CHAPTER XITHANKSGIVING WITH THE NESBITS
“I am sure I never before had so much to be thankful for!” was Grace Harlowe’s fervent declaration as she viewed with loving eyes the little circle of friends of which she was the center.
It was Thanksgiving eve, and the Nesbits had gathered under their hospitable roof a most congenial company to help them commemorate America’s first holiday. Mr. and Mrs. Harlowe, in company with Mrs. Gray, had come from Oakdale. J. Elfreda Briggs had won a reluctant consent from her family, who invariably spent their Thanksgivings at Fairview, to make one of Miriam’s house party. Anne, who was playing an extended engagement in New York City, was transplanted from the Southards’ to Miriam’s home for a week’s stay. There were, of course, many loved faces missing, but this only made those who had assembled for a brief sojourn together more keenly alive to the joy of reunion.
“This is the first Thanksgiving since my senior year in high school that I’ve been given the chance to sit between Father and Mother andcount my blessings,” Grace continued, looking fondly from one to the other of her parents. She was occupying a low stool between them, her favorite seat at home when the day was done, and the devoted little family gathered in the living room to talk over its events.
“We are counting our blessings, too,” smiled Mr. Harlowe. “One of them is very lively, and runs away almost as soon as it arrives.” He pinched Grace’s soft cheek.
“But it always runs back again,” reminded Grace, “and it’s always yours for the asking. I’d leave my work, everything, and come home on wings if you needed me.”
“I used to hate Thanksgiving when I was a youngster,” broke in J. Elfreda. “We always had a lot of company and I always behaved like a savage and spent Thanksgiving evening in solitary confinement. I’d wail like a disappointed coyote and make night generally hideous for the company. I’ve improved a lot since those days,” she grinned boyishly at her friends. “I can see now that it was a pretty good thing the Pilgrim Fathers set aside a day for counting their blessings. If they thought they were lucky, I wonder what we are.”
Elfreda had unconsciously gone from the comic to the serious.
“We are favored beyond understanding,”Mrs. Harlowe said solemnly. “When one thinks of the poor and unfortunate, to whom Thanksgiving can bring nothing but sorrow and bitterness, it seems little short of marvelous that we should be so happy.”
“I don’t wish to be selfish and forget life’s unfortunates, but I’d rather not think about them now,” was Miriam’s candid comment. “We mustn’t be sad to-night. Grace must sparkle, and Elfreda be funny, and Anne must recite for us, and I’ll play and David must sing. I’ve discovered that he has a really good tenor voice. We’ve been practising songs together this fall.”
“Really?” asked Grace, with interest. “And all these years we never knew it. David, you can surely keep a secret.”
“Oh, I can’t sing,” protested David, coloring. “Miriam only thinks I can. Our real singers are among the missing to-night.”
“You mean Hippy and Nora?”
“Yes,” nodded David. “Isn’t it strange we didn’t hear from them. I wrote Tom, Hippy and Reddy to come on here for Thanksgiving if they could. Reddy and Jessica couldn’t make it. They are coming home for Christmas, though. Tom Gray is away up in the Michigan woods. Still he sent a telegram that he couldn’t come. But Hippy didn’t answer. This morningI sent him a telegram, and so far there’s no answer to that, either.”
“I hope neither of them is ill.” Mrs. Gray’s face took on a look of concern. “It is not like Hippy to neglect his friends.”
“Nora is usually the soul of promptness, too,” reminded Anne.
“If I don’t hear anything to-night, I’ll telegraph Hippy again to-morrow,” announced David.
There was a pleasant silence in the room. Every one’s thoughts were on the piquant-faced Irish girl, whose sprightly manner and charming personality made her a favorite, and her plump, loquacious husband, whose ready flow of funny sayings never seemed to diminish.
“There aren’t any wishing rings nowadays,” sighed Grace, “so there’s no use in saying, ‘I wish Nora and Hippy were here.’ Come on, David, and sing for us. Miriam says you can, and you know it wouldn’t be nice in you to contradict your sister.”
“You can sing, ‘Ah, Moon of My Delight,’” suggested Miriam to her brother. “It is Omar Khayyam set to music, you know”—she turned to Grace—“from the song cycle, ‘In a Persian Garden.’”
“I love it,” commented Anne, her eyes dreamy. “Do sing it, David.”
As Miriam went to the piano the whirr of the electric bell came to their ears.
Grace glanced interrogatively at David. “Perhaps it’s a telegram,” she commented.
David, who had just risen from his chair to go to the piano, stopped short and listened. “False alarm. Must be the doctor. One of the maids is sick.” He crossed to the piano where Miriam already stood, turning over a pile of music. Having found the song for which she was searching, she took her place before the piano and began the quatrain’s throbbing accompaniment.
David’s voice rang out tunefully. He sang with considerable feeling and expression. He had reached the exquisite line, “Through this same Garden—and for One in Vain!” when a clear high voice from the doorway took up the song with him.
With a startled cry of “Nora!” Grace ran to the door.
