CHAPTER IVMILESTONES
“Sh-h-h! No giggles. If you don’t creep along as still as mice she’ll hear you,” warned a sibilant whisper.
Five young women, headed by Emma Dean, smoothed the laughter from their faces and stole, cat-like, up the green lawn to the wide veranda at the rear of Harlowe House. One by one they noiselessly mounted the steps. Emma, finger on her lips, cast a comical glance at the maid, who tittered faintly; then the stealthy procession crept down the hall in the direction of Grace Harlowe’s little office. There was an instant’s silent rallying of forces of which the young woman at the desk, who sat writing busily, was totally unconscious, then, of a sudden, she heard a ringing call of “Three cheers for Loyalheart!” and sprang to her feet only to be completely hemmed in by friendly arms.
“You wicked girls! I mean, you dear things,” she laughed. “How nice of you to descend upon me in a body. I must kiss every one of you. Patience and Kathleen, when did you set foot in Overton? I’ve been watching and waiting for you. Mary Reynolds, thisisa surprise. Ididn’t expect you until next week, and Evelyn, too, looking lovelier than ever. As for Emma, she’s a continual surprise and pleasure.” Grace embraced one after another of the five girls.
“I’m so glad I thought of this nice surprise,” beamed Emma, craning her neck, and pluming herself vaingloriously. “I have another beautiful thought, too, seething in my fertile brain. Let’s go down to Vinton’s and celebrate.”
“I knew some one was sure to propose that,” laughed Patience. “I intended to be that some one, but Emma forestalled me.”
“I’m as busy as can be, but I can’t resist the call to my old haunts,” laughed Grace. “Besides, it’s such a perfect day. Leave your bags in the living room, girls. I feel highly honored to know that you and Kathleen came straight to me, Patience.”
“The old case of the needle and the magnet,” explained Patience with a careless wave of her hand.
“Oh, Miss Harlowe I’m so glad to see you,” was Mary Reynolds’ fervent tribute.
“So am I,” declared Evelyn Ward, with an emphatic nod of her golden head. “I’ve had a perfectly wonderful summer, Miss Harlowe. I loved my part. It hasn’t been very hot in New York City, either, and I spent my Sundays and some of my week days with the Southards attheir Long Island summer home. I have thought of you many times. I hope you’ll forgive me for not writing you oftener. Kathleen and I came down on the same train.” She poured forth all this information almost in a breath.
“Of course I’ll forgive you,” returned Grace. “I’m a very lax correspondent, too. I’m so glad you’ve been well, and that you liked your part.”
“You should have seen her in it, Grace,” put in Kathleen. “She made an adorable Constance Devon, and her gowns were beautiful. The girl who understudied her, and who will play the part on the road, isn’t half so stunning. Patience saw her, too.”
“She was a credit to herself and Overton,” verified Patience.
“I thank you, most grave and reverend seniors.” Evelyn, her eyes shining with the pleasure of well-earned praise, made a low bow to Patience and Kathleen.
“‘Most grave and reverend seniors,’” repeated Grace, slipping in between her two friends, her hand on an arm of each.
Kathleen’s sharp black eyes grew tender with the love she bore Grace. “Yes,” came her soft answer, “Patience and I are seniors at last. We’ve reached Senior Lane, and I hope to leave some milestones as we pass through it. Dear as the others have been, I’d like to rise to greaterheights this year. I don’t know just what I’d like to do,” she flushed and laughed at her own enthusiasm, “but I’d like to do something worth while.”
“So would I,” murmured Evelyn Ward.
“I want to be friends with every one, and not be conditioned,” was Mary Reynolds’ modest petition.
“Idon’t know just what sort of milestones I’d like to leave. Only decorative ones, of course. I wish to keep my lane free from weeds and ugly, jagged rocks.” This from Patience.
“You might begin at once and leave a milestone at Vinton’s, for being a willing, little reveler,” suggested Emma with meaning.
“Come on, girls,” rallied Kathleen. “We must show Emma just how willing we are. Allow me, my dear Miss Dean,” she offered her arm to Emma, and they paraded down the hall, out the door and down the steps with great ceremony. Mary, Grace, Patience and Evelyn followed. Patience walked with Evelyn, while Grace and Mary brought up the rear.
“Oh, Miss Harlowe,” began Mary, with intense earnestness, “you haven’t any idea of how much Kathleen—she likes me to call her Kathleen—has done for me this summer. I knew last spring that I must earn my living through the summer, in some way, but I neverdreamed that it would be in such a nice way.”
“I am anxious to hear all about it,” returned Grace. “When you wrote me that Kathleen had secured work for you on her paper I was so pleased.”
