But now Marjorie felt that the time could not pass too quickly. There were only six weeks left before the close of college, but those six weeks made her impatient to begin work on her new project. If only their plans would materialize!
As she had announced at the luncheon1, Marjorie had written immediately to Mrs. Hadley, soliciting2 her help and advice. The older woman’s reply had been most cordial; she had not only promised to look about for a suitable site for the tea-house, but she had extended a week-end invitation to Marjorie to visit her home, so that they might go over the ground together. The prospect3 seemed delightful4.
“What date did Mrs. Hadley set?” asked Lily, one afternoon shortly after their return from the holiday.
“The third Saturday in April,” replied Marjorie. “A week from tomorrow.”
Lily referred to the letter she had just finished reading.
“You’re doubly lucky,” she said. “Doris will be in Philadelphia all that week, visiting Mrs. Harris and buying furniture. I have a letter from her here now, telling me that Roger has succeeded in getting a house.”
“That’s great!” cried Marjorie. “But do you suppose she’ll have any time to see me?”
“Surely! Wait till I write to her—I’ll mention the fact that you are coming.”
“That’s nice,” commented Lily, thinking how much fun she derived6 from her Rolls-Royce, and making a valiant7 effort to remember that both were cars. “I see you’re in for a good time this summer.”
“Of course I’m in for a good time,” acknowledged Marjorie. “Isn’t it always a good time where Girl Scouts8 are included—especially the Girl Scouts of Pansy Troop’s old senior patrol?”
“Right you are! Still, motors never detract. I believe I’ll take mine down if we do live in Marie Louise’s house.”
“Oh, we’ll live there—I’m sure she meant it, or she wouldn’t have offered. I wish I could see it while I’m in Philadelphia.”
She did not enjoy the prospect of a week-end alone at college while Marjorie was having a good time in the city. Nevertheless it was she who kept her promise to tell Doris of the intended visit, and as a result Marjorie and the Hadleys were invited to dinner at the Harris’s on the Saturday evening of the former’s stay in Philadelphia.
It was a mild spring day, and they found the little party assembled on the porch as John drove up. Marjorie opened the door of the car and jumped out eagerly.
The house was a modern three-story stone one, standing10 alone, and surrounded by just enough ground to separate it pleasantly from its neighbors. The porch, which was furnished already with wicker chairs and grass rugs, appeared most inviting11.
“Oh, this is lovely!” cried Marjorie, as she greeted the girls, and was introduced to Mr. and Mrs. Harris.
In a few minutes they all went inside, and Marjorie continued to admire everything in a most informal manner.
“But I shouldn’t think your father and mother would care to turn it over to a mob of school-girls for the summer,” she remarked.
“Well, we’re not exactly babies,” laughed Marie Louise. “And they said they’d be delighted—it’s so much nicer than closing it up entirely12.”
“Much nicer for us, of course,” agreed Marjorie.
“Would you like to see the rest of it?” suggested her hostess, politely.
“Love to!”
They went from room to room, each one of which bore the stamp of newness, the testimony13 of careful usage. The white paint glistened14 beneath the gleam of the electric lights, the curtains and draperies appeared to have been put up fresh that morning, the furniture to have recently arrived from the store. Everything was simple, immaculate, and in perfect taste; Marjorie could not imagine a more delightful house for a group of girls to live in.
“But how could we ever keep it in such spotless order?” she asked, after she had expressed her appreciation15 of its beauty. “Things will get out of place—”
“Oh, we would keep Mrs. Munsen—our housekeeper,” explained Marie Louise. “I wouldn’t think of attempting it without her. Besides, she’s a very superior woman, and could act as a sort of chaperone, you know.”
“Yes; otherwise you couldn’t have the boys come to see you,” put in Doris, who had accompanied them upon their tour of inspection16.
“Don’t judge everybody by yourself, Doris,” teased Marjorie. “I don’t expect any callers—I mean to give up all my time to the tea-house.”
“If we get one!” Marie Louise reminded her.
“Well, here’s hoping!” returned the other.
The conversation at dinner hinged upon the two topics of supreme17 importance to the little group at that time—the wedding, and the operation of the tea-house. Sometimes it was one, sometimes the other; once in a while Mr. and Mrs. Harris, or Mrs. Hadley would introduce a subject of general interest, only to find that it was immediately dropped by the young people for their more personal affairs. At last they abandoned their attempts in amusement, to follow the course of least resistance.