The song came to an abrupt end. Miriam whirled on the piano stool. One glance and she had joined the group that now surrounded a slender figure with a rosy, laughing face and a saucy turned-up nose.
“Nora O’Malley! You dear thing! No wonder David didn’t hear from Hippy. But where is he? Not far away, I hope.”
“Ah!” called a voice from behind the thin silk curtain of a small alcove at one end of the hall, and Hippy emerged, the picture of offended dignity. “Missed at last,” was his sweeping rebuke. “I had begun to think I was doomed to languish behind that green silk curtain for life. It’s all Nora’s fault. If I had been immured there forever and always, it would be her fault just the same. She proposed that I should hide. ‘Make them think I came alone. They will be so disappointed,’ was her deceitful counsel. And I believed her and wrapped myself in the curtain to wait for you to be disappointed. I see it all now. It was merely a scheme to attract attention to herself. She is jealous of my popularity.”
“Oh, hush, you wicked thing,” giggled Nora. “You didn’t give any one time even to ask for you.”
“That sounds well,” was Hippy’s lofty retort, “but remember, all that prattles is not truth.”
“Squabbling as usual,” groaned David, shaking Hippy’s hand with an energy that belied the groan.
“Just as usual,” smirked Hippy. “Neither of us will ever outgrow it. You see we once lived in a town called Oakdale and associated daily with a number of very quarrelsome people.I wouldn’t like to mention their names, but if some day you should happen to go to Oakdale just ask any one if David Nesbit and Reddy Brooks ever reformed. They’ll understand what you mean.”
“Your Oakdale friends will have cause to inquire what awful fate has overtaken you if you don’t reform speedily,” warned David. “I’m obliged to stand your insults because you are company. Just wait until the newness of seeing you again wears off, and then see what happens.”
“You don’t have to show me,” flung back Hippy hastily. “I’ll take your word for it. I believe in words, not deeds. You know I used to be so fond of quoting that immortal stanza about doing noble deeds instead of dreaming them all day long. Well, I’ve altered that to fit any little occasion that might arise. I find it much more comforting to say it this way:
“Be wise, dear Hippy, from all violence sever,Say noble words, then do folks all day long.Avoid rash deeds, by sweet words e’er endeavorTo prove your friends are wrong.”
“Be wise, dear Hippy, from all violence sever,Say noble words, then do folks all day long.Avoid rash deeds, by sweet words e’er endeavorTo prove your friends are wrong.”
A ripple of laughter followed Hippy’s sadly altered quotation of the famous lines.
“That’s a most ignoble sentiment, Hippy,” criticized Miriam. “I can’t believe that you would practice it.”
“I didn’t say I would practice it,” responded Hippy, with a wide grin. “I merely stated that it was comforting to have around. Must I repeat that I believe in words, and lots of them.”
“We all knew that years ago,” jeered David. “I believe in words, too. Sensible words from Nora explaining how you and she happened to drift in here at the eleventh hour. You haven’t a sensible word in your vocabulary.”
“I have,” protested Hippy. “Nora, as your husband, I command you, don’t give David Nesbit any information.”
Nora dimpled. “I won’t tell David,” she capitulated. “I’ll tell Miriam and Anne and Grace.” The five Originals were still grouped together in the hall. “When David’s letter came we were just wondering how we would spend Thanksgiving with not one of the old crowd at home. Hippy handed me the letter. It came while we were at luncheon. ‘Let’s go,’ we both said at once. So we locked little fingers, wished and said ‘Thumbs.’ I said ‘salt, pepper, vinegar,’ but Hippy went on indefinitely with such pleasant reminders as ‘death, famine, pestilence, murder.’ He believes in words, you know.” She shot a roguish glance at herbroadly-smiling spouse. “Finally I reduced him to reason and we planned to surprise you. This morning found two lonely Originals hurrying to catch up with their pals.” Nora surveyed her friends with a loving loyalty that brought her extra embracing from Grace, Anne and Miriam.
“We mustn’t be selfish,” reminded Grace. “The folks in the living room are anxious to welcome you.”
Hippy and Nora were escorted into the living room by a fond bodyguard, and were soon exchanging affectionate greetings with the older members of the house party. J. Elfreda Briggs had not gone into the hall on the arrival of Hippy and Nora. She could never be induced to intrude upon the more intimate moments of the Originals.
Hippy, with understanding tact, at once proceeded to draw her into the charmed circle. “Well, well!” he exclaimed. “Whom do I see? J. Elfreda, and in the clutches of the law, so I am told.”
J. Elfreda’s fear of intruding vanished at this sally. Her own sense of humor caused her to claim kinship with Hippy and his pranks and she answered him in kind.
“What I don’t see is howyouever escaped those same clutches,” put in David. “Don’tyou have a hard time, usually, to convince the jury that you are not the defendant?”
“Not in the least,” responded Hippy, with dignity. “The jury knows me for what I am. Just let me tell you that if I were to haveyouarrested for slander there wouldn’t be the slightest chance of my being mistaken for the defendant.”
Even David was obliged to join in the laugh against himself.
