PART II
A few days later Mrs. West stood in the crowd on the platform at Jersey City awaiting a train from the West, and holding in her hand a handkerchief of azure silk, of which the duplicate was to be waved by her arriving charge. Her heart beat with an excitement it had not known for long.
She had not many moments of uncertainty. Even without the blue banner that bore down upon her in the hands of the prettiest creature in the throng, she would have recognized the original of the picture.
Miss Cecily Mordaunt, beaming with complacency, was attended by a man—gaunt, middle-aged, uncouth, with every sign of adoration of his companion written upon his countenance.
“You—you have got your maid?” asked Gwendolyn, peering about in search of that natural protector.
“Maid? Never had such a thing in my life,” laughed Cecily. “And what would ha’ been the use, when Mr. Lenvale would insist upon escorting me every step of the way. We stopped in Chicago two hours, and took a hack and drove round to see the sights. I never was so surprised to see any one as Mr. Lenvale. He stole a march on the others, and sat in the smoking car, and came in to join me when East Ephesus was well out of sight. It almost seemed as if I had to have him, to carry all that truck.”
“That truck” was an assortment of faded flowers, bonbons, boxes, and baskets of fruit—with railway reading enough to stock a stall.
“They kept bringing it until the train moved off. Papa made me promise none of them should come along, but I couldn’t help Mr. Lenvale, could I, now?”