His mother knew this to be true, for her son had made the same confidence the day he had arrived from school. Her only comment was to lay her hand lovingly on the brown head. A caress had not occurred between these two, not since Gwynette had been a little girl.
There were unshed tears in the woman’s eyes. How blind she had been. After all, Gwynette was not entirely to blame. Well the foster-mother knew that she had encouraged the high-spirited girl to be proud and haughty. For many years Mrs. Poindexter-Jones had considered social standing of more importance than all else, but, during the long months that she had been ill, an idle watcher of the throngs who visited the famous health resort in France, something of the foolishness of it all had come to her and she had readjusted her sense of real values, scarcely knowing when it had happened. She had much to regret, much to try to undo.
“Dear girl,” she said, and there was in her voice a waver as though it were hard for her to speak, and yet she was determined to do so, “I fear I have done you a great wrong. I have taught you to be proud, to scorn worthiness in your fellow-men, or, if not exactly that, to place class distinction above it. Now I know that character is the true test of what a man is, not how much money he has or what his place in society. Of course, it is but right that we should choose our friends from among those people who interest us, but not from among those who can benefit us in a worldly way. Gwynette, daughter, is it too late for me to undo the wrong that I have done in giving you these false standards and ideals?”
Now there were indeed tears quivering on the lashes of the older woman. The girl was touched, as she never before had been. “Oh, Mother!” It was really a yearning cry. “Then youdolove me. You do care?”
Miss Dane appeared at the moment and the older woman merely smiled at the girl, but with such an expression of infinite tenderness that, when the invalid had been led away, there was a most unusual warmth in Gwynette’s heart. She rose and walked down to the cliff. She wanted, oh, her mother could not know how very much she wanted to free herself from the old standards, because she admired, more than she had ever before admired anyone, the son of a mere rancher. She stood gazing at the boat and thinking so intently of these things that she did not hear footsteps near, but how her heart rejoiced when she heard a voice asking, “Will you go to the Yacht Club dance with me this evening, Miss Gwynette? Harold has procured the necessary tickets.”
Would she go? Gwynette turned such a glowingly radiant face toward the questioner that he marveled at her beauty. How could he know that it was the magic of his friendship which had wrought this almost unbelievable transformation.
“Oh, how splendid! The Yacht Club is a beautiful place and the music they have is simply divine.” Then she hesitated and looked doubtful, “but I haven’t a new party gown and I wore my old one there last month.”
How trivial and unimportant the young man’s hearty laugh made her remark seem, and what he said might have been called brutally frank: “You don’t suppose that anyone will recall what Miss Gwynette Poindexter-Jones wore on that particular occasion?”
The girl flushed, although she knew the rebuke contained in the remark had not been intentionally unkind. Yet she could not resist saying, with a touch of her old hauteur, “You mean that no one will remember me.” Then the native common sense which had seldom been given an opportunity to express itself came to save her from petty displeasure. “You are right, Sir Charles,” she said lightly, “of course no one there tonight will recall the gown I wore; in fact they won’t remembermeat all.”
The lad had glanced quickly at the girl when she had called him “Sir Charles,” but, noting that it had been but a teasing preface to her remark, he stood by her side for a silent moment gazing out at the boat.
“Harold and I are going for a sail this afternoon,” he said, “if the craft doesn’t leak. We want to try it out before we take the young ladies for a sail. My sister Lenora used to love to be my passenger when we were up at Lake Tahoe.”
Gwyn did not know why she asked, just a bit coyly, “Was your sister youronlypassenger?”
The reply was frankly given: “No indeed! There were several young ladies at a nearby inn who accompanied us at different times.”
Harold came up just then and said: “Well, Gwyn, are you going to watch the famous sailors perform this afternoon? Jenny and Lenora have promised to be out on Rocky Point to encourage us with their presence, so to speak.” Charles looked keenly at the girl as he said: “I would be pleased if you would join them, Miss Gwyn. I would like you to know my sister better. You will love her when you do.”
They had turned and were walking toward the house. Gwynette did not in the least want to go. After hesitating, she replied: “I planned looking over my gown. It may need some alterations.”
Even as she spoke, she knew that her words did not ring true. She sensed, more than saw, that Charles was disappointed in her. He began at once to talk about sailing to Harold, and, for the rest of the walk she might have been quite alone. Her brother realized that Gwyn had not been courteous. She should, at least, have replied that she wassureshe would like the sister of Charles. He, Harold, had said nothing of Jenny. He was not going to have his friend again humiliated by Gwyn’s haughty disdain. He was almost glad that she had invented an excuse for remaining away.