“All right, old man. We’ll cry quits. I’ll bring my law cases to you if ever I have any.”
“And now that you are a broker I’ll bring anything I want broken toyou,” promised Hippy glibly. “So far I’ve left all those little business details to the maid. She has successfully broken a number of our wedding presents, and we look for still greater results. She knows more about ‘brokerage’ or, rather ‘breakerage,’ than would fill a book.”
“What a blessed thing it is to find you the same ridiculous Hippy we’ve always known,” smiled Mrs. Gray, as Hippy seated himself beside her for a few minutes’ sensible conversation. “You and Nora will never be staid and serious. I’m so glad of it.”
She sighed. She was thinking of Tom Gray, her nephew, and of how grave, almost moody, he had become during the last year. Long agoshe had deplored the fact that no engagement existed between Tom and Grace. Tom had grown strangely unlike his old cheery self, and in his changed bearing she read refusal of his love on Grace’s part. It saddened her. Her heart ached for Tom. She had always looked forward to the day when Grace would give her life into Tom’s keeping.
She had never approached Grace on the subject of Tom and his love, but to-night, as she watched Hippy and Nora, serene in their mutual love and comradeship, and marked, too, the quiet devotion of Anne and David, who were to be married in Oakdale on New Year’s night, her heart went out to her gray-eyed boy, far away in the great North woods, and she determined to say a word for him to Grace.
It was late in the evening before she found her opportunity. With the arrival of Hippy and Nora the interest soon centered about the piano. Grace, while not a performer, was an ardent lover of music, and her delight in Nora’s singing was so patent that Mrs. Gray would not disturb her.
It was during the serving of a dainty little repast that Mrs. Gray called to Grace, “Come here, Grace, and sit by me.”
Grace obeyed with alacrity, drawing her chair close to that of her old friend.
“I thought I would ask you, my dear—what do you hear from Tom?” began the dainty old lady with apparent innocence.
Grace felt the color mount even to her forehead.
“I haven’t heard from him lately,” she confessed. “I—that is—I owe him a letter.”
“I wish you would write to him. Poor boy. He is very lonely, away up there in the woods.”
Grace did not answer for a moment. Then she said in a constrained voice, “Iwillwrite to him, Mrs. Gray. I know he is lonely.”
There was an awkward pause in the conversation; then came the abrupt question, “Grace, do you love my boy?”
“No, Fairy Godmother,” replied Grace in a low tone. “I’m sorry, but I don’t. That is, not in the way he wishes me to love him.”
“I am sorry, too, Grace. I feel almost as though I were responsible for his sorrow. For to him it is a deep sorrow. If I had not given Harlowe House to Overton College, you might have found that your work lay in being Tom’s wife. He has never reproached me, but I wonder if he ever thinks that.”
“I am sure he doesn’t,” Grace’s clear eyes met sorrowfully the kind blue ones. “Please don’t think that Harlowe House has anything to do with my not marrying Tom. It is onlybecause I do not love him that I am firm in refusing him. My heart is bound up in my work. Really, dear Fairy Godmother, I am almost sure I shall never marry. For your sake and his, I’d rather marry Tom than any other man in the world, if I felt that marriage was best for me. But I don’t. I glory in my work and freedom and Icouldn’tgive them up. I’ve wanted to say this to you for a long time, but I didn’t know just how to begin. Now that I have said it, I hope it hasn’t wounded you.”
“My dear Grace,” Mrs. Gray’s voice was not quite steady, “I would give much to welcome you as my niece, but not unless you love Tom with the tenderness of a truly great love. If that love ever comes to you, I shall indeed be happy. But my dear boy is worthy of the highest affection. If you cannot give him that affection, then it is far better that you two should spend your lives apart.”
CHAPTER XIIMISSING—A FRIEND
Four days, spent in the society of those one loves best, pass almost with the rapidity of lightning. Unlike most of her visits to New York City, Grace gave little of her time to attending the theatres and seeing the metropolis. By common consent the members of the house party spent the greater share of their holiday together in the large, luxurious living room. Only one evening found them away from this temporary home. That was on Thanksgiving night, when Miriam gave a theatre party in honor of her guests to see Everett Southard and Anne in “King Lear,” and after the play Mr. and Miss Southard entertained their friends at supper in one of New York’s most exclusive restaurants. Thanksgiving morning they spent in the church of which Eric Burroughs the actor-minister was pastor, and in the afternoon they motored through Central Park and far out Riverside Drive. Aside from this, the rest of their stay found the thoroughly congenial household gathered about their borrowed fireside, treasuring the precious moments that flitted by all too fast.
There was but one drawback to Grace’s pleasure. The thought that she had brought even a breath of sadness to her old friend, Mrs. Gray. There were moments, too, when she experienced a faint resentment against Tom. Must her reunions with her friends be forever haunted by the knowledge that she had made one of the Eight Originals unhappy? The approaching marriage of Anne to David meant, that of the four girls she, only, had chosen to walk alone. She knew that Anne, Nora and Jessica would hail joyfully the news of her engagement to Tom. Living in the tender atmosphere of requited love, their sympathies went out to the lover.