Mr. Harris suggested a fire in the fire-place after dinner, as the night was rather chilly18, and while John helped him to make it, the two older women and Marjorie and Marie Louise started to play bridge. Off in a shadowy corner of the room sat the lovers, whispering intimately together over the plans for their new home.
In spite of her interest in the game, however, Marjorie found it impossible to keep from talking. Every few minutes she felt that she simply had to make a remark or to ask a question relative to the project that was uppermost in her mind.
“You’re going with us tomorrow, aren’t you?” she asked Marie Louise, in an interval19 between hands.
“On our search for the tea-house, of course, John is going to drive us up around the Wissahickon, and along the outskirts21 of the Park, to look for some picturesque22 barn or old mill.”
“I’d be delighted!” cried Marie Louise, joyfully23. She was as much interested in the undertaking24 as if she had been an original member of the famous patrol.
“Aren’t you going to invite Doris?” remarked John, in a bantering25 tone; for he knew, as did everyone else in the room, how slight was the probability that she would accept.
“Why certainly!” replied Marjorie, with a sly twinkle in her eye. “Too bad there isn’t room for Roger!”
“Here!” protested Roger. “I’m not going to stand for that. I—”
“Well, we’ll excuse you this time,” laughed Marjorie.
“Tell us about your house, old man,” suggested John; “before you get absorbed again.”
“Nothing much to tell,” replied Roger. “Just an ordinary two-story bungalow26 type, about as big as a pumpkin-shell. ‘He put her in a pumpkin-shell, and there he kept her very well!’ But wait till it’s all furnished.”
“And how are you getting along?” inquired Mrs. Hadley.
“Beautifully!” answered Doris, her eyes shining with anticipation27. “We’re going to have it all fixed28 and ready for ourselves when we come home.”
“Doesn’t it sound too funny to hear Doris talking about ‘coming home’—to her own home!” laughed Marjorie. “And such a short time ago we were getting ready for that dance where she and Roger met each other. In fact, I feel responsible for this match. It was really all my doing—”
“Jack wouldn’t agree to that!” interrupted John. “He always claims the credit for himself.”
“They’re both wrong!” put in Marie Louise. “For I met Doris at a tea, and would have invited her home with me, for Roger’s sake as well as my own, if she had never met him any other way!”
“I suppose I had nothing at all to do with it,” remarked Roger, meekly29; but a timid glance from Doris assured him that he was the only one who mattered.
In spite of the enjoyable evening they were having, the guests departed early; for Marjorie insisted that they would have a strenuous30 day of house-hunting before them on the morrow. She warned Marie Louise to be ready by ten o’clock in the morning.
The following day, however, Marjorie was up at dawn, and in her impatience31 to begin, she telephoned Marie Louise at eight o’clock. A surprised and sleepy voice answered her at the other end of the wire, and it became rather indignant when Marjorie begged its owner to be ready an hour earlier.
“Nine o’clock! I can never be ready by then. Why, I’m still in bed!”
John, much amused by Marjorie’s superabundance of energy, and under the spell of her enthusiasm, was perfectly33 willing to forego his customary Sunday-morning sleep.
Promptly34 at nine o’clock they drove up to the Harris’s door and found Marie Louise finishing a hasty breakfast. Now that she was thoroughly35 awake, she too was anxious to start, and climbed into the car talking volubly.
It was but a few minutes’ ride from the Harris’s to the park, which they entered upon a highway extending along one of the smaller streams that joined the Wissahickon. Marjorie, who had read and heard much about the natural beauty of the famous stream, was entranced as she beheld36 it. She clapped her hands in delight, and kept exclaiming and pointing out objects of beauty and interest.
“But the houses—where are the houses?” she asked.
John explained to her that they were in park territory, and that there were no houses, except a few notable ones, and the tiny shelters used by the park guards.
“The places you read about are mostly farther up the stream, where automobiles37 are not allowed. Only pedestrians38, or riders and drivers of horses, are permitted.”
The look of dejection in poor Marjorie’s face was pitiful to see. John realized that she had set her heart on the Wissahickon for a location; the knowledge had given him considerable concern; and while he had been aware all the time of the impossibility of such a thing, he had not the courage to disillusion39 her, preferring rather that she should see for herself.
They went along the river-drive, Marjorie silent and apparently40 lost in thought. It was John’s purpose to allow her to collect herself before suggesting a plan he had in mind. Without seeming to turn back, he followed the winding41 roads which eventually brought them back in the direction from which they had come. Marjorie recognized the landmarks42, and coming out of her reverie, looked inquiringly up at him.