Gwyn lunched alone in the big formal dining-room. The boys had departed for their cabin, where Sing Long had prepared their midday meal as usual. The girl had hoped they would invite her to accompany them, but they had not done so.
After lunch she went to her room and took out the gown. She well knew that it was in perfect repair, for had she not worn it to the party she had given at The Palms in honor of the girl she hadsupposedwas related to nobility? How foolish she had been! She did not much blame Patricia and Beulah for laughing at her. In all probability there had been no such girl in the seminary, and if there had been, what possible difference could it make to her? Then she recalled what her mother had said: “It ischaracterthat counts, not class distinction.” Gwyn was decidedly unhappy. She laid the filmy, truly exquisite gown on her bed and stood gazing out of her window. She saw the sailboat gliding past. She decided that at least she would go out on the cliff.
Gwynette, dressed in a corn-yellow linen with tailored lines and wearing a very becoming sport hat of the same material and color, trimmed with old blue and orange, sauntered out to the cliff. She had intended to remain there on a rustic bench to watch the boys sail to and fro, hoping, though scarcely believing, that they would eventually land at the small pier at their boathouse. Another thought prompted: “They are far more apt to land nearer the Point of Rocks. Charles will want to be with his sister, and Harold cares much more for that—that——” She hesitated, for even in her thought she did not like to connect her brother’s name with the granddaughter of her mother’s servants.
Rising, and without definite decision to do so, she sauntered along the cliff in the direction of the rocky point. She saw the two girls seated on the highest rock, and just at that moment they were waving seaward, and so Gwyn decided that the sailboat must be nearing the shore. A low-growing old pine hid the water from her view. When she had passed it, she glanced quickly out at the gleaming, dancing waves, and there, turning for a tack, was the boat she sought. Charles, at the rudder, saw her at once and waved his hat. She flushed. He would know that she was going over to the point to be with the other girls. Half angry with herself, when she realized that she was doing it merely to please him, and not in the least because it was her own desire, she actually paused, determining to turn back, but before she had done so, Jenny, having glanced around, saw her, and so it was too late to retreat even if she had really wished to do so. Remembering her promise to Harold, Jenny called in her most friendly manner, “Oh, Miss Poindexter-Jones, won’t you come over on the Reviewing Rocks, as Harold calls them? We have a wonderful view of the boat from here.”
Gwynette went, and if her smile was faint, it was at least a smile, and Jenny felt encouraged. She gave up her own position. “Do sit here,” she said, “this seat is really as comfortable as a rock can be. I would offer to go to the house for a cushion, but Lenora has the only two that we own and she needs them both.”
“Indeed, I do not.” The seated girl protested, and she was about to draw out the one against which she was leaning, but Gwyn had the good grace to at once declare that her gown washed nicely and she did not in the least mind sitting on the rocks. Then they turned to watch the antics of the sailboat.
“Charles is in his element now.” It was evident from her tone that Lenora was very proud of her brother. “When we were at Tahoe the daughters of the wealthy cottagers and guests at Tahoe Inn were always eager to have him accompany them, not only sailing but everywhere.” With a little laugh she concluded, “As you may guess, I have a very popular brother.” Then, more seriously, as she recalled why they had been at the lake, far-famed for its beauty: “But Charles refused nearly all invitations that he might remain with our dear mother, who was frail. In fact, the only ones he accepted were those that Mother and I insisted that he should not refuse. But, oftenest of all, Charles would take me with him for a sunrise sail before Mother would need us, and I shall never, never forget the beauty of the awakening day on that mountain-circled lake.” All this was told to Jenny, who had seated herself on another rock a little apart from the others.
Gwyn found herself thinking it strange that ranchers from Dakota should have the entree to Tahoe Inn, which she knew to be exclusive. Then she had to confess that she, herself, had always associated with only the first families, and yet she now was seated on the rocks with two girls far beneath her socially. She flushed as she had to acknowledge that she was there just to please Charles Gale. He probably had attracted the girls who had been at Tahoe Inn as he did her. Her lips, though she did not know it, were taking on the customary scornful lines, when Jenny stood up.
“They’re coming in close this time. Harold wants to tell us something. Everyone listen hard.”