It was not until Sunday morning, after she had accompanied her father, mother and Mrs. Gray to the railway station and was driving back to the Nesbits’ in David’s car, that Anne ventured to broach the subject of Tom to Grace. Elfreda, Hippy, Miriam and Nora were in the automobile just ahead. Mr. and Mrs. Harlowe and Mrs. Gray had driven to the station in David’s car, so, on the return, Grace and Anne had the tonneau of the automobile quite to themselves.
Both girls were unusually quiet, and David, fully occupied in driving his car through the crowded streets, said little.
“Anne,” it was Grace who broke the silence, “if David insisted upon your giving up the stage entirely, would you marry him?”
“Yes,” came Anne’s unhesitating answer. “I love him so much that I could do even that. Only he hasn’t asked me to make the sacrifice. He understands what my art means to me, and is willing to compromise. I am not going on any more road tours. I may play an occasional engagement in the large cities, but I have promised, so far as is possible, to remain in New York.”
“But when you were at Overton he was opposed to your stage career,” reminded Grace. “What made him change his mind?”
“Living in New York and being influenced by Mr. Southard, I think. You see the Southards knew all about me and my affairs. Long ago Mr. Southard began educating David to his point of view in regard to the stage. David is neither narrow-minded nor obstinate, so it has all come right for me,” she ended happily. Then she added, as her hand found Grace’s. “I wish you loved Tom, Grace.”
“And you, too, Anne!” Grace’s tones quivered with vexation. “Am I never to be free from that shadow?”
“Why, Grace!” Anne looked hurt. “I didn’t dream you felt so strongly about poor Tom.I’m sorry I said anything to you of him.”
“Forgive me, dear, for being so cross.” Grace was instantly penitent. “But it seems as though the whole world, my world, I mean, was determined to marry me to Tom. You are all on his side—every one of you. It’s the old case of all the world loving a lover. I know you think I’m hard-hearted. None of you stop to consider my side of it. Oh, yes; there is one person who does. Mother understands. She doesn’t think I ought to marry Tom, just to please him. She realizes that my work means more to me than marriage.” Grace’s tone had again become unconsciously petulant.
Anne regarded her in silence. Hitherto she had not realized how remote were Tom’s chances of winning Grace’s love. It was quite evident, too, that she had made a mistake in broaching the subject to Grace. It appeared as though too much had already been said on that score. Anne resolved to trespass no further. “Please forget what I said, Grace. I’m sure I understand. I’ll never mention the subject to you again.”
Grace eyed Anne quizzically. “I ought to be grateful to my friends for having my welfare at heart,” she admitted, “and I do appreciate their solicitude. Don’t think I’ve turned against Tom because they have tried to pleadhis cause. So far, it hasn’t made any difference. I can’t help the way I feel toward him. Still, I’d rather not talk about him. It doesn’t help matters, and I am beginning to get cross over it.”
“You couldn’t be cross if you tried,” laughed Anne.
“Oh, yes I could,” contradicted Grace. “I could be quite formidable.”
At this juncture their talk ended. Their automobile had drawn up before the Nesbits’ home and David stood at the open door of the car to help them out. During the few short hours that remained to Grace before time for her train to Overton she and Anne had no further opportunity for confidences.
It was twenty minutes past eleven o’clock that night when the train reached Overton, and Grace was not sorry to end her long ride. It had been an unusually lonely journey. For the first time in her experience she had made it alone, and without speaking to a person on the train. Then, too, the regret of parting with those she loved still weighed heavily upon her. “I do hope Emma is awake” was her first thought as she crossed the station yard and hailed the solitary taxicab that always met the late New York train, lamenting inwardly thatthe lateness of the hour and the weight of her luggage prevented her from walking home through the crisp, frosty night, under the stars.
The vestibule light of Harlowe House shone out like a beacon across the still white campus. Grace thrilled with an excess of love and pride at sight of her beloved college home. How much it meant to her, and how sweet it was to feel that her business of life consisted in being of help to others. If she married Tom that meant selfish happiness for they two alone, but as house mother she was of use to seventeen times two persons. “The greatest good to the greatest number,” she whispered, as she slid her latchkey into the lock.
The living room was dark. The girls had long since gone to their rooms. Grace’s feet made no sound on the soft velvet carpet as she hurried up the stairs. A gleam of yellow light from under her door showed that Emma was indeed keeping vigil for her.
“Hooray, Gracious!” greeted Emma as the door closed behind her roommate. She flung her long arms affectionately about Grace and kissed her. “Is it four days or four weeks since I saw you off to New York and returned to my humble cot to wrestle with the job of managing that worthy aggregation known as the Harlowites?”
“I should say it was four hours,” corrected Grace. “Not that I didn’t miss you, dear old comrade. We all missed you. Every last person wished you had come with me, and sent you their best wishes. It was splendid to spend Thanksgiving with Father and Mother, and to see Mrs. Gray and the others. Did you receive my postcard? I wrote you that Hippy and Nora were with us. They gave us a complete surprise.” Grace related further details of her visit, walking about the room and putting away her personal effects as she talked.
