CHAPTER XXI.
IN HER FATHER’S HOME.
Toward the middle of September, Mrs. Thorne and Sidney were sitting in Mrs. Thorne’s luxuriously furnished sitting room upstairs, waiting. Sidney, near the windows in front, suddenly exclaimed, “Here they are! Oh, Mother, what shall we do now?”
The Thorne car passed the front of the house, in the street, and went into the drive at the side. Sidney watched and presently saw the erect figure, that followed Mr. Thorne across the lawn with the springing step that Shirley had mentioned. Sidney could not see his face very well and they both disappeared near the entrance. Now the chauffeur brought a little baggage.
Mrs. Thorne was answering Sidney’s question. “When your father has had Dr. Harcourt shown to his room, and he has had an opportunity to refresh himself and dress for dinner, he will be directed to the library, where I shall probably be by that time, with your father. Then, after we have had a little talk, you will be sent for, and I think that we shall let you meet Dr. Harcourt by yourself. I am sure that I do not want to be there.”
“Mother is glad that Mrs. Harcourt did not come,” thought Sidney, and to tell the truth she thought that her real mother had taken the proper course. It was Sidney’s place to go to her mother, just as it was proper for Dr. Harcourt to come at his earliest opportunity. But the Thornes had invited them both.
As Mrs. Thorne had said, she joined her husband in the library as soon as she thought it advisable. Dr. Harcourt, properly conducted by a servant, made his appearance, when he was suitably prepared for the occasion, and met Mrs. Thorne, rather particularly gowned for the occasion. Any details, however, were wasted on Dr. Harcourt, who thought her a pretty, attractive, refined woman but was incapable of being impressed with more. Indeed, the girls and faculty women of his university were accustomed to the same sort of thing, and evening dress was no novelty to the professor.
The talk which had been begun by the gentlemen on their way from the station was continued. Mr. and Mrs. Thorne were very much relieved to note that Dr. Harcourt had no wish to upset existing arrangements at present, if at all. “Unusual things have often a way of disposing of themselves,” said he. “Suppose we wait to see what ideas develop. My wife and I hope that our daughter will like us. That is the extent of our hope at present. We are so utterly surprised, you know, in spite of Shirley’s having written about the resemblance. It is gratifying to know that we have another daughter, and my wife’s heart is yearning to see her. Our home is open to her, like our hearts, but a young girl with her home and training here, her love yours,—it must be bewildering, indeed.”
Mrs. Thorne was gratified to hear such sentiments and to see what a distinguished looking gentleman the professor was. To him she suggested that they withdraw for a little while and send his daughter to him. “Very well,” said he. “That would probably be less embarrassing to her.”
Sidney, too, had taken great care with her toilet. Her stylish little frock became her, and she had a pathetic smile for her father as she crossed the room to meet him. He rose, laying a book on the table by him, and took several steps toward her.
“Why,” said he, with a puzzled, half-believing look, “this is not Shirley, by any chance?”
“No, sir; this is Sidney.”
Sidney had dreaded this meeting. Would her father, perhaps fold her in his arms and weep over her? How she would hate that! But so would this father. With kind eyes he looked down at her, holding her cold hand that had been held out to meet his. “My dear child, to think that we have been missing your life with us all these years. Come, sit down by me for a few moments. As I have been telling your—parents, it is a bewildering situation, but I assure you that neither your affection nor a choice of homes will be forced on you. We must think out what is best. We shall try to enter into our daughter’s life without making her unhappy.”
“Oh, you are like Shirley, aren’t you?” said Sidney, trying to realize that this was her father. More than one student had been put at his ease by the kind understanding of this professor. It was impossible that his own daughter should not like him.
“Am I? In what way?”
“Thinking what is good for everybody, as she says.”
“Habit, I suppose,” said Dr. Harcourt, with a smile. “We deal with problems in the faculty. But this is a new one. Some good fairy has changed one daughter into two, while we were away. Shall we not be happy over it?”
“Why, I believe we could be,—Father.”
“Thank you, my child.” Dr. Harcourt seemed to be affected by Sidney’s sweet way of addressing him. He paused for a moment. “Now, I can not be here long. I must go back to the university to-morrow. But your mother sends you her love and wants you to come to us, for a visit, or to stay. She wanted to see you, but could not quite bring herself to meet you here. Then I want to have a talk with you, either to-night or to-morrow morning, to learn something of how you feel in regard to this, and to know what are your ambitions;—you can guess how interested I am in everything concerning you.”
“Yes, sir. I am not sure that I have any big ambitions, like Shirley, but it may do me good to think about it. I will go to see my mother, and you, and the university,—and I am glad that you understand how a girl would feel with two fathers and two mothers. But you can scarcely know how thankful I was after having been nearly distracted, to find that my real father is you!”
Sidney was making a fine impression of sincerity upon her father. After one or two more references to the chief subject of thought, Dr. Harcourt suggested that Sidney summon Mr. and Mrs. Thorne. From that time on, through dinner and for a large part of the evening, a strange evening to Sidney who sat to listen, the conversation turned on general matters, national, local, business, the university where Dr. Harcourt taught, the results of his trip, the interests of the Thornes. And after Sidney had gone to her room, Dr. Harcourt took pains to express his feeling over the fact that a home of such “high ideals” had been provided for his little unknown child, who fell into such dangers. It was like Dr. Harcourt not even to think of the evidences of wealth around him.
Shirley, at home, and a sober mother of a daughter whom she had never seen, thought of that Chicago meeting; but Shirley was too full of her entrance as a freshman in the university to worry about Sidney. Everything would be all right now, or soon. Of course Sidney would love her very own parents. Didn’t she know her twin?
Not long after Dr. Harcourt’s hurried Chicago trip, Sidney, chaperoned by Miss Standish, visited her father and mother. Miss Standish, after her first disappointment, had taken a great interest. She met and heartily approved the new father, Dr. Harcourt, thinking Sidney very fortunate in her family. She looked up the Thornes and the Harcourts and the Dudleys again until Sidney begged for mercy at the array of names and facts. “Never mind,” said her great-aunt, “some day you will be interested again; and I am sure to find Miss Dudley keenly interested and well informed about our New England families.” She noted Sidney’s inward excitement as they drew near the pretty little college town, and she was very much alive herself to every impression of people and environment. Neither of them came in a critical attitude.
Gently and affectionately Mrs. Harcourt welcomed her daughter, trying not to disturb the poise which Sidney strove to maintain. But when it came to the point, neither could help being somewhat shaken by all that it had involved. It was a softer and sweeter Sidney than Shirley had first known, who came on to the home which should always have been hers.
A decided stir in the student circle was made by the sudden and unheralded appearance of “Shirley Harcourt’s twin.” Dr. Harcourt longed to put Sidney into college with Shirley, but he saw that she was not physically as strong and after a long talk with her, he gave up the idea for the present.
There was plenty of fun, for Shirley’s friends flocked in at her invitation. Sidney was admired and made much of till she told Shirley that her head would be quite turned. She had not been unaccustomed to admiration, but this gay yet earnest group of university girls and boys, most of them older than herself, made a new and attractive feature. She noted their respect toward her father and the grace with which her mother managed the various situations. There was one maid, who spent the day and went away at night, but the home was full of books and things that spoke of taste and culture if not of wealth. Too bad that such dear people could not have both, Sidney thought, and she helped Shirley or her mother in little ways while she was there, trying to learn. Shirley understood.
Mac Holland had surprised Shirley by bringing Hope to the university with him. Mac and Dick were full of fraternity affairs just now, for Dick had engineered Mac’s pledging, “before any of the other frats got hold of him.”