The lad, making a trumpet of his hands, was shouting: “We’ll land next tack. Have some lemonade for us, will you?”
The standing girl nodded her head: then, holding out a hand to Lenora, said: “That command shall be obeyed.”
More formally, though in a tone of friendliness, Jenny turned to the other girl: “You will go with us, will you not, Miss Poindexter-Jones? I’ll gather some fresh lemons and——” her face brightened as she added: “Let’s set the rustic table out under the trees near the hammock, and serve some of those little cakes Grandma made this morning, and we might even have strawberries. I gathered many more than we’ll need for the shortcake for dinner.”
“Oh! That will be jolly fun!” Jenny’s enthusiasm was contagious as far as Lenora was concerned, and so all three girls walked toward the house, two of them eagerly, but one reluctantly. Why didn’t she have the courage to say that she must go to her own home? What excuse could she give that would be the truth, for, strangely enough, Gwynette scorned falsehood. She had been angry with herself ever since she had made the excuse of the dress, knowing that it had not been true. Though they did not know it, that high sense of honesty these two girls had inherited from their missionary father.
While she was struggling with her desire to be one of the party when Charles should have landed, and her disinclination at being with girls far beneath her socially, Jenny, who was a little in the lead, turned and smilingly addressed her:
“Miss Poindexter-Jones, what would you prefer doing—hulling strawberries, making the lemonade or setting the table under the trees?”
Lenora, who was bringing up the rear of the little procession, smiled to herself. Jenny surely was daring, for, as they both well knew, Gwynette would notpreferto do anything at all. Surely she would now find some excuse for hasty retreat. She might go home and read to her mother if she had awakened. This Gwyn decided to tell them, but when she did hear her own voice it was saying: “If I may choose, I prefer to set the table.”
“Good!” Jenny turned to Lenora: “Dearie, shall you mind staining your fingers rosy red?”
“Strawberry red, you mean, don’t you?” Lenora dropped down on the top step of the front porch, adding with an upward smile: “Sister Jenny, bring the fruit and I will hull with pleasure.”
“All right-o.” Then to the other girl, who stood stiffly erect, Jenny said very sweetly: “If you will come with me, I’ll show you where Grandmother Sue keeps her best china. I know that she will let us use it for this gala occasion.” Then pointing: “See over there, by the hammock, is the little rustic table. There are five of us. I’ll bring out five chairs.”
“Don’t!” Lenora put in. “I’d far rather luxuriate in the hammock. Anyway, four chairs even up the table better.”
Gwyn removed her hat, and followed Jenny toward the kitchen, where in an old-fashioned china closet there were some very pretty dishes. The ware was thin and the fern pattern was attractive, and suitable for an out-of-door tea party.
For the next fifteen minutes these three girls were busy, and to Gwynette’s surprise she was actually enjoying her share of the preparations. After setting the table with a lunch cloth and the pretty dishes, she gathered a cluster of pink wild roses for the center.
“I love those single roses!” Jenny exclaimed when she brought out a large glass pitcher of lemonade on which were floating strips of peel. “They are so simple and—well—just what they really are, not pretending anything.”
Lenora appeared with a glass dish heaped with luscious strawberries. Their hostess was surely in an appreciative mood. “O-o-h! Don’t they look simply luscious under all that powdered sugar? Those sailors don’t know the treat that’s in store for them.”
“And for us!” It was Gwyn’s first impulsive remark. “I didn’t know that I was hungry, but I feel now as though I were famished.”
“So are we!” A hearty voice behind caused them all to turn, and there were the two boys who had stolen up quietly on purpose to surprise the girls. “We landed at the cabin, so we are all washed up and ready for the ‘eats’.”
And it truly was a feast of merriment. Gwyn was surprised to find herself laughing with the others.
Lenora, half reclining in the hammock, was more an observer than a partaker of the active merriment. From her position she could see the profiles of the two girls at the table. They were both dressed in yellow, for Jenny had on her favorite muslin. The shade was somewhat different from Gwyn’s corn-colored linen, but the effect was startlingly similar. They had both removed their hats and their hair was exactly the same soft waving light brown, with gold glints in it. Indeed, it might have been hair on one head. Charles and Harold, of course, had also noted this at an earlier period, but it was Lenora’s first opportunity to study the two girls. Whatcouldit mean?Itwas too decided a likeness to be merely a coincident. She determined to ask Charles.
