Rose Galbraith (7 page)

Mrs. Adams favored her with a speculative stare. “Oh!” she said thoughtfully. “From
home
?
Boy
friend?”

Rose laughed aloud, a merry little sound between a giggle and a joyous laugh.

“Would that make any difference?” she asked, looking Mrs. Adams over amusedly.

“Well, yes, I think it would!” said that good woman decidedly. “At least it might make a difference to the young men you went around with on board.”

“Oh!” said Rose. “But, you see, I don't have any idea of going around with the young men on board.”

“I saw you myself walking around with that young Coster last night, and again this morning. If that isn't going around, then I'm blind. If you are engaged or anything, I think the young men at your table should know it, and I should consider it my duty to inform them. There are too many girls going around these days flirting with this one and that one, and it isn't right. You don't look like that kind of a girl. And you're not wearing an engagement ring either. I think a girl that is engaged should wear an engagement ring.”

She gave Rose a condemning glance and clicked her needles menacingly.

“Well, but you'd have to be very sure it was true, wouldn't you, before you told the others a thing like that?” asked Rose demurely.

“Oh, I'd be good and sure,” said the old lady confidently. “I don't go around telling lies about people, you know.”

“Of course, if the girl had told you herself and given you permission to announce it, that would be a different thing,” said Rose sweetly.

Mrs. Adams lifted her chin contemptuously and snorted.

“There are more ways of finding out the truth about such things than having people
tell
you,” she said offendedly. “Give me a few brief glances, a chance to watch a girl a little while, and I can tell. And as for her permission, what's that? If a girl doesn't want things known, she shouldn't do 'em, and I for one am not going to be a party to keeping things to myself that ought to be told for the sake of right and wrong.”

“Well,” said Rose quietly. “I wouldn't feel I had the right to jump to conclusions and then go and tell things that the people most concerned were not ready to have told yet!”

“Ready!” sniffed Mrs. Adams. “Ready! Humph! Well, it's easy to see where
you
stand, and it doesn't take long to size people up. If people are ashamed of what they're doing, naturally they wouldn't be ready to have it known! I didn't take you for that sort of a girl, and I certainly don't intend to let a little chit like you tell me whether I'm honest or not, or if I'm justified in what I think is my duty.”

“I'm sorry,” said Rose. “I didn't intend to criticize you. It just didn't seem fair to me that anyone should go around announcing other people's engagements, even if they were true. But I probably didn't quite understand you. And now if you don't mind, I think I'll just excuse myself and go to my cabin for a little while. I'm getting awfully sleepy, and I wouldn't like you to think I was like those other people you said were always going to sleep.”

Rose got up with a sweet smile and slipped away, wondering if it would be at all possible for her to secure another deck chair where there was no likelihood of having undesirable neighbors.

But that very afternoon, coming toward her deck chair cautiously, viewing it from afar lest Mrs. Adams would still be there, Rose sighted another woman as different from Mrs. Adams as one could well imagine. She was sure she had not seen her in the dining room yet. She was a fair sweet woman with white hair and a distinguished bearing. She looked as if she belonged among the wealthy first class travelers. If so, what was she doing down on the tourist-class deck?

Rose hesitated shyly, and deliberately walked on past her chair before she could make up her mind to come back and sit down. She felt that perhaps the new lady would think she was intruding if she sat down there. But when she finally ventured closer, the lady looked up with a lovely smile.

“Isn't this your chair?” she asked, laying her hand on the arm of Rose's chair. “I wonder if you were expecting some friend to sit here with you this afternoon?” she asked apologetically. “I found this chair was vacant, and I asked to be allowed to take it, because, to tell the truth, I saw you yesterday when you came on board, and I want very much to get to know you, if I may. You see, you look so very much like a dear friend of my girlhood days that I was drawn to you. Do you mind? If you had other plans, I'll gladly withdraw.”

“Oh, how lovely!” said Rose, blooming into a smile. “I'll be delighted for you to have this chair!”

She sat down happily, studying the beautiful face of the woman.

“Let me introduce myself first,” said the lady. “My name is Campbell, and I live in Edinburgh. And now, may I tell you about my friend whom you resemble? She was a very lovely girl. When I first knew her, we went to school together in a little town in Scotland, and we loved each other very dearly. Then changes came and we were separated. She was married a short time after I was married. I went to London to live, and I lost track of her. I tried to find out about her, but the family had moved, I don't know where. She had two brothers. I understood the older one had gone to Edinburgh University, but before I could trace him there he was graduated, married, and gone to America to live. No one seemed to know the address. But I have often wondered about her. I would so like to know if she is living. When I saw the startling resemblance you bore to her, I determined to find out whether you might possibly be her child. I don't want to presume, but would you mind my knowing your name? I could have asked the captain, of course, but I thought I would like to ask you yourself. And I don't even know my friend's married name, you see, because in those days people did not send out such careful invitations as they do now. But her maiden name was Rose Galbraith!”

“Oh!” said Rose, her eyes growing large and eager. “Why, that is my name, too. And my father had a little sister whose name was Rose. I never saw her because she went to Australia to live, but my father used to say I looked like her. Oh, how wonderful that I should meet somebody who used to know my lovely Aunt Rose!”

“My dear!”
said her new friend, eagerly as a girl. “What was your father's name?”

“Gilbert Galbraith,” said Rose reverently. “And he went to Edinburgh University. And then when he was married, he and Mother went to America.”

“Oh, and where are they now?” asked the lady.

“My father died seven years ago,” said Rose, and then in a lower sad little voice added, “and my mother just last week! We were coming over together, but—she went home to heaven instead.”

“Oh, my dear!” said the gentle voice, and the older woman's hand came out sympathetically and lay on the girl's hand.

Rose felt herself trembling. “To think that I should meet someone who knew my own family!” she said, with quick tears in her eyes. “Oh, I'm so glad you came to sit here! And to think you knew my sweet Aunt Rose. My father loved her so much and used to tell me about her.”

“Do you know about her? Is she living yet?”

“Yes,” said Rose eagerly. “But away out in Australia. I have a picture of her that I've always loved. I'd like you to see it. Perhaps I could have it copied for you when I get back to my things in America, if I ever do.”

“Oh, you are not sure of going back?”

Rose caught her breath and answered with a trembling lip.

“Oh, I don't know what I am going to do. I haven't dared try to think. Mother and I were coming over to visit and going back to America, of course. Mother felt she ought to come over and see her only sister. She wrote and asked us to come. And Mother wanted, too, to go and see Father's mother, my grandmother Galbraith, who is pretty old and not very well. And his brother John and his family with whom Grandmother is living. And then we were going back to America to stay.”

“Oh!” said the lady. “Your mother preferred America?”

“Well,” said Rose, lifting her eyes honestly to the lady's face, “you see, Mother had been sort of alienated from her people because of her marrying Father. They are all dead now but her sister and brother-in-law. But the sister was older, and sided with them all. They didn't want Mother to marry Father, because he wasn't rich. They had in mind a wealthy lord who owned a castle and was very influential. He wanted to marry my mother, but she didn't love him. She loved my father. So when he was graduated she went to commencement, and they were married and went right to America. Her family never forgave her. At least, they were very angry. You see, they had been wealthy people and highly connected, and they felt it was a disgrace to marry just a poor student who had no great prospect of rising in the world.”

“Oh, yes, I remember hearing about that,” said the lady. “Poor mistaken people! And your father was worth being indignant about it, for the Galbraith family were wonderful people, fine and cultured, and truly royal in their character. Your father wrote some notable things before he died. I remember reading them. I have some of his writings now. I know they were very highly spoken of, and brought him honorable mention from his university more than once. But my dear, I'm so glad I have found you! And now, what are your plans? Are you going straight to your Uncle John's to see your grandmother? Or do you stop in Edinburgh to see your other relatives?”

“I must,” said Rose, with downcast glance. “Mother wished it. She wanted her only sister to see me. She said we owed that to Father, too. And of course, after the years went by, they sort of forgave her, and wrote to her occasionally. Sometimes they sent her useless presents, things that seemed to mock our comparative poverty. And yet her sister, after Father died, seemed to yearn for her, and at last Mother gave in and wrote that we would come. But Mother didn't live to get there. And sometimes when I think about it, I wonder if it wasn't easier for her after all. Of course, her own mother and father were dead, long ago. They had been very hard on Mother. They were proud and domineering, and they died without ever coming over to see her or saying they were sorry she had been so treated, though Mother had often written loving letters and begged them to get over it and love my father. Their only answer was to write and offer to
adopt me
! But of course neither Mother nor Father would have that. And I think my aunt sided with them, largely. Naturally I don't anticipate my visit there with joy, and I shall get it over with as soon as possible, I think.”

“Yes,” said the sweet Scotch woman, “they were a hard people and very proud. I knew them but slightly myself, but they were so known in the city. They couldn't brook the thought that their daughter had married a poor man when she might have lived in a castle. It all comes back to me now. But my dear, it is right, I suppose, that you go to them for a visit at least.”

“Yes, I shall have to go,” sighed Rose. “I think I'll stop there first a few days and then go on to Grandmother.”

They sat there talking a long time, till the sun began to dip in the western water and the sea to put on its holy, jeweled look. And then suddenly they remembered it was time to be getting ready for dinner. Rose went to her stateroom with the memory of a soft clinging hand when they parted and a gentle tender word in her ears.

“I'm so glad we have found each other!”

“And oh, so am I!” responded Rose, with a long drawn breath of relief.

“And I hope you will come and sit with me a little while this evening,” said her new friend. “We have a great deal more to talk about.”

So Rose went to her own table that night with a pleasant thought for the evening that was to follow the meal and with a good excuse to offer if Harry Coster tried to monopolize her again.

But how they did stare, especially Mrs. Adams, when the gracious lady appeared behind Rose's chair before she had finished dinner and spoke a few low words in her ear, then with a smile went slowly on.

“Well,” said Mrs. Adams in a tone that could be easily heard over the table, “you certainly are flying high! I didn't know you knew her.”

“Yes,” said Rose sweetly, “she's an old friend of my aunt's.”

“Oh,
really
?” said Mrs. Adams. “On which side? Father or mother?”

“Oh, she's a friend of the whole family, you know.”

“Well, I thought you were sort of superior,” said Lily Blake. “Now I see you had some reason.”

“Superior?” said Rose, puzzled. “What reason could I have to be superior?”

“Why, because it isn't everybody who knows Lady Campbell intimately, of course. I heard somebody say today that Lady Campbell was so high up in society she was almost royalty.”

Rose tried not to show her surprise. So her friend was
Lady
Campbell! Not just plain “Mrs.” “But why should
I
be superior? Knowing her doesn't make
me
royalty, surely!” She laughed.

“Now,” said Harry Coster with his scornful grin, “don't pretend you don't know why. You can't put that over on us. I say, how about giving us an introduction? I wouldn't mind knowing some near-royalties myself. It might come in handy sometime.”

They did a good deal of kidding and laughing, but Rose could see that they looked at her with a trifle more respect than they had done, and when Harry Coster gave his evening invitation to her to go and dance a while, he only bowed low when she said, “No thank you,” and stared after her thoughtfully, instead of arguing with her about it.

So the days grew to be pleasant ones, with such a friend as Lady Campbell to sit beside her occasionally, and sometimes to invite her up to have dinner with her. She was a friend who could advise her and was wise about things of the journey that she needed to know.