On Saturday evening, after a big athletic rally, a roomful of young friends were eating pine-apple ice and cake at Dr. Harcourt’s when Shirley called Sidney’s attention to Miss Dudley and Miss Standish. Sidney had been helping Shirley serve the guests and they were about to offer a pretty plate each to the great-aunts. “Wait,” laughed Shirley. “Aunt Anne is on the Dudleys.”
The two bright-eyed, modern women were sitting together on the large davenport under a tall lamp. Several books lay around them and they were so absorbed in their conversation that they scarcely noticed the chatting students around them.
“Hear ’em?” asked Shirley again.
“Yes,” returned Sidney. “Auntie is laying it off about the Standishes and the Thornes. It’s all right now. The last obstacle is removed!”
Yet it was not with the superficial phases of family and ancestry that Miss Dudley and Miss Standish were dealing. Pleasantly they accepted the plates from the pretty girls so strangely duplicated and continued their conversation after the girls had left them.
Soberly Miss Dudley followed them with her eyes. “What,” she asked, “do you think will be the result of this discovery?”
“I do not know,” as seriously Miss Standish made answer. “I am impressed with Dr. Harcourt’s attitude of not forcing Sidney to a decision and, in general, of not hurrying matters.”
“In this whole bewildering disclosure it has been hardest for Eleanor, I think.”
“You mean Mrs. Harcourt, I suppose. Yes, it would be.”
“To us it is like having two Shirleys. My first impulses are to say that Sidney should come to her mother to stay. Eleanor wants her.”
“You have not seen Mr. and Mrs. Thorne, and you have no idea what a blank it would leave in their home.”
“That is what my nephew considers, together with gratitude that his child came into such a fortunate environment. Sidney will go back to Chicago now, knowing and appreciating her own father and mother. Dr. Harcourt is trusting Mr. and Mrs. Thorne to see that she is not carried away by any merely social life. They are too broad-minded and just, he says, to be selfish about Sidney’s relation to us. I like his opinion that this cannot be adjusted in a moment, and that none of us must make a tragedy out of a discovery which should be a happy one.”
“It is a happy one,” began Miss Standish, “rather than a blank about Sidney’s origin.” But just then the two girls came bringing Mrs. Harcourt between them from the regions of the kitchen and pantry.
Removing a book or two from the way, they put her into the comfort of the davenport, by Miss Dudley and Miss Standish. “Not another thing do you do, Mother,” said Sidney, with smiling decision. “Lean back on the cushions now and be served by your daughters! Come on, Shirley.”
With a glance of understanding, the two girls started away, followed immediately by Dick, Mac, and another university lad, who sprang up to assist in the last servings.
The somewhat weary but content faculty wife leaned back with a sigh and a smile. “I enjoy my two daughters,” she said, “and I only wish that this could be permanent. But we must be very wise just now. That Shirley and Sidney know each other so well and have felt drawn to each other is one of the happiest circumstances. I consider it providential that they were sent to the same school.”
“So do I,” returned Miss Standish, who might have been pardoned for some regrets. “Happy days in the new relations are before both of them; and the expectancy of their own adventures, in such a life as they shall make for themselves out of their opportunities, is theirs, just as it was before.”
The girls themselves put problems out of their minds, after Sidney had confided her present plans to Shirley: “I’m going back to Chicago, Shirley,” she said, “and let my other mother do what she wants to do about the ‘debut,’ in the winter or spring. But I’ll not disappoint our mother and father by giving up study and improvement so early. Could you stand it, Shirley, to have me come to your school?”
“It would be a pity if I couldn’t!” warmly exclaimed Shirley.
“I think that I may come, then, next year. Luckily I did pretty well in Latin and I want to take some courses under my very own father. I’m very proud of him. After my other mother gets used to the idea, it will be almost like letting me go away to school as before.
“Then I can be with our mother and father, see how it goes to be a faculty daughter along with you, and cover myself with glory to my own dad!”
“Noble ambition!” laughed Shirley, “the sooner the better, Sidney. Be sure to tell him that before you go.”
“Perhaps I will,—and that if I am going away, I am also coming back.”
THE END