightn’t like to have her and Mary coming this way. She could not understand it. At home in Wyoming the stranger was always made a friend, and the unfortunate a guest. Hospitality was the unwritten law of the land.
She was rather glad when supper was over. The girls immediately went up-stairs, only Mary, Anne, and Priscilla lingering to say good-night to her guests. Virginia stayed upon Miss King’s invitation, for she and Miss Wallace were to talk with Mrs. Murphy concerning work at St. Helen’s. Little Mary, tired out but satisfied, fell asleep, her head in Virginia’s lap. To Virginia’s joy, and to the unspeakable gratitude of Mrs. Michael Murphy, whom the world had used none too kindly, Miss King decided that St. Helen’s needed just such a person to do repairing and mending; and Mrs. Murphy, her face bright with thankfulness, was installed that very evening in her new and comfortable quarters.
An hour later, Virginia, the supper table atmosphere almost forgotten in her glad relief over Mrs. Murphy’s immediate future, ran up-stairs and down the hall to her own room. The door opposite opened a little, and some one said in a biting voice:
“I suppose, Miss Hunter, we entertain Wyoming cow-boys before long?”
In Virginia’s eyes gleamed a dangerous light, but she answered quietly:
“I’m afraid not, Miss Meredith. The Wyoming cow-boys whom I know are accustomed to eat with ladies.”
Still, her delight over Mrs. Murphy’s freedom from care could not quite banish the feeling of puzzled sadness with which she wrote these words in her “Thought Book”: