It became the fashion in Sandyport to employ "little Miss Talcott." Her capabilities once discovered, people were quick in finding out ways in which to utilize them. Mrs. Robert Brown had the sudden happy thought of getting Georgie to arrange the flowers for a ball which she was giving. Georgie loved flowers, and had that knack of making them look charming in vases which is the gift of a favored few. The ball decorations were admired and commented upon; people said it was "so clever of Mrs. Brown," and "so much better than stiff things from a florist's," and presently half a dozen other ladies wanted the same thing done for them. Fashion and sheep always follow any leader who is venturesome enough to try a new fence.
Later, Mrs. Horace Brown, with her cards out for a great lawn-party, had the misfortune to sprain her ankle. In this emergency she bethought herself of Georgie, who thereupon proved so "invaluable" as a dea ex machina behind the scenes, that thenceforward Mrs. Brown never felt that she could give any sort of entertainment without her help. Engagements thickened, and Georgie's hands became so full that she laughingly threatened to "take a partner."
"That's just what I always wanted you to do," said Mrs. St. John, – "a real nice one, with heaps of money, who would take you about everywhere, and give you a good time."
"Oh, that's not at all the sort I want," protested Georgie, laughing and blushing. "I mean a real business partner, a fellow-sweeperess and house-arranger and ball-supper-manageress!"
"Wretched girl, how horribly practical you are! I wish I could see you discontented and sentimental just for once!"
"Heaven forbid! That would be a pretty state of things! Now good-by. I have about half a ton of roses to arrange for Mrs. Lauriston."
"Oh, – for her dance! Georgie," coaxingly, "why not go for once with me? Come, just this once. There's that white dress of mine from Pingat, with the Point de Venie sleeves, that would exactly fit you."
"Nonsense!" replied Georgie, briefly. She kissed her friend and hurried away.
"I declare," soliloquized Mrs. St. John, looking after her, "I could find it in my heart to advertise for some one to come and rescue Georgie Talcott from all this hard work! What nice old times those were when you had only to get up a tournament and blow a trumpet or two, and have true knights flock in from all points of the compass in aid of distressed damsels! I wish such things were in fashion now; I would buy a trumpet this very day, I vow, and have a tournament next week."
Georgie's true knight, as it happened, was to come from a quarter little suspected by Mrs. St. John. For the spare afternoons of this second winter Georgie had reserved rather a large piece of work, which had the advantage that it could be taken up at will and laid down when convenient. This was the cataloguing of a valuable library belonging to Mr. Constant Carrington. That gentleman had observed Georgie rather closely as she went about her various avocations, and had formed so high an opinion of what he was pleased to term her "executive ability," that he made a high bid for her services in preference to those of any one else.
She was sitting in this library one rainy day in January, beside a big packing-case, with a long row of books on the table, which she was dusting, classifying, and noting on the list in her lap, when the door opened and a tall young man came in. Georgie glanced at him vaguely, as at a stranger; then recognizing an old friend, she jumped up, exclaiming, "Why Bob – Mr. Curtis, – how do you do? I had no idea that you were here."
Bob Curtis looked bewildered. He had reached Sandyport only that morning. No one had chanced to mention Georgie or the change in her fortunes, and for a moment he failed to recognize in the white-aproned, dusty-fingered vision before him the girl whom he had known so well five years previously.
"It is? – why it is," he exclaimed. "Miss Georgie, how delighted I am to see you! I was coming down to call as soon as I could find out where you were. My aunt said nothing about your being in the house."
"Very likely she did not know. I am in and out so often here that I do not always see Mrs. Carrington."
"Indeed!" Bob looked more puzzled than ever. He had not remembered that there was any such close intimacy in the old days between the two families.
"I can't shake hands, I am too dusty," went on Georgie. "But I am very glad indeed to see you again."
She too was taking mental notes, and observing that her former friend had lost somewhat of the gloss and brilliance of his boyish days; that his coat was not of the last cut; and that his expression was spiritless, not to say discontented. "Poor fellow!" she thought.
"What on earth does it all mean?" meditated Bob on his part.
"These books only came yesterday," said Georgie, indicating the big box with a wave of the hand.
"I have had to dust them all; and I find that Italian dust sticks just as the American variety does, and makes the fingers just as black." A little laugh.
"What are you doing, if I may be so bold as to ask?"
"Cataloguing your uncle's library. He has been buying quantities of books for the last two years, as perhaps you know. He has a man in Germany and another in Paris and another in London, who purchase for him, and the boxes are coming over almost every week now. A great case full of the English ones arrived last Saturday, – such beauties! Look at that Ruskin behind you. It is the first edition, with all the plates, worth its weight in gold."
"It's awfully good of you to take so much trouble, I'm sure," remarked Mr. Curtis politely, still with the same mystified look.
"Not at all," replied Georgie, coolly. "It's all in my line of business, you know. Mr. Carrington is to give me a hundred dollars for the job; which is excellent pay, because I can take my own time for doing it, and work at odd moments."
Her interlocutor looked more perplexed than ever. A distinct embarrassment became visible in his manner at the words "job" and "pay."
"Certainly," he said. Then coloring a little he frankly went on, "I don't understand a bit. Would you mind telling me what it all means?"
"Oh, you haven't happened to hear of my 'befalments,' as Miss Sally Scannell would call them."
"I did hear of your mother's death," said Bob, gently, "and I was truly sorry. She was so kind to me always in the old days."
"She was kind to everybody. I am glad you were sorry," said Georgie, bright tears in the eyes which she turned with a grateful look on Bob. "Well, that was the beginning of it all."
There was another pause, during which Bob pulled his moustache nervously! Then he drew a chair to the table and sat down.
"Can you talk while you're working?" he asked. "And mayn't I help? It seems as though I might at least lift those books out for you. Now, if you don't mind, if it isn't painful, won't you tell me what has happened to you, for I see that something has happened."
"A great deal has happened, but it isn't painful to tell about it. Things were puzzling at first, but they have turned out wonderfully; and I'm rather proud of the way they have gone."
So, little by little, with occasional interruptions for lifting out books and jotting down titles, she told her story, won from point to point by the eager interest which her companion showed in the narrative. When she had finished, he brought his hand down heavily on the table.
"I'll tell you what," he exclaimed with vigorous emphasis, "it's most extraordinary that a girl should do as you have done. You're an absolute little brick, – if you'll excuse the phrase. But it makes a fellow – it makes me more ashamed of myself than I've often been in my life before."
"But why, – why should you be ashamed?"
"Oh, I've been having hard times too," explained Bob, gloomily. "But I haven't been so plucky as you. I've minded them more."
Georgie knew vaguely something of these "hard times." In the "old days," five years before, when she was seventeen and he a Harvard Junior of twenty, spending a long vacation with his uncle, and when they had rowed and danced and played tennis together so constantly as to set people