“Yes, we are going back again,” he said, understanding her look, “I’m afraid there isn’t much that would interest us in this neighborhood. You can see for yourself the impossibility of locating around here. Some day we will come without the car, and walk up the creek43 to see some of the places you had in mind. But really, Marj, they are nothing more than ruins that you couldn’t possibly use; and the few that are habitable are at present occupied and utterly44 impracticable for a tea-house.”
As John paused for breath he saw the tears gather in the girl’s eyes.
“Please don’t be discouraged!” he exclaimed, hastily, taking one hand from the wheel for an instant, and pressing hers reassuringly45. “I have a plan in mind: but I want you to see for yourself.”
“T thought it would be so lovely to be on the Wissahickon!” insisted the disappointed girl.
“So it would,” agreed John; “but perhaps not so profitable. Don’t you see, you must be on a much travelled road, one used by automobilists, to make the thing go. Most of the walkers and horsemen are out for exercise; they go home for their luncheon or their tea. And then, yours is a summer project; if you were to choose an obscure location, no matter how lovely, it would take time before your place became known. I may seem awfully46 practical about it all, but the fact remains—it’s the hungry people you must catch.”
“I guess you’re right,” laughed Marjorie. “But it seems utterly hopeless to me now, for the first time. What do you suggest?”
“Valley Green,” replied John. “Let’s go there and stay for lunch.”
They left the park and approached the vicinity of the famous road-house by a roundabout way. John drew the car up to the roadside as they reached the park boundary again; and they proceeded on foot along the narrow path by the creek side until they reached the bridge above Valley Green, where they crossed over.
“I never saw a more delightful place!” exclaimed Marjorie, when she caught a glimpse of the lovely old house among the trees by the roadside. “Can we have lunch on that nice shady porch? And look at the ducks! And swans, too! Aren’t they beautiful?”
John saw that they were all comfortably seated, and then went inside to arrange for luncheon. In several minutes he returned, laughing.
“I guess they think we’re crazy for wanting to have the lunch out on the porch—just as if it were really summer.”
“Oh!” cried Marjorie, suddenly becoming considerate, and turning to Mrs. Hadley, “I never thought to ask you whether you objected. If it’s too cool—”
“No, I think it will be very comfortable,” smiled the other. “Don’t think of changing for me.”
“Then we can watch the swans, and hear the water bubbling against the rocks, and hear the birds—haven’t you noticed them?—and just have a jolly time all around.”
John beamed to see Marjorie happy again; it was so unusual to see her otherwise that her former depression had been the more noticeable. Before long a waitress appeared and commenced laying a cloth upon one of the round tables. She was young, rosy-cheeked, and wore a freshly starched47 apron48 and a dainty white cap.
Marjorie took in all these details with thoughtful eyes. Never before, she realized, had she noticed just how a waitress should act.
“Before long,” she thought, “I’ll be doing the same thing. I wonder how it will feel?” And she laughed aloud, drawing the attention of the others suddenly to herself.
“I was just thinking, Marie Louise, that before long we’ll be serving luncheon to perfect strangers ourselves.”
“That’s funny!” chuckled49 John. “I was just thinking that myself. I was trying to picture you, Marjorie, with one of those little white affairs on your head, and an apron around your waist.”
“Well, sir? And how shall I look?” asked the girl.
“Oh—very nice!” stammered50 John, blushing furiously, and glancing slyly in embarrassment51 at his mother and Marie Louise, as they all laughed at his confusion.
“Let’s go sit at the table,” suggested Marjorie, somewhat confused herself. “I want to see just how it’s done.”
As they left their seat beneath the trees, and took places at the table, the maid reappeared with a tray.
“I never thought to consult you ladies about what to order,” John apologized; “so I hope you’ll find these things to your liking52.”
“This toast is delicious,” announced Marjorie.
“And the chicken-salad looks most inviting. Oh, it is a weakness of mine!” commented Marie Louise.
“Gracious!” exclaimed Mrs. Hadley, as the waitress appeared again bearing a fluffy53 omelette and a plate of hot rolls. “The boy must think we are ravenous54!”
“I wanted to please everyone, and I thought if I ordered two or three things, I might hit upon something you all liked. It’s been a long time since we had breakfast, you know—”
“All except Marie Louise!” put in Marjorie.
“Early for me, however!” answered the accused. “And I am ravenous!”
“Then you’ve done very well!” said Marjorie, turning her gaze upon John, who sat next to her, and who smiled happily at her.
“If you two will just stop flirting55 for a minute, and attend to your lunch,” remarked Marie Louise, “I think you will find this omelette delicious!”