That lad was devoting his time and thought to drawing Gwyn out of the formal stiffness which had been evident when the little party started. This he did, for Gwyn had had years of practice at clever repartee, and so also had Charles, for, as she knew, he had associated with the daughters of cultured families and also, of course, with the sons.
Jenny and Harold, seated opposite each other, now and then exchanged glances that ranged from amusement to gratification. They were both decidedly pleased that the difficult guest was being entertained.
When at last the strawberries, cakes and lemonade had disappeared, Harold sprang up, announcing that, since the young ladies had prepared the party, the young gentlemen would do the doing that was to follow. Charles instantly began to pile dishes high, saying in a gay tone, directly to Gwyn, “I suppose you hadn’t heard that I am ‘hasher’ now and then at our frat ‘feeds’.”
The girl shuddered. “No, I had not.” Her reply was so cold and her manner again so formal that Lenora put in rebukingly: “Charles, why do you say that? Of course I think it is splendid of boys who have to work their way through college to do anything at all that they can, but father insisted that you pay your way, that you might have your entire time for studying.”
“I know, Sis, dear, but it’s the truth, nevertheless, that we all take turns helping out when there is need of it, and so I have learned the knack and I’m glad to have it. One can’t learn too many things in this old world of ours.”
Gwyn rose, saying not without a hint of her old disdainful hauteur, “I am going now. Mother may be awake and wishing me to read to her.”
“That’s right, she may,” Harold put in. “Otherwise I would remind you that it is not mannerly to eat and run.”
His sister flushed, and Charles, suspecting that an angry reply was on the tip of her tongue, hurried to suggest: “Miss Gwyn, if you will wait until I have finished helping clear up, I’ll sail you home, with Harold’s permission. We left the boat at the cabin dock.”
“Suppose you go at once,” the other lad remarked, “I’d a whole lot rather have Jenny wipe the dishes while I wash them.”
“Good! Then I can take a nap in this comfy hammock,” Lenora put in. “This is the most dissipating I’ve done since I was first taken ill.”
Charles was at once solicitous and Jenny half rebukeful. “Oh, Lenora. I do hope you aren’t overtired,” they both said in different ways.
Lenora curled down among the pillows that she always had with her. “Indeed not! I’ll be well enough to travel home one week from today,” she assured her brother. “Now do go, everybody, and let me sleep.” And so, after bidding good-bye to Jenny and Lenora in a far more friendly manner than her wont, Gwyn, her heart again singing a joyous song she could not understand, walked along the cliff trail, a young giant at her side. “He’s only the son of a Dakota rancher,” a thought tried to whisper to Gwyn. “What care I?” was her retort as she flashed a smile of good comradeship up at the young man, who, she found, was watching her with unmistakable admiration in his eyes.
“It’s good to be alive this beautiful day, isn’t it?” was all that he said.
When Charles returned to the farm, he found Lenora still in the hammock awakening from a most refreshing nap. She held out a hand and took it lovingly as he sat on one of the chairs that had been about the rustic table. Lenora spoke in a low voice. “Jenny isn’t near, is she, brother?” she inquired.
“Nowhere in sight Why? Shall I call her?”
The girl shook her head. “I wanted to ask you a question and I didn’t wish her to hear.” Charles was puzzled; then troubled to know how to answer when he heard Lenora’s question: “Have you noticed the close resemblance between Jenny and Harold’s sister? They might almost be twins if Gwynette were not two years the older. I think it is simply amazing. Their profiles are startlingly similar.”
“Yes, I think I noticed the resemblance at once.” Charles was glad to be able to add, “Here comes Harold!” Excusing himself, he ran lightly across the grass to meet his friend. In a low voice he explained that his sister had discovered the resemblance and was amazed at it. His listener said: “Suppose we let her into the secret. Perhaps she can help us to induce Gwyn and Jenny at least to like each other.” Harold was sure that his mother would not mind, as she had said she would trust everything to his judgment. “I will carry the chairs in. That will leave you alone to explain as you think best,” he concluded after a merry greeting to the girl in the hammock. Harold took three of the chairs and went back to the kitchen. Charles sat again in the fourth chair and took his sister’s hand. “Dear girl,” he said, “I have received permission from Harold to share with you a secret which is of a very serious nature.” Lenora glanced up puzzled and interested.
Then, very simply, Charles told the whole story. The girl’s first comment was, “Poor Gwyn! She has had a most unfortunate bringing up, and, if she were now to learn the truth, it would crush her. She might run away and do something desperate.”