As usual Emma had made chocolate and arranged on the center table a tempting little midnight luncheon for the traveler. It was not long until Grace had donned a pretty pale blue negligee and the two friends were seated opposite each other enjoying the spread.
“Now I’ve told you all my news, what about yours?” asked Grace at last.
“I’ve only one tale to tell,” responded Emma dryly, “and that is not a pleasant one. The news of Miss Brent’s sale has traveled about the campus like wildfire. We’ve had a perfect stream of girls coming here. They have conceived the fond idea that Harlowe House is a headquarters for second-hand clothing. I have labored with them to convince them that such is not the case, but still they yearn for the Brentfinery. Judging from what I hear, it must have been ‘some’ wardrobe. Pardon my lapse into slang, O, Overton. A number of the teachers have commented on the affair. I’ve been asked several pointed questions.”
“How dreadful!” broke in Grace, her face clouding. “Still I was almost sure something would come of it. That was the reason I forbade Miss Brent to hold a sale when first she proposed it to me. Do you think that Miss Wilder and—Miss Wharton know it?” Grace hesitated before pronouncing the latter’s name.
“Miss Wilder doesn’t know, because she left for California last Saturday.”
A cry of surprise and disappointment broke from Grace. “Miss Wilder gone, and I didn’t say good-bye to her! Why did she leave so suddenly, Emma? She expected to be at Overton for another week, at least.”
“Some friends of hers were going to the Pacific Coast in their private car, and knowing that she was ordered west for her health, they wrote and invited her to join them. They had arranged to leave New York City this morning, so she left Overton for New York yesterday morning. I am sure she wrote you. One of the letters that came for you while you were gone is addressed in her handwriting.”
Emma reached down, opened the drawer ofthe table at which they were sitting, and drew out a pile of letters. “Here’s your mail, Gracious. Go ahead and read it while I clear up the ghastly remains of the spread.”
“All right, I will.” Grace went rapidly over the pile of envelopes which bore various postmarks. The majority of the letters were from friends scattered far and wide over the country. The thick white envelope, Miss Wilder’s own particular stationery, lay almost at the bottom of the pile. Grace tore it open with eager fingers and read:
“My dear Grace:“Just a line to let you know how much I regret leaving Overton without seeing you again. There were several matters of which I was anxious to speak with you at greater length. I had not contemplated leaving here for at least another week, but I cannot resist the invitation which a dear friend of mine has extended to me, to travel west in her private car, so I shall join her in New York City on Saturday evening, as she wishes to start on her tour at once.“As soon as I reach my destination I will forward you my permanent address. I wish you to write me, Grace. I shall be anxious to know what is happening at Harlowe House and throughout the college. Remember distance canmake no difference in my interest and affection for you. You have been, and always will be, a girl after my own heart. With my best wishes for your continued welfare and success.“Your sincere friend,“Katherine Wilder.”
“My dear Grace:
“Just a line to let you know how much I regret leaving Overton without seeing you again. There were several matters of which I was anxious to speak with you at greater length. I had not contemplated leaving here for at least another week, but I cannot resist the invitation which a dear friend of mine has extended to me, to travel west in her private car, so I shall join her in New York City on Saturday evening, as she wishes to start on her tour at once.
“As soon as I reach my destination I will forward you my permanent address. I wish you to write me, Grace. I shall be anxious to know what is happening at Harlowe House and throughout the college. Remember distance canmake no difference in my interest and affection for you. You have been, and always will be, a girl after my own heart. With my best wishes for your continued welfare and success.
“Your sincere friend,“Katherine Wilder.”
Grace laid the letter down with a sigh and sat staring moodily at it, her elbows on the table, her chin in her hands.
Emma, who had finished clearing the table, regarded her with affectionate solicitude. Stepping over to her, she slid her arm over Grace’s shoulders. Grace raised her head. Her eyes met Emma’s. Then she pushed the letter into Emma’s hand. “Read it,” she commanded.
“Do you think she understood?” was Emma’s question as she handed back the letter.
“About Miss Wharton not liking me?” counter-questioned Grace.
Emma nodded.
“I am afraid she didn’t.” Grace’s gray eyes were full of sad concern. “And the most unfortunate thing about it is that I must never trouble her with Miss Wharton’s shortcomings. It would worry her, and that would retard her recovery. If the year brings me battles to fight, I must fight them alone.”
CHAPTER XIIIA DISTURBING CONFIDENCE
Grace awoke the next morning with the weight of a disagreeable duty hanging over her. She had given Jean Brent until after Thanksgiving to decide upon her course of action. Jean’s disregard for her wishes had already placed the freshman in an unenviable prominence in college. Conscientious to a fault, Grace believed herself to be partly to blame for what had occurred during her week-end absence from Harlowe House. She should have insisted, in the beginning, on absolute frankness on the part of Jean. She had respected the girl’s secret and invested her with an honor which she did not possess. It now looked as though she, as well as Jean, might already be in a position to reap the folly of such a course.