“My dear!” exclaimed Marjorie, indignantly; and then she laughed.
John said nothing; he only blushed again. But he had a happy, satisfied feeling inside somewhere—happy because Marjorie was vivacious56 again; satisfied because, ever since he had discouraged her so in the morning, he had felt like a brute57; and he could now see in her eyes that she bore no resentment58.
“We’ve been making so much noise with our laughing we have scared all the birds away!” said Marjorie. “How quiet and peaceful it is!”
They sat in silence while the dishes were being removed, and watched the swans gliding59 majestically60 about and curving gracefully61 their slender necks as they dipped their bills into the water. Afar off down the road they could hear the hoof-beats of an approaching horse. A moment later a young girl rode by.
“Makes me think of last summer when we were on the ranch,” remarked John to Marjorie.
The waitress was placing their dessert before them.
“How wonderful!” cried Marie Louise. “Fresh strawberries and cream! It’s just the right dessert for this luncheon, and this place. Indeed, you have chosen well, John.”
“And it’s all right for me to say that,” she added, in an aside to Marjorie.
“Have you noticed the china?” asked that person. “That is one of the things we will have to give some thought to.”
“Then you still hope to find a place?” said Marie Louise.
“Oh, yes. John has a plan in mind. He’ll tell us when he is ready, I guess.”
“It’s no secret,” said John. “I have in mind a place on the Lincoln Highway just above the park. In my estimation it’s ideally situated62; for all automobilists entering the park from that locality have to use that road. It belongs to a friend of mine, Edward Scott, who is in Europe. We grew up together—went to the same schools when we were kids; and while I was at prep school, they moved from our neighborhood because his father built the house I spoke63 of. Of course we didn’t see much of each other while I was away at school—Ned went to a prep here in this city and entered the University of Pennsylvania when I entered Princeton. I wanted him to go with me, but his father had his mind set on Penn, because he had gone there. Even while we were apart all that time, we kept in close touch—wrote to each other at least once a week—and still do, though he is in England.
“Well, to make a long story short, towards the end of his freshman64 year, Ned’s father died; and about two weeks after that, his mother followed him. The blow was almost too much for poor Ned. He went back to college, however, and his maiden-aunt came to live with him. She was only there a little over a month, and she too died. He couldn’t stand that house any longer; so he packed up, stored all the furniture, closed the house, and went to Europe for the summer. In the fall he entered Oxford65. The last time he wrote he said he liked it so well he didn’t know when he would come back. Not until he completes his course, at any rate; and after that he hopes to travel for a while. Luckily, his father left him piles of money. He has nothing to come home for; he’s the last of his family.”
“I’m surprised that he hasn’t sold or rented the house,” said Marie Louise.
“He did mention it, but decided67 he’d hold it for awhile, in case he should suddenly want to come back again, and also because it’s a valuable property, and it would pay to hold it.
“Now, since the place is there and no one is using it, I’m sure Ned will let us have it. I’ve already written to him, and he is to cable his reply, ‘Yes’ or ‘No’ and the amount of the rent. There is nothing to do but to wait for his answer.”
“I thought you had something up your sleeve, John Hadley,” cried Marjorie. “Oh, it’s too wonderful! When should you hear?”
“In a day or so.”
“Can we see it?”
“From the outside.”
Upon learning this, Marjorie was anxious to be off again. Refreshed bodily by the substantial lunch they had eaten, and in spirits by the good news of John’s plan, they went back to the machine, and after riding about ten minutes, a short distance above the park John turned in at an open driveway between two hedges.
“Here we are!”
The two girls uttered little cries of delight.
“Why, this is ever so much more lovely than I had expected!” said Marjorie.
“Yes, it’s perfect!” agreed Marie Louise.
A stone house with white woodwork and green shutters68 stood before them. It was not a very large house, yet it appeared roomy. Like the ground which it occupied, it was wide, rather than deep, so that the greater part faced the road. The hospitable69 double doors and spreading fan-light above them gave promise of a wide hallway within. Extending across the entire front and along each side ran a broad covered porch, an ideal place for serving tea in hot weather; and the windows, which were boarded up, reached the floor. A short distance in the rear stood a combination stable and garage.
Marjorie took in the details with sparkling eyes, noticing how admirably situated it was for their purpose. The curving gravel70 driveway with a double entrance would permit motors to enter and leave without turning around; the house was close enough to the highway to be in evidence, but not too close for privacy. The vines and shrubs71 growing about the porch, which before very long would be in leaf again, would give just the proper amount of obscurity. Large shade trees were numerous at each side and to the rear; but the front, from the drives to the road, was an expanse of lawn, unbroken save by a few shrubs and flower beds. On the right a continuation of the drive ran back to the garage; on the left, a rose arbor72 led down to a rustic73 summer-house in the middle of the lawn. In summer, when the foliage74 became profuse75, it would be impossible for anyone seated on the porch to see the neighboring houses on either side; and the view across the highway was of the gardens of a large private estate.