“That is just what Harold fears, and so he has asked his mother to permit him to have two weeks to think over what would be best to do. He feels encouraged for Gwynette has twice been over here quite of her own free will.”
But Lenora shook her head. “There is nothing really encouraging about that, for she did not come to be with Jenny. She came because she likes you.”
Charles smiled and surprised Lenora by replying, “And I like Gwynette. She’s nicer, really, than she knows.” Again there was an interruption. This time both Jenny and Harold appeared. “It’s time to milk the cow,” the younger lad announced with the broadest smile. “Charles, it’s your turn tonight.”
“You are both too late,” Jenny told them, “for Grandpa Si took the pail out of the milkroom ten minutes ago and by this time it is brimming, I am sure.”
Charles rose. “Well, I’m rather glad, as I wish to take a swim before arraying myself for the ball.” Noting his sister’s questioning expression, he informed her that Gwynette and he were going to a dance at the Yacht Club House that night. “Why don’t you go with them, Harold?” It was Jenny inquiring. “I have often heard you say that you like to dance.”
“So I do. If you and Lenora will accompany me, I’ll go only too gladly.”
Lenora shook her head. “I’ll be asleep before it would be time to start,” she said. “Why don’t you go with him, Jenny?”
That pretty maid’s laughter was amused and merry. “Would I wear my yellow muslin or my white with the pink sprig? Lenora Gale, you know that I haven’t a party dress, nor do I know how to dance.”
Harold put in: “We’ll not go tonight, but if Grandma Sue has no religious scruples, I’ll come over after dinner and give you a first lesson in modern dancing.” Then the two boys went cabin-ward for their afternoon swim.
Jenny Warner could not guess why there were so many mysterious smiles and head noddings that night at supper and the next morning at breakfast.
“I just know that you’re all up to mischief,” she accused as they were leaving the table.
“Guess what we four are going to do this morning,” Lenora beamed at her friend.
“Well, I know Granddad is going into town.”
“And Grandma Sue, you, and I are going with him,” Lenora laughingly told Jenny.
Jenny caught the glance that passed between Grandma Sue and Lenora and knew they had a secret.
When an hour later Grandpa Warner stopped Dobbin in front of the most fashionable store in Santa Barbara, Jenny was more puzzled than ever.
“Come on, sister mine.” Lenora took Jenny’s hand and the two girls and Grandma Sue entered the store.
It was all very mysterious and exciting to Jenny. She looked at Grandma Sue who gazed about at the rainbow-hued silks piled high on the counters, at the display of exquisite laces, and at the dainty silk lingerie, as though she were visiting a museum. “There’s a power o’ pretty things in this here shop,” she confided to her companions.
Lenora, having spoken to a uniformed attendant, led them at once to an elevator and they were silently and swiftly lifted to an upper floor.
There Jenny saw a handsomely furnished room with glass cases around the walls, and in them hung dresses of every color and kind. She decided that Lenora needed something new to wear on her long journey, which was only five days away, and so she sat with Susan Warner on a velvet upholstered sofa while the other girl spoke quietly with a trim-looking clerk who was dressed in black with white lace collar and cuffs.
“Yes, indeed. We have the very latest things in party gowns.” Jenny could not help overhearing this remark. The clerk continued: “If you will come this way, I will show them to you.” Susan Warner was on her feet as soon as Lenora beckoned. Jenny was more mystified than ever. Lenora did not need a party gown, of that she was sure, for were there not two as pretty as any girl could wish to possess hanging in her closet at the farm?
The saleswoman led them to a small room furnished in old gold and blue. The walls were paneled with gilt-framed mirrors, and here the attendant left them. Susan Warner sat down smiling as she noted Jenny’s perplexity. That little maid could keep quiet no longer. “Whois going to buy a party gown,” she inquired. “Lenora doesn’t need another, and Grandma Sue, I’m sure it can’t beyou.”
“It’s for you, Miss Jeanette Warner,” Lenora whispered. “Sssh! Don’t act surprised, for if you do, what will the saleswoman think? Now, what color would you prefer, blue or yellow are both becoming to you.”
