Molly Browns Orchard Home | Page 9

a joking promise she had made him to stand up for her
mother if not for herself, so she braced herself for battle. Despite her
girlish face and figure, Molly Brown could command as much dignity
as any member of the Four Hundred.
With a polite smile and gently modulated voice she said, very calmly
and firmly: "Madam, as I said before, these are my chairs but you are
quite welcome to them until after dinner. If you have any doubt about it,
you will find our names on the backs; but to save you the trouble of
moving to look behind you, if you will be so kind as to glance at these
tags you can verify my statement."
"Oh, I did not dream I was to call forth such a tirade," yawned the
nonplussed woman, reading the tags: "'Mrs. M. Brown, Kentucky; Miss
M. Brown, Kentucky.' If you are not going to use the chairs until after
dinner, my daughter and I will just stay in them until other
arrangements can be made. These small steamers are wretchedly
managed. I can't imagine where our chairs are. Elise," calling to her
daughter, "it seems these are not our chairs, after all."
"Well, I did not think they could be, as these chairs seem real enough
and ours are entirely imaginary," answered the daughter rudely.
"Mother, this is Mr. Kinsella, whom I have known at the Art Students'
League. My mother, Mrs. Huntington, Mr. Kinsella."
"I am so glad to meet you, Mrs. Huntington. Your daughter, Miss
O'Brien, and I have been working in the same costume class at the
League. I did not dream she was to be on this boat and when I saw her
come on deck I thought I was seeing ghosts."
Pierce had come eagerly forward to meet the mother of the interesting
girl he had known and liked at the art school; but Mrs. Huntington
looked as though she, too, were seeing ghosts. She shrank back in her
down pillows and her face became pinched and pale, and it was a
moment before the hardened woman of the world could command her

voice to return the greeting of the young man.
"Kinsella, did you say? Could you be Tom Kinsella's son? You are
strangely like him."
"Thank you, madam, for that. There is no one I want to be like so much
as my Uncle Tom. I am his nephew; my uncle has never married. Did
you know my uncle? He is on board and I know would be glad to
renew his acquaintance with you. But let me introduce Miss Brown to
both of you."
The two girls shook hands, and as they looked in each other's eyes,
Molly felt in her heart an instinctive liking for the older girl. There was
something honest and straight about her face despite the rather sullen
expression of her mouth. She was beautiful, besides, and beauty always
appealed to Molly,--almost always, at least, for although Mrs.
Huntington was beautiful, too, Molly felt no leaning toward her.
Mother and daughter looked enough alike to make it not difficult to
guess the relationship at the first glance; but the more one saw of them,
the fainter grew the resemblance. The older woman was smaller, fairer
and plumper; her hair was golden while the daughter's was light brown;
her complexion pink and white, the daughter's rather sallow; her eyes
baby blue, the other's gray green. But the daughter's features were more
pronounced and her well-cut chin and mouth showed character and
pride, while the mother's looked a little petulant.
"I am very glad to meet you, Miss Brown. I believe I have heard of you.
Aren't you Julia Kean's 'Molly'?" And Elise O'Brien gave Molly's hand
a little squeeze.
"Of course I am. To think of your knowing my Judy! You must have
met her at the League. Perhaps you knew her, too, Mr. Kinsella."
"Who? Miss Kean? I should say I did. She was the life of the outdoor
sketch club we got up; and believe me, she has a soul for color. Why,
that little 'postage stamp landscape' she had in the American Artists'
Exhibition was a winner. Did you see a memory sketch she did for the
final exhibition at the League? It was a tall girl in black standing up

singing and a beautiful red-headed girl in diaphanous blue playing an
accompaniment on a guitar, with a background of holly and a great
bunch of mistletoe at one side." Pierce stopped suddenly in the midst of
his description of Judy's picture and, gazing intently at Molly, cried out,
"By the great jumping jingo, if Miss Brown isn't the red-headed girl in
diaphanous blue!"
"Yes, I saw it," exclaimed Elise, "and thought it was wonderfully clever.
Miss Kean