Marjorie turned to John and said, with a laugh:
“And to think that the most I expected was some old barn! This is heavenly; so nice, in fact, that I can’t believe we shall ever get it.”
They sat in the machine and discussed their plans until a chilliness76 in the air warned them that it was getting late, and time for them to be starting homeward.
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1
luncheon
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| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
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soliciting
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| v.恳求( solicit的现在分词 )；（指娼妇）拉客；索求；征求 | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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Ford
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| n.浅滩，水浅可涉处；v.涉水，涉过 | |
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derived
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| vi.起源；由来；衍生；导出v.得到( derive的过去式和过去分词 )；（从…中）得到获得；源于；（从…中）提取 | |
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valiant
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| adj.勇敢的，英勇的；n.勇士，勇敢的人 | |
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scouts
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| 侦察员[机，舰]( scout的名词复数 )； 童子军； 搜索； 童子军成员 | |
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enviously
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| adv.满怀嫉妒地 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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inviting
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| adj.诱人的，引人注目的 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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testimony
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| n.证词；见证，证明 | |
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glistened
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| v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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appreciation
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| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
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inspection
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| n.检查，审查，检阅 | |
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supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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chilly
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| adj.凉快的，寒冷的 | |
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interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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shuffled
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| v.洗（纸牌）( shuffle的过去式和过去分词 )；拖着脚步走；粗心地做；摆脱尘世的烦恼 | |
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outskirts
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| n.郊外，郊区 | |
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picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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joyfully
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| adv. 喜悦地, 高兴地 | |
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undertaking
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| n.保证，许诺，事业 | |
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bantering
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| adj.嘲弄的v.开玩笑，说笑，逗乐( banter的现在分词 )；（善意地）取笑，逗弄 | |
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bungalow
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| n.平房，周围有阳台的木造小平房 | |
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anticipation
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| n.预期，预料，期望 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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meekly
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| adv.温顺地，逆来顺受地 | |
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strenuous
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| adj.奋发的，使劲的；紧张的；热烈的，狂热的 | |
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impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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coaxed
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| v.哄，用好话劝说( coax的过去式和过去分词 )；巧言骗取；哄劝，劝诱 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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automobiles
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| n.汽车( automobile的名词复数 ) | |
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pedestrians
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| n.步行者( pedestrian的名词复数 ) | |
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disillusion
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| vt.使不再抱幻想，使理想破灭 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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landmarks
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| n.陆标( landmark的名词复数 )；目标；（标志重要阶段的）里程碑 ~ (in sth)；有历史意义的建筑物（或遗址） | |
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creek
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| n.小溪，小河，小湾 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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reassuringly
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| ad.安心，可靠 | |
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awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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starched
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| adj.浆硬的，硬挺的，拘泥刻板的v.把（衣服、床单等）浆一浆( starch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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apron
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| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
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chuckled
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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fluffy
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| adj.有绒毛的，空洞的 | |
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ravenous
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| adj.极饿的，贪婪的 | |
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flirting
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| v.调情，打情骂俏( flirt的现在分词 ) | |
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vivacious
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| adj.活泼的，快活的 | |
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brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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resentment
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| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
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gliding
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| v. 滑翔 adj. 滑动的 | |
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majestically
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| 雄伟地； 庄重地； 威严地； 崇高地 | |
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gracefully
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| ad.大大方方地；优美地 | |
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situated
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| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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freshman
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| n.大学一年级学生(可兼指男女) | |
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Oxford
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| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
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tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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shutters
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| 百叶窗( shutter的名词复数 )； （照相机的）快门 | |
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hospitable
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| adj.好客的；宽容的；有利的，适宜的 | |
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gravel
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| n.砂跞；砂砾层；结石 | |
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shrubs
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| 灌木( shrub的名词复数 ) | |
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arbor
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| n.凉亭；树木 | |
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rustic
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| adj.乡村的，有乡村特色的；n.乡下人，乡巴佬 | |
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foliage
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| n.叶子，树叶，簇叶 | |
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profuse
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| adj.很多的，大量的，极其丰富的 | |
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chilliness
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| n.寒冷，寒意，严寒 | |
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