Jenny turned toward the older woman. “Grandma Sue,” she began, when the clerk reappeared with an armful of exquisite gowns of every hue. So there was nothing for Jenny to do but try on one and then another. How lovely, how wonderfully lovely they were, but with a blue silk, the color of forget-me-nots, she had fallen in love at once. It was trimmed with shirred blue lovers’ knots, looping it in here and there, and with clusters of tiny pink silk roses. “We’ll take that,” Grandma Sue announced, not once having asked the price. Jenny gasped. The saleswoman’s well-trained features did not register the astonishment she felt. Susan Warner did not give the impression of wealth or fashion, but one never could tell. The truth was that Lenora had told the clerk not to mention the price, fearing that Jenny would refuse the party dress, which was to be a gift to her from the two Gales. When they emerged from the shop, the lovely gown carefully folded in a long box, Jenny was again surprised to find Harold and Charles standing by the curb visiting with her grandfather.
“Wall, wall, Jenny-gal, did they get you fixed up with fancy riggin’s?”
Grandpa Si beamed at the darling of his heart.
The girl looked as though she were walking in a dream. It all seemed very unreal to her. “Oh, it is the loveliest dress!” she exclaimed, “but wherever am I to wear it? Ineverwent to a party, so why do I need a party gown?”
“You shall see what you shall see,” was Harold’s mysterious reply. Then he added briskly, “Now since we happened to meet you, will you not honor us with your company for lunch?”
“Yes, indeed we will.” Lenora, twinkling-eyed, was evidently carrying out a prearranged conversation. “Just lead the way.”
An attractive café being near, the party, led thither by Harold, was soon seated at a table in a curtained booth.
Silas Warner beamed across at his good wife. “Sort o’ hifalutin doin’s we’re up to, hey, Ma?”
Susan Warner’s cheeks were flushed, her eyes sparkling. “It sure is a treat to me to know what’s on the inside of these places. Will yo’ hear that now? There’s a fiddle startin’ up somewhars.”
The “fiddle” was not alone, for an orchestra played during their entire stay. The boys were told to order the lunch, and they seemed to get a good deal of enjoyment out of doing it. They selected delicacies with long French names, but Grandpa Si, who by that time had removed his hat, since the boys had done so, ate everything that was brought to him with a relish, smacking his lips appreciatively and asking, “Wall, Ma, do yo’ reckonyoucould make one o’ them concoctions if the waiter’d tell you what the mixin’s was?”
“Silas Warner, don’t yo’ go to askin’ him,” Susan warned. “He’ll think we’re greener than we be, even though that’s green enough, goodness knows, when it comes to puttin’ on sech styles.”
The old man leaned over and patted his wife’s hand, which was still partly covered with the black lace mit. “Ma, don’ yo’ go to frettin’ about me. I ain’t goin’ to ask nothin’ an’, as fer the vittles, thar’s none as can cook more tomylikin’ than yerself, even though thar be less trimmin’s.”
It was while they were eating their ice cream and cake that Harold suggested that they go to the theatre. It was quite evident that the old people were delighted and so were the girls. “It’s a splendid play,” Charles put in. “I do wish your sister had come with us.” Harold had purposely neglected to tell his friend of the conversation he had had that morning with Gwynette.
As they were leaving the café, Charles asked, “Should you mind, Hal, if I borrow your little gray car and go back after Gwynette? I’m sure she would enjoy the play.”
“Go by all means.” Harold drew his friend aside, although not seeming to do so, as he added, “I’ll get a box for the Warners and Lenora. You would better get seats somewhere else for you and Gwyn.”
“Why?” Charles questioned. “There is usually room for eight at least in a box. Are they smaller here?”
“No-o, but——”
“Hmm! I understand. Well, just leave that to me. So long!”
Meanwhile Gwyn had been feeling decidedly neglected. She had read to her mother in the garden as had become their morning custom but the older woman noted that the girl was listless and disinterested. “Ma Mere,” Gwyn had said, dropping the book to her lap, and showing by her remark that she had not been thinking of the story. “If it isn’t too late I believe I will go on that tour you were telling me about. I am desperately unhappy. Something is all wrong with me.”
Mrs. Poindexter-Jones sighed. “I am sorry, Gwyn. It is too late dear, but perhaps I will hear of another. I will make inquiries if you wish.” Then Miss Dane had come to take the invalid indoors, and Gwyn spent a lonely hour lunching by herself in the great formal dining-room.
It was in the library that Charles found her. She had been trying to read, but oh, how eagerly she glanced up when she heard his step. The lad bounded in, both hands held out. There was an expression in his fine eyes that rejoiced the girl’s heart.
“Oh, I’ve been so dismally lonely,” Gwyn said, and there were tears of self-pity on her long curling lashes.
