Eugenia sat in an old oak chair in the farmhouse dining room while Barbara swept and dusted. It was the morning after her experience in the woods and actually she had confessed to a headache and had decided not to go to the field hospital for her daily nursing.
At present the four American girls were on day duty and remained at the hospital from nine in the morning until four in the afternoon, their places being taken by other nurses at that hour. But each girl had one day of rest and by chance this happened to be Barbara’s.
Eugenia had been asleep when Nona and Mildred went away to work and only in the last half hour had crept downstairs. All her life every now and then she had been subject to wretched headaches which left her speechless and exhausted. But[117] so far since coming abroad her three girl companions had not been aware of them.
Now every now and then while Barbara worked she glanced toward Eugenia. It was difficult to recognize the severe and energetic Miss Peabody in this white-faced, quiet girl. For Eugenia had never since the beginning of their acquaintance looked so young. For one thing, she was wearing a beautiful violet cashmere kimono Mildred had presented her during their stay in Paris. She had never worn it until now. At least the gift had not come directly from Mildred or Eugenia would never have accepted it. But Mrs. Thornton had written from New York asking that Mildred’s new friends receive some little gifts from her, and Mildred had chosen four kimonos. They were too pretty for nursing use, so the other girls had been enjoying theirs in the evenings alone at home.
Eugenia had never consented to relax even to that extent when work was over and there was no possibility of company. Now, however, her costume was not of her own choosing, for after Barbara had taken[118] a cup of coffee to her room and persuaded her into drinking it, she had dressed her in the new kimono without asking permission. Also she had brushed and plaited Eugenia’s heavy hair into two long braids.
“Funny for a New England old maid to be able to look like an Italian Madonna simply because her hair is down and her head aches,” Barbara thought to herself after one of her quick glances at Eugenia.
She made rather a fetching picture herself, but Barbara was at present entirely unconscious. Simply because it happened to be the most useful costume she owned for the purpose, she was clad in a French peasant’s smock of dark-blue linen, and wore a little white cap at a rakish angle on top of her brown curls. Her hair was now sufficiently long to twist into a small knot at the nape of her neck, where delicate tendrils were apt to creep forth like the new growth on a vine.
Finally Eugenia, opening her eyes and catching sight of Barbara, at this moment on tip toes in her effort to dust the tall mantel-shelf, said unexpectedly:
[119]
“You are very pretty, Barbara dear, and just the kind of a little woman that men are apt to care for. I wonder if you ever think of marrying, or do you mean to go on nursing all your life? Now and then I have thought that Dick——”
But her sentence was interrupted by Barbara’s dropping the candlestick which she was dusting and then turning to stare at her companion.
“Why, Eugenia, I thought you were asleep,” she began reproachfully. Then showing the dimple which she so resented, she added slyly, “But what on earth made you speak on such a subject? I never dreamed that you ever had a thought of such a thing in your life.”
Barbara bit her lips. No wonder Eugenia considered her a goose, for certainly she seemed possessed of the fatal gift of saying the wrong thing.
Eugenia was no longer pale. Indeed, a wave of hot color had turned her entire face crimson.
“Am I so unattractive as all that?” she asked slowly, forgetting her headache for[120] the instant and feeling a return of the mood that had troubled her the evening before, until the excitement of her adventure had driven it from her mind.
“Do you know, Barbara, I was trying to decide just last night what was the matter with me. Now I know you don’t like me, but I think you are fair. Tell me why you suppose I have never even thought of love and marriage and the kind of happiness other girls expect. I’m not so very old, after all! But you are right in one idea. I never, never have dreamed of it for myself. For one thing, no one has ever been in love with me even the least little bit in all my life!”
In spite of the tactlessness of Barbara’s speech actually Eugenia was speaking without the least temper, when ordinarily she was given to showing anger with her companion under the slightest provocation.
In consequence Barbara felt entirely disgusted with herself, and what was worse—ridiculously tongue-tied.
“Oh, I did not mean anything like that,” she stammered. “That is—at least—why,[121] of course you are as nice as anyone when you let yourself be, Eugenia. But you do s............