“Yes, I was the assistant on the woman’s page,” related Mary. “Of course my work wasn’t so very important. It was mostly clipping things from other papers, but I used to write the paragraph under the fashion drawings, and sometimes I went out to the big department stores to look for interesting new fads and fashions for women. Three times I wrote short articles, so you see I actually appeared in print. Kathleen made me take half of her room, and so my board wasn’t very expensive. My salary was fifteen dollars a week. I have enough new clothes to last me all winter, and I’ve saved eighty-five dollars. That will help pay my tuition this year, and Kathleen is sure she can sell some children’s stories I’ve written. Wouldn’t it be glorious, Miss Harlowe, if some day I’d become a writer?” Mary’s eyes shone with the distant prospect of future honors.
“It looks to me as though you were on the right road,” encouraged Grace. “The only thing to do is to keep on writing. The more you write the easier it will become—that is, ifyou are really gifted. Kathleen has great faith in you. You must show her that it is well founded.”
“How inspiring you are, Miss Harlowe.” Mary looked her gratitude at Grace’s hopeful words; then she added in a slightly lower tone: “I’m so glad everything went so beautifully for Evelyn. I saw her twice in ‘The Reckoning.’ She lookedbeautiful, and her acting was so clever. She—she told me of her own accord about”—Mary hesitated—“things. It would have hurt me dreadfully if Evelyn had not come back to Overton. I love her dearly.”
Grace nodded sympathetically. She understood the remarkable effect of Evelyn’s beauty upon Mary. Still, she reflected, it had not been potent enough to lure Mary from standing by her colors at the crucial moment. Grace realized that this poor orphan girl, whose only home was Harlowe House, possessed a steadfast, upright nature that must in time win her not only scores of loyal friends, but the respect of all who knew her, as well.
A sudden trill from Kathleen caused them to quicken their steps. The others were standing in front of Vinton’s, waiting for them. Once inside the pretty tea room that had been the scene of so many of their revels, with one accord they made for the alcove table.
“Shades of Arline Thayer,” laughed Emma. “I am haunted by her. I can see her sitting in that chair, her little hands folded on the table, saying, ‘What are we going to eat, girls?’ She loved this alcove and every stick and stone of Vinton’s. She never cared so much for Martell’s.”
By this time they had seated themselves at the round table and begun to order their luncheon. Vinton’s was productive of reminiscences, and they were soon deep in the discussion of past events, grave and gay, that had dotted their college life. Evelyn and Mary were for the most part listeners, but Grace, Patience, Emma and Kathleen fairly bubbled over with by-gone college history.
“I love to hear about the things that happened to Miss Harlowe and Miss Dean when they were students,” confided Mary to Evelyn under cover of a general laugh over one of Emma Dean’s ridiculous reminiscences.
“So do I,” nodded Mary, then she added in a still lower tone, “Have you noticed the girl at the table near the door, Evelyn. She came in about ten minutes ago, and she’s watched this table every second since she came.”
“Yes, I noticed her. She’s pretty, isn’t she? That’s a stunning suit she is wearing. Her hat is miles above reproach, too.” Evelyn couldnot repress her admiration for beautiful clothes.
At that moment Kathleen spoke to her and she turned to answer the latter’s question. When next her eyes turned toward the pretty girl it was just as they were leaving the tea shop. Evelyn was the last member of the sextette to pass the table. She glanced at the girl only to note that she was searching a small leather bag frantically, a look of indescribable alarm in her eyes. “It’s gone,” she said, half aloud.
Something prompted Evelyn to halt. “Good afternoon,” she said. “I heard—that is—can I help you?”
A shade of annoyance darkened the stranger’s face. It was replaced by an expression of fright. “I’ve lost my money,” she said in a dazed voice. “It was all I had. I can’t pay for my luncheon. I don’t know what to do.” Her voice rose to an anxious note.
“Give me your check,” said Evelyn quietly. “I’ll pay the cashier. You can pay me later.”
“Oh, thank you,” breathed the girl. “You don’t know how I hated the idea of going to the cashier and telling her I had no money. I’msoworried about my purse. I had over a hundred dollars in it. I haven’t seen it since I left the train. Just before we reached Overton I went into the lavatory to fix my hair. I laid my bagdown. There was another woman there at the mirror. She must have slipped her fingers into my bag and taken my purse, for when I picked up the bag it was open. I snapped it shut and paid no attention to it then. I didn’t think of it until I reached for my purse to count out the money for my luncheon.”
