Ray Forman could not have told the precise time in her life when she began to shoulder responsibilities and try to devise ways for relieving the family burdens. It seemed to her that she had always known that both father and mother had more work and care than they ought, and that Florence and Jean, and especially Derrick, were not old enough to realize it, but she was, and must help. Right royally she had been doing it for years. The winning of a scholarship had enabled her to spend two years in an institution far in advance of the local college where she had expected to graduate. She had paid her board during this time by teaching for two hours each day in the preparatory department; and her incidental expenses had been so much less than her sister’s as to call from their father the dry remark that they ought to have sent Florence also, for economy’s sake.
It was not alone in money matters that Ray helped. To both Jean and Derrick she had been more like a mother than a sister. Derrick especially, since the time when she had followed him patiently through the long, bright days of his second summer while her mother lay ill, had seemed to be her very special charge. He had accepted her watchful care with cheerfulness, even with satisfaction; often, from force of habit, rushing in search of her—when in need of help—instead of his mother.
It was only quite recently that she had begun to feel a foreshadowing of restiveness under her suggestions. Not that he had outspokenly rebelled; nor referred to her fretfully as the others did occasionally. More than once Florence had been heard to exclaim: “Oh, Ray, don’t be so awfully old maidish! What’s the harm?” The utmost that Derrick had allowed himself was a good-humored drawling jibe, like: “Oh, yes, grandma, I’ll be careful; I won’t even get my feet wet when I go in swimming,” or some kindred sarcasm intended to emphasize the folly of her solicitude; yet Ray understood and puzzled over it all, questioning sometimes as to whether she was helping, or hindering.
That hint of “old maidishness” touched a sorer spot in her heart than her sister realized. There were hours when she assured herself that there was no prospect of her being able to leave her mother with a daily increasing burden of work and care upon her, and set up a home of her own; the only honorable course for her was to explain this to Kendall Forsythe and beg him to give up even hope; it was more than a year since she had promised to be his wife, and at that time they had hoped and believed that the way would very soon open for them, but instead it had seemed to close even more securely with each passing month. Kendall’s mother, who had been his housekeeper and daily companion since the time when they two were suddenly left alone together, front being a very efficient and capable woman had dropped into permanent invalidism, to be cared for by the son, who was still struggling with an insufficient salary and the promise of a larger one when conditions permitted; and there were no present indications of a rise.
Notwithstanding all this the young man steadily urged immediate marriage; he had gone over the whole ground carefully, he assured Ray, and with pencil and paper and eloquence he tried to convince her how much better the salary could be managed if she were there to help. When, after careful where consideration and the shedding of some bitter tears, she reached the point where she urged upon him honorable freedom, representing it as the only wise course, he merely scoffed, not considering the suggestion worthy of being treated seriously. She might talk to him about that, he said, on his hundredth birthday; certainly before that date he should not be ready to give it the slightest attention. Nevertheless, Ray, glad over his unhesitating refusal to listen to her, was yet seriously considering that she ought to take steps which would compel him to do so. In all his rose-colored plans for their mutual spending of his salary, Ray had given no voice to the one word that loomed before her portentously; that fateful word—clothes. She knew that she realized, as he could not, that Ray Forman, one of the girls in her father’s unpretentious house, could be clothed respectably on a much smaller sum of money than would suffice for Mrs. Kendall Forsythe, who would enter a family that had for generations made a bride the excuse for all manner of social functions, of which she was expected to be the centre. The Forsythe family, at least that portion of it to which Kendall belonged, were no longer wealthy, but they were aristocratic, and were looked upon as one of the oldest and most honored of the “first families”; as often as Ray tried to imagine herself making ready to be the lady of honor at one of their dinner parties she shivered and thought of her father’s burdens. Certainly they must not marry yet, not for a long time, probably; and the probability grew to certainty in her own mind as she watched the trend of circumstances. Now here was coming Aunt Elsie to add to the household duties and expenses! Certainly she ought to have that emphatic break with Kendall that would mark her hereafter as one who had a right to be “old maidish.”
Her thoughts were hovering about matters like these when she heard a suppressed shout from Jean: “Ray! Ray Forman! Where on earth are you? They’ve come! Two hours before the train is due. Did you ever! Florence says you are to come down quick and see to them; she hasn’t got the room ready yet, and mother is in the oven.”
[CHAPTER III]
THE ARRIVAL
DESPITE the startling nature of that last announcement Ray answered the summons quietly enough; she was used to Jean. As she neared the living-room she could hear her uncle getting off smooth, easy-flowing sentences that somehow gave the impression of thoughts clothing themselves in words without any help from the speaker.
“Yes, the limited stopped at the junction for us; I didn’t think it would, we were so late getting in; it is interesting to see what diplomacy will accomplish; saved us nearly two hours, which is a good deal of time to a busy man, not to mention having an invalid in charge; but Elsie is a capital traveller in spite of her crutches. I made it as easy for her as I could, of course; parlor car and all that sort of thing; and Dick here did the honors at the station splendidly. I say, Dick, you are almost a man, aren’t you? I was expecting to see a little chap; I had forgotten how time flies; I’ve reached the age, you know, when it is convenient to forget the passing years; let me see—how old are you, anyhow?”
At this point Ray decided to open the door; there seemed to be no use in waiting for a full period. Her entrance simply changed the current of the flow of words.