“Poor girl I know what it is to be lonely.” Then, with one of his most winsome smiles, Charles added, “That’s why I have come back for you, Gwyn.” It was the first time he had called her that. “The others were going to the theatre. Harold’s to get a box. I couldn’t enjoy the play without you there—that is, not if you would like to go.”
Gwyn was torn between a desire to be with Charles Gale and a dread of being seen in a box with these impossible Warners. “Oh, Charles!” They were calling each other by their first names without realizing it. “I want to go withyou! I am alwaysproudof you anywhere, but—” she hesitated and looked up at him almost pleadingly, “you won’t like me when I tell you that I would beashamedto be seen in a box—with my mother’s servants.”
Charles released her hands and walked to a window, where he stood silently looking out. “Gwyn,” he said, turning toward her, “I didn’t think I would ever meet a girl for whom I would care—really care, but I know now that I have met one, but, since she scorns farmers, I shall have to cease caring, for I bychoiceam, and shall remain, a farmer, or a rancher, as we are called in the Northwest.”
Gwyn’s heart beat rapidly. Was this handsome young man, who stood so proudly erect, telling her that he loved her? And in that moment she knew that she cared for him. She felt scornful of herself, for, had she not often boasted that the most eligible bachelor in San Francisco’s younger set would be the one ofher choice, nor, had she any doubt but thatshewould also be his, and here she was silently acknowledging that she loved a mere rancher. However, it might be with her but a passing fancy. He would be gone in another week; then she would visit the city and meet men of herownclass and forget. Yes, that is what she reallywantedto do,forgetthis unsuitable attraction.
Charles broke in upon her meditations with, “Well, Gwyn, time is passing. Do you care to go to the matinee with me and occupy a box with the Warners, my sister and Harold?”
The proud girl felt that he was making this a test of whether or not she could care for him as a rancher. “No,” she heard her voice saying coldly. “I would rather be lonely than be seen in a box with those back-woodsy Warners.”
“Very well, I must return at once or I will be late.” Charles started for the door. Gwyn sensed, and truly, that her “no” meant a refusal of more than an afternoon at the matinee.
“Good-bye!” he turned in the portier-hung doorway to say. He saw that she had dropped to the sofa and, hiding her face in a cushion, was sobbing as though her heart would break. One stride took him back to her. “Gwyn! Dear, dear girl!” He sat beside her and took both of her hands, but she continued to look away from him. “Why won’t you try to overcome these petty false standards? Iwantto ask you to be my wife, but I can’t, when you think a rancher so far beneath you.”
For answer, she lifted a glowing face. “I wantto be a rancher’s wife. Charles, please let me.”
The curtain had gone down on the first act when Gwynette and Charles appeared in the box. They were welcomed with smiles and nods and a few whispered words. Harold, from time to time, glanced back at his sister. She was positively radiant. Then he caught a look full of meaning that was exchanged by the girl and the man at her side.
It told its own story. Gwynette, the proud, haughty, domineering girl, had been won by a rancher. Her brother well knew how she had struggled against what she would call a misalliance, but Cupid had been the victor. Then he wondered what his mother would say. Involuntarily Harold glanced at the girl near whom he was sitting. Feeling his glance, she smiled up at him, and yet it was merely a smile of good comradeship. He would have to wait. Jenny was two years younger than her sister, and had never thought of love.
Gwynette went about in a dream. She and Charles had been for a sunrise sail (as Lenora had said that she and her brother had so often been on Lake Tahoe) and they had made their plans. Charles was to return to the Dakota ranch on scheduled time and work with his father during the summer, then, in the fall, he would return for his bride.
“Unless you change your mind and wish to marry someone in yourownclass,” he said, as hand in hand they returned to the big house. The girl flushed. “Don’t!” she pleaded. Then, “I want to forget how worthless were my old ideals.”
“And you wouldn’t even marry the younger son of a noble English family, in preference to me, I mean, if you knew one and he asked you?” Gwyn thought the query a strange one, but looked up, replying with sweet sincerity: “No, Charles, I shall marry no one butyou.” Then she laughed. “What a queer question that was. A young nobleman is not very apt to askmeto marry him.”
There was a merry expression on the lad’s handsome, wind and sun tanned face as he said: “Wrong there, Gwynette, for onehasasked you.” Then, when he thought that he had mysterified her sufficiently, he continued: “Did you ever hear it rumored that a pupil of the Granger Place Seminary might, some day, have the right to the title ‘My Lady’?”