With Miss Wilder as dean, Grace knew that Jean’s indiscretion would be treated with leniency, but she was by no means sure of what Miss Wharton’s attitude might be should the story reach her ears. Grace hoped devoutly that it would not. But whatever happened Jean Brent must impart to her what she had hithertokept a secret. Grace was resolved upon that much, at least. She could not decide as to the wisest course to pursue until she had heard Jean’s story. She decided to wait until the girls were at luncheon, then ask Jean to come to her office that afternoon before dinner. At luncheon, however, greatly to her surprise, Jean walked directly up to her table and said in a low tone, “I have decided to tell you my secret, Miss Harlowe. When may I talk with you?”
“I shall be in my office when you come from your classes this afternoon, or I can wait for you in my room, if you prefer.” A great wave of relief swept over Grace as she answered the girl. She had feared that Jean would prove stubborn in her determination to keep her secret.
“Thank you. I will come to your office.” Jean turned away abruptly.
Emma Dean had noted Jean’s unusually meek manner. She had endeavored not to hear what was not intended for her ears, but low as were Jean’s tones, the words reached her. She made no comment, after Jean had taken her place at one of the other tables, until Grace remarked, “Emma, you could hardly help hearing what Miss Brent said to me.”
“Yes, I heard what she said,” responded Emma unemotionally.
“I am so glad she has decided to trust me.”
“It might be better for all concerned if she had trusted you in the beginning,” was Emma’s dry retort. “I can’t help feeling a trifle out of patience with that girl, Grace. She had no business to commit an act, no matter how trivial, that would lay you open to criticism.”
“Have you heard any one in particular criticizing me?” asked Grace with quick anxiety.
Emma did not answer for a moment. Grace watched her, her gray eyes troubled.
“I’ll tell you precisely what I heard this morning. Before I left Overton Hall to come here for luncheon I stopped for a moment to see Miss Duncan. Miss Arthur, that new teacher of oratory, was with her. I walked into the room just in time to hear Miss Duncan say ‘I can scarcely credit it. I am surprised that Miss Harlowe—’ then she saw me, turned red and stopped short. Miss Arthur looked rather sheepishly at me. I pretended that I had heard nothing, asked the question I intended to ask, and went on my way, much perturbed in spirit. I can’t bear to hear you criticized in the smallest degree, Grace,” was Emma’s vehement cry. “I am sure it was about this sale they were talking. It’s all very well for Miss Brent to take the stand that she has the privilege of doing as she pleases with her own clothing, butthere is something about the very idea of a sale of wearing apparel that quite upsets Overton traditions and causes Harlowe House to lose dignity. One can’t imagine an enterprising clothes merchant living at Holland or Morton House or even at Wayne Hall. The students should have had the good taste to discourage it, but, from what I hear, Miss Palmer had expatiated on the glories of Miss Brent’s wardrobe to the clique of girls she chums with, and they gathered like flies about a honey pot. You’ll usually find the girls with the largest allowances are always eager to obtain much for the smallest possible outlay. I think, too, that Miss Palmer’s influence is not wholesome. It led to Evelyn Ward’s folly last year. Evelyn hasn’t been unduly friendly with her so far this year. I’ve noticed that.”
“I can’t believe Evelyn had anything to do with this sale,” asserted Grace. “She may have known of it, but she never sanctioned it.”
“At least she didn’t attend it,” commented Emma, “but, come to think of it, neither did Althea Parker. Don’t you remember, I mentioned to you that I met Evelyn on the campus that fateful Saturday and she said she was going to spend the afternoon with Miss Parker?”
“Then if Miss Parker was ringleader in the affair, why didn’t she have the courage to attendthe sale?” was Grace’s quick question.
“For further information inquire of Miss Brent,” advised Emma, shrugging her shoulders.
“I will,” sighed Grace. “I seem fated to puzzle over hard questions, don’t I?”
It was half-past four o’clock when Jean Brent entered the office where Grace sat idly turning the leaves of a magazine.
“Sit down, Miss Brent,” invited Grace. Then in her usual direct fashion, “I am ready to listen to anything you wish to say.”
Jean Brent flushed, then the color receded from her fair skin, leaving her very pale. In a low tone she began a recital that caused Grace Harlowe’s eyes to become riveted on her in intense surprise, mingled with consternation. An expression of lively sympathy sprang into her face, however, as the story proceeded, and when Jean had finished with a half sob, Grace stretched out her hands impulsively with, “You poor little girl.”
Jean clasped the outstretched hands and murmured, “You don’t blame me so much, then, do you, Miss Harlowe?”
“No, I can’t,” Grace made honest answer, “but I am so sorry that you did not come to me with this in the beginning. I could have helped you arrange your affairs nicely. Youcould have borrowed money from the Semper Fidelis Fund and later, if you were desirous of selling your wardrobe you could have disposed of it in New York City for fully as much as you have received for it here. A dear friend of mine in New York who is an actress has often told me that the women of the various theatrical companies who play minor parts are only too glad to purchase attractive wearing apparel which society women sell after one wearing.”
