but I’ve heard of it. The Ashbys are not that sort.”
“But not the sort that can help me with Dodo, either, I see,” said Mrs. Alexander, thoughtfully for her.
“Dodo?”
“Yes, she’s my daughter. It’s because of her that I’m going over to the other side. I’ve heard say there are titles going begging for American millionaires since the war. And Dodo isn’t bad looking, even if she isn’t as prepossessing as I used to be – and am yet, I can say.”
Eleanor could hardly believe she had heard aright. An American mother from Denver going to exchange her child for a title! And the absolute egotism with which she mentioned her own looks and behavior!
“Well!” thought Eleanor to herself, “I was looking for entertainment, and here I have more of it than I dreamed of.”
“Does your daughter agree with you about marrying a title?” Eleanor could not help asking.
“She doesn’t say anything about it, one way or another. I told her what she had to do, and that settles it.”
“How old is she?” wondered Eleanor aloud.
“Past sixteen, but she looks more like twenty. If it wasn’t that it would make me look so old, I’d dress her like twenty-one ’cause I hear the Europeans prefer a woman of age, and over there she can’t be her own lawful self ’til twenty-one.”
“Sixteen! Why – she isn’t much older than Polly or I!” gasped Eleanor.
“No, but I said – she seemed older.”
“Nancy Fabian is nineteen and she never thinks of getting married – not yet. Everyone thinks, nowadays, that twenty-five is plenty young enough for a girl to think of marriage. That gives her a chance to see the world and men, and then make a wise choice.”
“Nancy Fabian – who is she?” asked Mrs. Alexander.
“Nancy is the daughter of Mr. Fabian who taught Polly and me interior decorating thus far. He is a wonderful teacher, and Nancy, his only child, has been studying art in Paris. Her mother went over with her to chaperone her, while there, and now we are going to meet them. Nancy managed to have several of her watercolors exhibited at the Academy this year, and one of them took a prize.” Eleanor’s tone conveyed the delight and pride she felt in Nancy Fabian’s achievement, even though she had not met her.
“And this teacher is traveling with you?” was Mrs. Alexander’s rejoinder.
Eleanor felt the condescension in Mrs. Alexander’s tone and resented it. So she decided to answer with a sharp thrust.
“Yes; Mr. Fabian promised Anne and my mother to take good care of Polly and me, until he turns us over to his wife and Nancy, who are visiting Sir James Osgood, of London.”
“Visiting a Sir James!” gasped Mrs. Alexander, sitting bolt upright for the first time since the interview began.
“Uh-huh! The Fabians and the Osgoods are very close friends, I hear. Nancy Fabian and Angela Osgood studied in the same class, in Paris; and Mrs. Fabian chaperoned Angela when her mother, Lady Osgood, had to return to England for the London Season.” Eleanor had her revenge.
“Mercy! Then these Fabians must be somebody!”
“Why, of course! What made you think they were not?”
“From what you said,” stammered Mrs. Alexander, humbly. “You said he was a teacher and that he was an intimate friend of the Ashbys who were painters and upholsterers.”
“Oh no, I didn’t!” retorted Eleanor. “You said that. I said that Mr. Ashby was an interior decorator who helped Polly and me a lot, and that Mr. Fabian was our teacher. There is a vast difference between decorators and paint-slingers, you will learn, some day.”
Eleanor was about to walk away with that parting shot, when a very attractive girl came from a side-door of the Lounge and looked around. Catching sight of Mrs. Alexander, she started for her. She was over-dressed, and her face had been powdered and rouged as much as her mother’s was; her lips were scarlet as carmine could tinge them, and her hair was waved and dressed in the latest style for adults. As Mrs. Alexander had said, her daughter looked fully ten years older than she really was, because of her make-up.
She glanced casually at Eleanor, without expressing any interest in her, and turned to her mother. “Oh, Ma! I’ve been looking for you everywhere! Pa says he won’t come out and sit down, just to watch who goes by.”
Eleanor was severely tailored in her appearance, but her suit represented the best cut and fit that the most exclusive shop in New York could provide, and the broad-cloth was of the finest. Dodo, (whose real name was Dorothy but was cut to Dodo for a pet name) failed to recognize the lines and material of the gown, but she passed it over lightly because she saw no gorgeous trimmings to claim value for it.
“Dodo, dearie, do you remember those two girls we read about, out west? The ones who discovered that gold mine just below Grizzly Slide? Well, this is Eleanor Maynard from Chicago, who was with her chum Polly, when they sought refuge in that cave on the mountain-top. Isn’t it lovely for you to meet her, this way?”
At mention of the gold mine, and the unusual circumstances in connection with it, Dodo’s expression changed. She smiled politely at Eleanor and said: “So glad to meet you.”
“And Dodo being my only child, Miss Maynard, she is well worth knowing. She will inherit the million her father made,” added Mrs. Alexander.
Eleanor smiled cynically. “I’m sorry for you, Dodo. It spoils one’s life to be reminded of how much one has to live up to, when one is young and only wants to be carefree and happy.”
“Oh, do you feel that way, too! I thought it was only me who was queer. Ma says other girls would give their heads to be in my place,” exclaimed the girl, anxiously.
Eleanor now took a keener look at the speaker. It was evident from her words that she was not what she was dressed up to represent. “You have a chance to be yourself, in spite of every one, you know,” said Eleanor.
“Well, I wish to goodness you would show me how! I hate all this fluffy-ruffle stuff and I wish we could get back to that time when I could go with my hair twisted at the back of my neck; and a cold water wash to clean my face, instead of all this cold cream business, and then the paint and flour afterwards!” declared Dodo, bluntly.
“Oh deary! I beg of you – don’t display your ignorance before strangers like this!” wailed her mother, fluttering a lace handkerchief before her eyes. “Eleanor Maynard is one of the Maynards of Chicago.”
“Why not! If Eleanor Maynard is half the girl I think she is – from what I read, that time they were lost on the Flat Tops and from what she just said, then she’ll appreciate me the more for my honesty,” asserted the girl.
“I do, Dodo. I never had much use for make-up, but I know society condones the use of it all. So I’m glad to find a real girl who dislikes it as much as Polly and I do.”
“There now, Ma! And I bet these girls will look at your pet hobby much the same as I do.” Then Dodo turned to Eleanor and added: “Ma’s bound to palm me off on some little stick of a nobleman in Europe, just to brag about my name with a handle to it. But I