Gwyn flushed. Even yet she didnotsuspect the truth, and she feared Harold had told of her humiliation in giving a ball at The Palms in honor of a supposed daughter of nobility whose father proved to be a pigraiser. Rather coldly she said, “I had heard such a rumor, but we all decided that it was untrue.”
“But it wasn’t. Were my sister in England she would be called ‘Lady Lenora.’ Our uncle died last winter and father is now in possession of the family estates and title.”
The girl flushed and tears rushed to her eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me all this sooner?” she asked, and the lad replied: “I had two reasons. One was that I wished to be loved just for myself, and the other was that I do not care to marry a snob.”
Then he had bounded away to breakfast with Harold at the cabin and to don his overalls, for, not one morning had the boys neglected to appear at the farm, on time, to help Grandpa Si.
* * * * * * * *
It was the hour for Gwyn to read to her mother, who was already waiting in the pond-lily garden. The woman, much stronger than she had been, was amazed to see the joy so plainly depicted on the beautiful face of her adopted daughter. She held out a hand that was as white as the lilies on the blue surface of the water.
“Gwynette, dear girl, whathasso transformed you?” To the woman’s surprise, Gwyn dropped down on the low stool and, taking her hand, pressed it close to her cheek. “Mother dear, I am so happy, so wonderfully happy! But I don’t deserve it! I have always been so hateful. How could I have won so priceless a treasure as the love of Charles Gale?”
There were conflicting emotions in the heart of the listener. She had had dreams of Gwynette’s coming-out party which they had planned for the next winter. Mrs. Poindexter-Jones had often thought over the eligibles for whom she would angle, after the fashion of mothers with beautiful daughters, and here the matter had all been settled without her knowledge and Gwyn was to marry a rancher’s son. “Dear,” she said tenderly, smoothing the girl’s sun-glinted hair, “are yousurethat you love him? With your beauty you could have won wealth and position.”
How glowing was the face that was lifted. “Mother, Ichoselove, and have won a far higher social pinnacle thanyouever dreamed for me.”
When the story had been told Mrs. Poindexter-Jones, notwithstanding her changed ideals, was nevertheless pleased. She leaned forward and kissed her daughter tenderly. “Dear girl,” she said, “I am especially glad that, first of all, you chose love. I did when I married your father, but the great mistake I made was continuing to be a snob.”
Gwyn arose. “I shallnot, Mother, and to prove it, I shall go this afternoon to call upon the Warners.”
Miss Dearborn had returned to Hillcrest, and with her were a small girl and boy, the children of her dear college friend, who, with her baby, had been taken from this world. Jenny, with Lenora, had gone that afternoon to see her and had learned that Miss Dearborn was to make a home for the little ones for a year, during which time their father was to tour the world, then he would return and make a home for them himself. Neither Miss Dearborn nor Jenny spoke their thoughts, but oh,howthe girl hoped that there would then be a happy ending to Miss Dearborn’s long years of sacrifice. If the young woman were thinking of this, her next remark did not suggest it. “Jenny, dear, we will have three classes in our little school next year to suit the ages of my three pupils.”
Then it was that Lenora said impulsively, “How I do wish, Miss Dearborn, that you could take still another pupil. My father and brother think best to have me spend the winter in California. Our Dakota storms are so severe. I am to live with the Warners just as I have been doing this past two months.” Miss Dearborn’s reply was enthusiastic and sincere: “Splendid! That will make our little school complete. I know how Jenny will enjoy your companionship. She has often told me that if she had had the choosing of a sister, she would have been just like you.”
Lenora glanced quickly at the speaker, wondering if Miss Dearbornknewwho Jenny’srealsister was, but just then the little Austin girl ran to her “auntie” with a doll’s sash to be tied, and the subject was changed.
On that ride home behind Dobbin, Lenora wondered if Jenny would ever learn that Gwyn was her real sister. Charles had confided in her, and so she knew that in the autumn Gwynette would behersister by marriage and that would draw Jenny and Lenora closer than ever. How she wished that she could tell Jenny everything she knew, but she had promised that she would not. When the girls returned home they found Susan Warner much excited about something. Gwynette had been over to call,actuallyto call, and she had remained on the side porch visiting with Grandma Sue even when she had learned that Jenny and Lenora had driven to Miss Dearborn’s.