“What a shame!” exclaimed Evelyn, sympathetically. “I know just how worried you must feel. Just wait a second.” She picked up the check, which was for a small amount, went over to the desk, and paid the bill. Then she hurried back to her companion. “Everything is all right now,” she declared, “but if you have no money you had better come with me. I will introduce you to Miss Harlowe. My name is Evelyn Ward.”
“Miss Harlowe, of Harlowe House?” interrupted the girl.
“Yes, do you know her?”
“I don’t know her yet, but I’m going to live at Harlowe House. So I expect to know her. My name is Jean Brent. Perhaps you’ve heard of me. A friend of mine helped me to get the chance to live at Harlowe House.”
“Have I heard of you?” laughed Evelyn. “I should say I had. Isn’t it funny how things happen? Why, you are to be my roommate.”
CHAPTER VTHE LOCKED DOOR
When Evelyn and Jean Brent reached the street it was to find the other young women grouped together in conversation, and not at all alarmed at Evelyn’s non-appearance.
“We weren’t worried,” Emma Dean assured her. “We’ve all been known to lag and loiter.”
“I lagged and loitered to some purpose,” defended Evelyn. “Miss Harlowe, this is Miss Brent, my roommate.” She introduced the stranger to the others.
Grace’s hand was extended in surprised welcome. “We have been looking for you since Monday,” she said. “You are the girl who sat at the end table at Vinton’s. If I had known you were Miss Brent I would have asked you to join us. I am so glad Miss Ward broke the ice. How did it happen?”
“I had lost my purse,” returned the girl, rather shyly, in spite of her air of self-possession. Then reassured by Grace’s charming manner, she told her story.
“You must come with us to Harlowe House at once. It is such a pity that you met withmisfortune.” Grace’s gray eyes were full of sympathy. “Have you much luggage?”
“Four trunks,” was the rueful answer. “You see I have so many clothes that—” She stopped abruptly, a deep flush dying her fair skin, “I had no place—I did not like to leave them, so I had to bring them with me,” she finished, rather lamely.
Grace did not ask further questions. She noted that the girl was ill at ease. “I received Miss Lipton’s letter regarding you a week ago,” she hastened to say. “I wrote her, as you know, that we could place you. She answered saying we might expect you at almost any time. After you have had a chance to rest and make yourself comfortable I will tell you of Harlowe House and the girls who live there.”
One after the other the girls spoke friendly, encouraging words to the unfortunate freshman. Kathleen and Patience possessed themselves of her heavy bag, carrying it between them. Grace walked with the newcomer, pointing out the various interesting features of the little college town, in an attempt to put the stranger entirely at her ease after her disquieting experience. So far she had had slight opportunity to observe this latest freshman arrival. She had a vague idea that Jean Brentwas an unusually attractive girl, but the side view she obtained of her, as they walked along, was far from satisfactory. The newcomer said little, and only once during the short walk to Harlowe House did she turn a pair of very blue eyes directly upon Grace.
It fell to Evelyn Ward to show her to her room, as she was to be Evelyn’s roommate. The girl had exclaimed a little, after the manner of girls, at the attractiveness of Harlowe House, but in spite of her brief flare of enthusiasm over the house and grounds, the tasteful living room and the daintiness of the room she and Evelyn occupied, she encased herself in a curious, impenetrable shell of mystery that Evelyn’s natural curiosity could find no excuse to penetrate. She listened gravely and attentively to all that Evelyn told her of Harlowe House and its lucky household, but she volunteered no information concerning herself except a reluctant, “I came from the West,” in answer to her roommate’s question as to where she lived.
The more Evelyn observed her the more attractive she appeared. She was of medium height, and, although plump, could not be called stout. Her face was rather round, with no suggestion of fatness, while her features were small and regular. Her eyes were not large,but their intense blueness made them a significant feature of her face. Her hair was light brown and had a burnished look in the sun. It grew thickly upon her well-shaped head, and she wore it in a graceful knot at the back of her head. When she smiled, which had been but once since Evelyn first encountered her, she displayed unusually white, even teeth. It dawned upon Evelyn as she watched her unpacking her bag that Jean Brent had not only her share of good looks but a curious power of attraction as well that would carry her far toward college popularity if she chose to exert it. She wondered if she and Jean would get along well together. Although the new Evelyn had made great progress in ruling her own spirit she was well aware of her failings. She was quite sure, in her own mind, that never again would the love of beautiful clothes tempt her to dishonesty, but of herself, in other respects, she was not so positive. Still she had resolved to live up to the traditions of Overton College, to emulate the splendid example Grace Harlowe had already set.
She glanced speculatively at her roommate, but the latter’s calm, impassive expression told her nothing. Suddenly, as though impelled by Evelyn’s gaze, the other girl glanced up and met Evelyn’s eyes squarely. “Well, what doyou think of me?” she inquired. “I thinkyouare the prettiest girl I ever saw.”
Evelyn flushed at both the question and the compliment. Jean Brent was nothing if not frank. “I know I’m going to like you. I was just wondering if we would fit into each other’s lives.”
“I have a frightful temper,” admitted Jean Brent somberly. “Sometimes I’m glad of it. If I hadn’t—” She paused.
Evelyn waited for her to continue, but she gave a quick sigh, and, springing to her feet, walked to the window. From there she could look out at the campus, still green and velvety. For at least five minutes she stood staring out. Then, with the air of one who casts aside a disagreeable memory, she turned from the window, saying: “I’m going to forget everything except the fact that I’m actually an Overton girl.”
“Were you anxious to come to Overton?” asked Evelyn.
“No. I came here because of the advantages Harlowe House offers. I heard of it through a friend. I wanted to go to Smith, but—oh, well, here I am at Overton. Let’s talk about you. I know you are interesting. You look just like the picture of a girl I saw in a magazine I was reading on the train. She is an actress. I didn’t stop to read her name, but I loved herpicture. I think I brought the magazine along. Oh, yes, there it is.” She reached for the magazine, which lay on the table, and turned the leaves energetically. “Here is the picture,” she declared. Evelyn found herself gazing at her own likeness. She began to laugh.
“What’s the matter?” demanded Jean. Her color rose in instant resentment of Evelyn’s laughter.
Evelyn pointed to the printed name under the picture. “I am Evelyn Ward, you know.”
“But not theactress?” Jean’s blue eyes were wide with amazement.
Evelyn nodded laughingly. “That’s my way of earning my tuition money and my clothes,” she explained. “I was never on the stage until last summer.” She went on to tell the astonished Jean of her meeting with the Southards and her final stage début.
“How interesting!” exclaimed Jean. “I suppose all the Harlowe House girls earn their college fees. I wonder how I can earn mine. I had quite a sum toward them when I left—” again came the abrupt stop. “Oh, dear,” she sighed the next moment, “I wish I’d been more careful of my money. I had no business to lay my bag down. What’s the use of regretting? I’ll have to think of some way to raise that money. If I can’t find it any other way I cansell my clothes. I have perfectlybeautifulthings. Four trunks full. Lots more than I can wear. It is lucky for me that—” She checked herself guiltily.
“That what?” asked Evelyn. She was beginning to feel a vague impatience at the strange way in which Jean Brent chopped off her sentences. And how recklessly she talked about selling her clothes.
“That I have you for a roommate,” smiled the mysterious freshman. “I wonder how much the expressman will charge to bring my trunks from the station. Then, too, I wonder where I can put them. I wouldn’t think of spoiling the looks of our room with them.”
“You can put one of them over in that corner,” planned Evelyn, “and we could get one into the closet. It’s large and quite light. The other two Miss Harlowe will allow you to leave in the trunk room.”
“I suppose it will cost a small fortune to have them delivered,” demurred Jean. “I can’t have the sale, either, until I know some of the girls who would be interested in my wares. I’ll have to telegraph my friend to send me some money. Will you go with me to the telegraph office. I don’t know the way. I’ll ask Miss Harlowe to pay the expressman. Then I’ll pay her when my money comes. Frenziedfinance, isn’t it? But if you knew—” Again that maddening break.
“I’ll pay the expressman,” volunteered Evelyn. “If I were you I’d talk things over with Miss Harlowe. She knows that you lost your purse. Very likely she has already thought of something you can do. I don’t think she would like to have you sell your clothes.”
“I don’t see why she should object,” declared Jean, with quick impatience. “However, I’ll do my hair over again, and wash my face and hands, then I’ll go down stairs and have a talk with her. She said she’d be in her office.”
“Run down and talk with her now, then we’ll go to the telegraph office,” said Evelyn.
Twenty minutes later Jean entered the little office where Grace sat engaged in the work she had been doing when interrupted by her friends earlier in the afternoon. Like Evelyn, she was keenly alive to her latest charge’s good looks. “How attractive she is,” was her thought as she invited Jean to take the chair opposite hers.
“I suppose you would like to know something of our household, Miss Brent,” began Grace. “We are not only a household, but we are members of a social club as well. You are the thirty-fourth girl. Last year Miss Thirty-four never materialized, so Miss Ward roomed alone. There isn’t so so much to tell you regardingthe rules and regulations of Harlowe House. The club takes care of most of them with its constitution and by-laws.” Opening a drawer of her desk, Grace took out a paper-covered booklet and handed it to the freshman. “This will give you nearly all the necessary information,” she said. “If I were in your place I would go to the registrar’s office reasonably early to-morrow morning. You can then learn whether you will be obliged to take the entrance examinations. Having been graduated from a preparatory school you may be exempt. When did Miss Lipton’s school close?”
“Last June,” returned Jean briefly.
“But you have seen her since then, have you not? Her letter gave me the impression that you had been with her recently. Do you live in Grafton, or were you visiting Miss Lipton?”
The fair face opposite her own was suddenly flooded with red. “I—I—was—on—a visit recently to Miss Lipton,” she answered, with reluctance. She did not volunteer the name of her home town.
For the first time Grace became aware of the curious reticence that had vaguely annoyed Evelyn. “Where do you live, Miss Brent!” she asked with the sudden directness so characteristic of her.
For a moment the girl did not reply, then hercolor receded, leaving her face very white. “My home is in Chicago,” she said slowly. “My father and mother are dead. I have always lived with”—she hesitated—“friends. Miss Lipton was a friend of my mother’s. Surely her word will not be questioned by the faculty.” She glanced at Grace with a half challenging air.
Something in her tone brought the color to Grace’s cheeks. Why could not this girl be perfectly frank in her replies? Now that Evelyn Ward had turned out so beautifully, Grace had been looking forward to a year of open comradeship with her girls, yet here she was face to face with what promised to be one of those baffling natures that required especially tactful handling to bring out the best that lay within it.
“I have no doubt that Miss Sheldon will place the utmost dependence in Miss Lipton’s word,” returned Grace gravely.
“If she doesn’t, I—oh, well, to-morrow will tell the tale. I wish you would tell me more of Harlowe House. It is a wonderful place. I wanted to go to Smith, but I believe this will be nicer after all. Only I—shall—have to earn my college fees. Miss Ward said perhaps you would help me think of a way to earn money. I have nothing in the world except clothes,clothes, clothes. After I’ve been here for awhile I’d like to have a sale of them. I have loads of lovely things. If I could only sell enough of them to pay my fees.”
“But you will need your clothing for your own use, will you not?” Jean Brent was momently growing more inexplicable.
Jean shook her head energetically. “I don’t care for clothes,” she said eagerly. “I could live in a coat suit and plenty of blouses all year. Idocare for college, though. If I hadn’t cared, I would never—” She suddenly checked herself. “Do you think the girls would buy my things?” she asked in the next instant. “They are nearly all new and fresh.”
“I am sure they would be interested,” was Grace’s honest reply, “but I cannot allow you to hold a sale of your wardrobe. I think such a proceeding would be unwise. Why——”
“Please don’t ask me why, Miss Harlowe, for I can’t tell you.” Jean had risen to her feet, two pleading eyes fixed on Grace. “I can only say that if I had not lost my money everything would be different. There are strong reasons why I can’t explain to you about my being without money, yet having so many clothes, but I assure you that I have done nothing wrong or dishonorable. If you are not satisfied with my explanation and wish to send me away, of courseI can only go, but if you are willing to trust me and let me stay I’ll try to do my best for you and Harlowe House. I’m sorry you disapprove of my having a sale of my things.”
Grace looked long at the earnest young face. Mystifying as were her statements, Jean Brent had the appearance of honesty. Taking one of the girl’s hands in both her own, she said, “I don’t in the least understand you, Miss Brent, but I will respect your secret.”
“Thank you so much for your kindness to me, Miss Harlowe.” With an almost distant nod the prospective freshman rose and left the office with almost rude abruptness.
“What a strange girl,” mused Grace.
Her musing was interrupted by the breezy entrance of Emma Dean. “Hello, Gracious,” she hailed. “Why so pensive?”
“I’m not pensive. I’m puzzled, and a little worried,” returned Grace. “Our latest arrival is a most complex study.”
“I suspected it,” was Emma’s cheerful rejoinder. “One of the ‘There was the Door to which I found no Key’ variety, so to speak.”
“I’m going to tell you all about it,” decided Grace, “for I need your advice.” She related her interview with Jean Brent.
“Miss Lipton, the head of the Lipton Preparatory School, at Grafton, writes beautifullyof Miss Brent,” went on Grace. “I know the faculty would consider her word sufficient to enroll this girl, but I feel that I ought to be doubly careful to keep my household irreproachable. I don’t like mysteries when it comes to admitting a new girl to the fold. Still, Miss Brent impresses me as being honest and sincere. Besides, I’ve promised to help her.”
“Don’t worry, Gracious,” advised Emma, “you may be harboring a princess unawares. The Riddle may turn out to be the Shahess of Persia, or the Grand Vizieress of Bagdad or some other royal person. She may be the moving feature of a real Graustark plot.”
“Stop being ridiculous, Emma, and tell me what I ought to do.” Grace’s smooth forehead puckered in a frown which her laughing lips denied.
Emma was instantly serious. “We do not know just how much college may mean to her,” was her quick response. “If she chooses to shroud herself in mystery, I believe it is because of something which concerns herself alone.”
There was a brief silence, then Grace said: “You are right. To be an Overton girl may mean more to Jean Brent than we can possibly know. I’m going to take her on faith. Perhaps she’ll find college the key that will unlock the door to perfect understanding.”
CHAPTER VIA CLUB MEETING AND A MYSTERY
“There!” exclaimed Louise Sampson as she succeeded in firmly establishing at the top of the bulletin board a large white card, bearing the significant legend, “Regular Meeting of the Harlowe House Club. 8.00P.M.Living Room.Full Attendance, Please.”
A small, fair-haired girl came down the stairs and joined Louise at the bulletin-board. She read the notice aloud. “Oh, dear, I’ve an engagement with a girl at Wayne Hall to-night. I don’t care to miss the meeting, and I don’t like to break my engagement,” she mourned.
“I wish you would break it just this once, Hilda,” said Louise seriously. “I am anxious that every member of the club shall attend the meeting to-night. I have something of importance to say to the girls.”
Hilda Moore opened her blue eyes very wide. “What are you going to say, Louise? Tell me, please. You see I made this engagement over a week ago. If you’d just tell me now what it’s all about, I wouldn’t really need to come to the club meeting. I could——”
“Keep your engagement,” finished Louise, her eyes twinkling. “Really, Hilda Moore, if you knew a tidal wave, or a cyclone or any other calamity was due to demolish Overton I believe you’d go on making engagements in the face of it.”
Hilda giggled good-naturedly. She was a pretty, sunshiny girl of a pure blonde type, and had been extremely popular during her freshman year at Overton, not only with her fellow companions at Harlowe House, but as a member of the freshman class as well. In spite of her round baby face, and a carefree, little-girl manner that went with it, she was a capable business woman and earned her college fees as stenographer to the dean. The daughter of parents who were not able to send her to college, she had not only prepared for college during her high-school days, but had taken the business course included in the curriculum of the high school which she attended, and had thus fitted herself to earn her way in the Land of College.
Hilda’s unfailing good nature was appreciated to the extent of making her a welcome guest at the informal gatherings which were forever being held in the various students’ rooms after recitations were over for the day. The consequence was that, as her studies and clerical duties left her limited time for amusements,her precious recreation moments were invariably promised to her friends many days in advance. In fact Hilda Moore’s “engagements” had grown to be a standing joke among them.
“Promise me on your bright new sophomore honor that you’ll offer your polite regrets to the other half of that important engagement of yours and attend my meeting,” appealed Louise.
“Well,” Hilda looked concerned, “Icouldsee the girl this afternoon and change the date.” She smiled engagingly at Louise.
“Of course youwill,” Louise agreed, answering the smile. “You see I know you, Hilda Moore.”
“But I wouldn’t do it for any one else except Miss Harlowe or Miss Dean,” was Hilda’s positive assertion. “Mercy, look at the time! I’ll have to run for it if I expect to reach the office before Miss Wilder. Good-bye.”
Hilda was gone like a flash, leaving Louise to stare contemplatively at the notice. As the president for the year of the Harlowe House Club she felt deeply her responsibility. She had been unanimously elected at the club’s first meeting, greatly to her surprise.
Louise Sampson was perhaps better fitted to be president of the Harlowe House Club thanany other member of that interesting household. Emma and Grace had agreed upon the point when, before the election, the former’s name had been mentioned as a probable candidate. This thought sprang again to Grace’s mind as she came from her office and saw Louise still standing before the bulletin board, apparently deep in thought. She turned at the sound of Grace’s step.
“Oh, Miss Harlowe!” she exclaimed. “I do hope our meeting to-night will be a success. Surely some one will have a real live idea for the club to act upon.”
“Thirty-four heads are better than one,” smiled Grace. “There is inspiration in numbers.”
“We did wonderfully well with the caramels last year, and this year I believe they will be more popular than ever. We made twice as many as usual last Saturday, and sold them all. We were obliged to disappoint quite a number of girls, too. Our little bank account is growing slowly but surely. Still there are certainly other things we can do to earn money, collectively and individually. Really I mustn’t get started on the subject. It is time I went to my chemistry recitation. You’ll be at the meeting to-night, won’t you, Miss Harlowe? We couldn’t get along without you.”
A faint flush rose to Grace’s cheeks at Louise’s parting remark. How wonderful it was to feel that one was really useful. Yes; the thirty-four girls under her care really needed her. They needed her far more than did Tom Gray. Grace frowned a trifle impatiently. She had not intended to allow herself to think of Tom, yet there was something in the expression of Louise Sampson’s gray eyes that reminded her of him. Resolving to put him completely out of her mind, Grace went into the kitchen to consult with the cook concerning the day’s marketing. The postman’s ring, however, caused her to hurry back to her office where the maid was just depositing her morning mail on the slide of her desk.
Her letters were from Anne, Elfreda and her mother, and they filled her with unalloyed pleasure. Her mother’s unselfish words, “I hope my little girl is finding all the happiness life has to offer in her work,” thrilled her. How different was her mother’s attitude from that of Tom Gray. Surely no one could miss her as her mother missed her, yet she had given her up without a murmur, while Tom had protested bitterly against her beloved work and prophesied that some day she would realize that work didn’t mean everything in life.
All that day the inspiring effect of hermother’s letter remained with Grace. Her already deep interest in her house and her charges received new impetus, and when evening came, she felt, as she entered the big living room where the thirty-four girls were assembled, that she would willingly do anything that lay within her power to forward the prosperity and success of Harlowe House.
After the usual preliminaries, Louise Sampson addressed the meeting in her bright direct fashion. “Ever since we came back to Harlowe House this year I’ve felt that we ought to do something to increase our treasury money. If the club had enough money of its own, then the Harlowe House girls wouldn’t need to borrow of Semper Fidelis. That would leave the Semper Fidelis fund free for other girls who don’t live here and who need financial help. Of course we couldn’t do very much at first, but if we could get up some kind of play or entertainment that the whole college would be anxious to come to see, as they once did a bazaar that the Semper Fidelis Club gave, the money we would realize from it would be a fine start for us. Now I’m going to leave the subject open to informal discussion. Won’t some one of you please express an opinion?”
“Don’t you believe that some of the students might say we were selfish to try to make moneyfor our own house instead of for the college? Semper Fidelis was organized for the benefit of the whole college, but this is different,” remarked Cecil Ferris.
A blank silence followed Cecil’s objection. What she had just said was, in a measure, true.
Louise Sampson looked appealingly at Grace. She had been so sure that her plan of conducting some special entertainment on a large scale would meet with approval. Cecil’s view of the matter had never occurred to her.
“I am afraid that Miss Ferris is right,” Grace said slowly. “Much as I should like to see the Harlowe House Club in a position to take care of its members’ wants I am afraid we might be criticized as selfish if we undertook to give a bazaar.”
“Why couldn’t we give one entertainment a month?” asked Mary Reynolds eagerly. “I am sure President Morton would let us have Greek Hall. We could give different kinds of entertainments. One month we could give a Shakespearean play and the next a Greek tragedy; then we could act a scenario, or have a musical revue or whatever we liked. We could make posters to advertise each one and state frankly on them that the proceeds were to go to the Harlowe House Club Reserve Fund. We wouldn’t ask any one for anything. Wewouldn’t even ask them to come. We’d just have the tickets on sale as they do at a theatre. If the girls liked the first show, they’d come to the next one. We’d ask some of the popular girls of the college who do stunts to take part, and feature them. I think we’d have a standing-room-only audience every time.”
Mary paused for breath after this long speech. The club, to a member, had eyed her with growing interest as she talked.
“I think that’s a splendid plan,” agreed Evelyn Ward. “I’m willing to do all I can toward it. I’ve had only a little stage experience, but I’d love to help coach the actors for their parts.”
For the next half hour the plan for increasing the club’s treasury was eagerly discussed. A play committee, consisting of Mary Reynolds, Evelyn Ward, Nettie Weyburn and Ethel Hilton, a tall, dark-haired girl, noted for making brilliant recitations, was chosen.
“Has any one else a suggestion?” asked Louise Sampson, when the first excitement regarding the new project had in a measure subsided.
“Why couldn’t we have a Service Bureau?” asked Nettie Weyburn. “I mean we could post notices that any one who wishes a certain kind of work done, such as mending, sewing or tutoring,could apply to our bureau. Every one knows that the students of Harlowe House are self-supporting. We wouldn’t be here if we weren’t. Some of us have a very hard time earning our college fees. Some of us have been obliged to borrow money, and comparatively few of us ever have pocket money. If the girls who don’t have to do things for themselves found that we could always be depended upon for services I imagine we would have all the work we could do.”
“Hurrah for Nettie!” exclaimed Cecil Ferris. “I think that’s a fine idea.”
“So do I,” echoed several voices.
“But we’d have to put some one in charge of the bureau, and no one of us could afford to spend much time looking after it,” reminded Louise.
“Oh, we could take turns,” was Nettie’s prompt reply. “Then, too, we could have certain hours for business, say from four o’clock until six on every week day, except Saturday and from two o’clock until five on Saturday afternoons.”
“But where would we receive the girls who came to see about having work done?” asked Alice Andrews, a business-like little person who roomed with Louise Sampson.
“I will see that the Service Bureau has a deskinstalled in one corner of the living room,” offered Grace, who had, up to this point, listened to the various girls’ remarks, a proud light in her eyes. She loved the sturdy self-reliance of the members of her household. “And there will also be times when I can do duty on the Bureau, too,” she added.
“No, Miss Harlowe, you mustn’t think of it,” said Louise Sampson. “You do altogether too much for us now.”
“I am here to take care of my household,” smiled Grace. “Besides, it will be a pleasure to help a club of girls who are so willing to help themselves.”
“Miss Harlowe is really and truly interested in the girls here, isn’t she?” Jean Brent commented to Evelyn Ward in an undertone. Having passed her examinations Jean was now a full-fledged freshman.
“Yes, indeed,” returned Evelyn, with emphasis. “She has done a great deal for me. More than I can ever hope to repay.”
“What—” began Jean. Then she suddenly stopped and bent forward in a listening attitude. The electric bell on the front door had just shrilled forth the announcement of a visitor. A moment and the maid had entered the room with, “A lady to see you, Miss Harlowe. I didn’t catch her name. It sounded like Brant.”
Jean Brent grew very white. Turning to Evelyn she said unsteadily, “I don’t feel well. I think I will go up stairs.” Without waiting for Evelyn to reply, she rose and almost ran out of the living room ahead of Grace. As she stepped into the hall she darted one lightning glance toward the visitor, then she stumbled up the stairs, shaking with relief. She had never before seen Grace’s caller.
“How do you feel?” was Evelyn’s first question as she entered their room fully two hours later. “You missed a spread. We had sandwiches and cake and hot chocolate.”
“I can’t help it,” muttered Jean uncivilly. Then she said apologetically, “I’m much better, thank you. Please forgive me for being so rude.”
While in the next room Grace was saying to Emma, who, owing to an engagement, had not attended the meeting, “Really, Emma, the name ‘Riddle’ certainly applies to Miss Brent. She came to the meeting with the others, and when it was only half over she bolted from the living room and upstairs as though she were pursued by savages. I wouldn’t have noticed her, perhaps, but I had been called to the door. Mrs. Brant came to see me about my sewing. Miss Brent hurried out of the living room ahead of me. I saw her give Mrs. Brant the strangestlook, then up the stairs she ran as fast as she could go.”
“Grace,” Emma looked at her friend in a startled way. “You don’t suppose Miss Brent has run away from home do you? The names Brant and Brent sound alike. She may have thought that some member of her family had followed her here.”
It was Grace’s turn to look startled. “I don’t know,” she said doubtfully. “I hope not. I should not like to harbor a runaway unless I knew the circumstances warranted it, as was the case with Mary Reynolds. I didn’t think of Miss Brent’s secret as being of that nature. Surely Miss Lipton would not countenance a runaway. Still I don’t wish to try to force this girl’s confidence. I prefer to let matters stand as they are, for the present, at least. I’ve promised to respect her secret, whatever it may be, and I am going to do so.”
Emma shook her head disapprovingly.
“I don’t like mysteries, Grace. When we talked Jean Brent over a few days ago I told you that I didn’t think it mattered if she choose to wrap herself in mystery. But I’ve changed my mind. I believe you owe it to yourself to insist on a complete explanation from her. Suppose later on you discovered that you had been deceived in her, that she was unworthy. Then,again, she might put you in a disagreeable position with President Morton or Miss Wilder. You remember the humiliation you endured at Evelyn’s hands. I, who know you so well, understand that your motive in trusting Miss Brent unquestioningly is above reproach. But others might not understand. If she proved untrustworthy,youwould be censured far more than she.” Emma’s tones vibrated with earnestness.
Grace sat silent. She realized the truth of her friend’s words. Emma rarely spoke seriously. When she did so, it counted. Still, she had given her promise to this strange young girl, and she would keep her word. After all Jean Brent’s secret might be of no more importance than that of the average school girl.