“I didn’t know. I am sorry I didn’t tell you long ago.” Jean was thoroughly penitent. “Will it make so very much difference now?”
“I hope not. It is hard to say. Unfortunately the news of the sale has reached the ears of several members of the faculty. Not only you, but I, as well, have been criticized. We can do nothing except wait for the gossip about it to die a natural death.” Grace’s quiet acceptance of the unpleasantness which Jean’s rash act had forced upon her stung the freshman far more sharply than reproof.
“I can go to the dean and tell her what I have told you,” faltered Jean.
Grace shook her head. “No, I should not advise it. This affair belongs entirely to Harlowe House and should be settled here. I will write to Miss Lipton to-night. If Miss Wilder were here I should not hesitate to place mattersbefore her, but I am not so sure of Miss Wharton, the woman who is filling Miss Wilder’s position. For the present, at least, silence will be best. If Miss Wharton hears of it and sends for you, then you had better be frank and conceal nothing.”
“Do you mean that you intend to keep my secret, Miss Harlowe; that you will let me stay on at Harlowe House and finish my freshman year?”
“Yes; not only the freshman year, but your sophomore, junior and senior years as well, provided Miss Lipton approves and advises it. I shall write to her exactly what has occurred. She is nearest to you and therefore to her belongs the decision. But, while I am endeavoring to work for your interest I wish you to work for it, too. I would like to see you more self-reliant. You have been brought up in luxury, but you must forget that. As matters now stand you will one day be obliged to earn your own living. You must build your foundation for a useful life during your freshman year.”
Grace’s voice vibrated with an earnestness that visibly moved her listener.
“I will try. Iwilltry,” she declared fervently. “It is wonderful in you to care so much about me, when I have been so troublesome.”
“We won’t think of that any longer,” smiledGrace. “However, there is one question which I must ask you. Did Miss Ward know of the sale?”
“No,” admitted Jean, looking ashamed. “I kept it a secret from her. Miss Parker purposely invited her to luncheon that afternoon. She picked out the things she wanted to buy beforehand and took them out afterward. Evelyn was very angry. We quarreled, and have not spoken to each other since. It was my fault.”
“Then, to please me, will you try to be friends with Miss Ward again?”
“Yes.”
“You must tell no one else what you have told me,” stipulated Grace further. “It must be a secret between us.”
“I will tell no one,” promised Jean.
The ringing of the door bell and the entrance of the maid with a card, brought the confidential talk to an end. Grace rose and held out her hand. “I must go,” she said. “I will talk with you again when I hear from Miss Lipton.”
“Thank you over and over again, Miss Harlowe.” Jean’s eyes were lit with a strength of purpose rarely seen in them. As she left the office and thoughtfully climbed the stairs to her room she resolved anew to be worthy of Grace Harlowe’s approval and respect.
CHAPTER XIVTHE RETURN OF THE CHRISTMAS CHILDREN
“Holy night, peaceful and blest,” rose Nora Wingate’s clear voice, high and sweet on the still winter air. A chorus of fresh young voices took up the second line of the beautiful hymn, filling the calm of the snowy night with exquisite harmony.
A little old lady, with hair as white as the snow itself, her cheeks bright with color, her eyes very tender, appeared in the library window as the song ended. She had concealed herself in the folds of the curtain while the singing went on, fearing it might come to a sudden stop should she reveal herself.
Her appearance, however, inspired the singers to fresh effort, for, immediately they spied her, led by Nora, they burst into the old English carol, “God Rest You, Merry Gentlemen.” They sang it with their rosy, eager faces raised to her, a world of fellowship in every note, while she stood motionless and listened, a smile of supreme love and content making her delicate features radiant.
As they ended this second carol she raised the window. “Come in, this minute, every one of you blessed children. You can’t possibly know how happy you have made me this Christmas Eve.”
“Coming right in the window,” declared Hippy, as he made an ineffectual spring and failed to land on the wide sill.
“Just as I expected,” jeered Reddy Brooks, dragging him back. “You might know Hippy would spoil everything. We all start out, on our best behavior, to sing carols to our fairy godmother. Then at the most effective moment, when we are feeling almost inspired, he ruins the whole effect by trying to jump in the window.”
“He might as well try to jump through a ten-inch hoop,” seconded David. “He’d be just as successful.”
“They are slandering me, Nora,” whimpered Hippy, “and I am the sweetest carol singer of them all. Protect me, Nora. Tell Reddy Brooks it was his singing that nearly ruined that last carol. Tell him his voice is as loud and obnoxious as his hair. And tell David Nesbit that—” Hippy gave a sudden agile bound out of reach of Reddy’s avenging hands, and tore across the lawn and around the corner of the house, shrieking a wild, “Good-bye, Nora. Remember I’ve always been a good, kind husband to you. Don’t forget me, Nora.”
"Holy Night, Peaceful and Blest."“Holy Night, Peaceful and Blest.”
“I’ll pay him yet for that remark about my obnoxious hair,” grinned Reddy, as the carol singers trooped across the lawn and into the house.
Mrs. Gray met her Christmas children with welcoming arms. “I am going to kiss every one of you,” she announced.
“We are willing,” assured David, and she was passed from one pair of arms to another, emerging from this wholesale embrace, flushed and laughing.
“You didn’t kiss me,” observed a plaintive voice from behind the portieres that divided the library from the hall. Hippy’s round face was thrust engagingly into view. He had slipped in the side door, unobserved.
“There he is, Reddy. How did he get in so quietly?” David took a vengeful step forward. The face disappeared.
“Just wait until I hang up my overcoat,” threatened Reddy.
“Don’t let him hang it up, Nora. If you value the safety of your husband, make him stand and hold it,” pleaded the plaintive voice.
“Here, Reddy, give me your hat and coat,” ordered Nora cruelly.
“Ha! I defy you.” Hippy suddenly bouncedfrom behind the curtain into the midst of the group in the hall. “I would defy forty David Nesbits and fifty Reddy Brooks for a kiss from my fair lady.” He bowed before Mrs. Gray.
“Bless you, Hippy,” she said, as she kissed his fat cheek, “that was nicely said.”
“I am always saying nice things,” assured Hippy airily. “Better still they are always true things. There are some persons, though, who can’t stand the white light of truth. May I rely upon you for protection, Mrs. Gray? Alas, I am now alone in the world. The person who is supposed to have my welfare at heart is hob-nobbing with my traducers. Miriam Nesbit used to be a fairly good protector, but she hasn’t done much along that line lately.”
“Come on, Hippy. I’ll take care of you. I’m sorry I’ve neglected you.” Miriam held out her hand. Hippy hung his head and simpered. Then with his Cheshire cat grin he seized Miriam’s hand and toddled beside her into the library. The others followed, laughing at the ridiculous spectacle he presented.
“Both our fairy godmother and I are disgusted with you,” taunted Nora as she directed a glance of withering scorn at Hippy, now calmly seated beside Miriam on the big leather davenport, the picture of triumph. “You asked her to protect you; then you deserted her anddeliberately went over to Miriam for help.”
“Wasn’t that awful?” deplored Hippy. “Such inconstancy makes me blush.”
“You couldn’t blush if your life depended upon it,” was David Nesbit’s scathing comment.
“There are others,” retorted Hippy.
David glared ferociously at the grinning Hippy.
“There are others,” went on Hippy blandly, “who, I might venture to say, have even greater trouble in producing that much lauded rarity, a blush. But what does blushing mean? It means turning very red. It isn’t always confined to one’s face, either. I once knew a man, a rare creature, whose very hair blushed. That is, it turned red when he was an infant and blushed more deeply every year. In fact it never quit blushing.”
“I once knew a person, a senseless creature, who didn’t know when he was well off,” began Reddy, in an ominous voice. “From the time he learned to talk he made ill-natured remarks about his friends. But at last he came to a terrible end. He——”
“I never knew him,” interrupted Hippy. “I’m not interested in persons I don’t know. I’d rather talk to Grace. I’ve known her for a long time, and we’ve always been on friendlyterms. Come and sit beside me, Grace.”
“Jilted,” declared Miriam tragically, as Grace accepted the invitation and seated herself on Hippy’s other side.
“Not a bit of it. I believe in preparedness. The constant-reinforcements-arriving-every-minute idea appeals to me. You are both bulwarks of defense.”
“I’m surprised that anything except eats appeals to you.” This from Reddy.
“‘Eats’ did you say? What are eats? Or, better,whereare eats?” demanded Hippy, beaming hopefully at Mrs. Gray.
“They will appear very soon, Hippy,” assured Mrs. Gray. “I sent a dispatch to the kitchen the moment you finished singing.”
“For goodness’ sake, Grace and Miriam, keep Hippy quiet for a while. No one else has had a chance to say a word,” complained David. “I’d like to hear a few remarks on ‘Life in Chicago’ by our estimable pals, Jessica and Reddy.”
“Life in Chicago can’t compare with life in dear old Oakdale,” said Jessica. “In spite of the theatres, concerts and all the pleasures that a big city offers one, Reddy and I are always a little lonely.”
“That is because you and Reddy miss me,” observed Hippy with positive modesty.
“You’re right, old man. We do miss you,”agreed Reddy, with unmistakable sincerity. For once Hippy forgot to be funny. “You aren’t the only ones who miss the old guard,” he answered seriously; then he added in his usual humorous strain, “I hope some day the Eight Originals Plus Two and all their friends will emigrate to a happy island and colonize it. Then there won’t be any missed faces or any letter writing to do, for that matter. David and Reddy can run the business of the colony and see that we aren’t cheated when we trade glass beads and other little trinkets with the savages. Of course there will be a few moth-eaten old cannibals. Tom can classify the trees of the forest and make the obstreperous beasts and reptiles behave. I will represent the law. I will settle all disputes and administer justice. I’ll be a regular old Father William, like the one in ‘Through the Looking Glass,’ I always did love that poem, especially this verse: