CHAPTER XII
MISSING--A FRIEND
Four days, spent in the society of those one loves best, pass almostwith the rapidity of lightning. Unlike most of her visits to New YorkCity, Grace gave little of her time to attending the theatres and seeingthe metropolis. By common consent the members of the house party spentthe greater share of their holiday together in the large, luxuriousliving room. Only one evening found them away from this temporary home.That was on Thanksgiving night, when Miriam gave a theatre party inhonor of her guests to see Everett Southard and Anne in "King Lear," andafter the play Mr. and Miss Southard entertained their friends at supperin one of New York's most exclusive restaurants. Thanksgiving morningthey spent in the church of which Eric Burroughs the actor-minister waspastor, and in the afternoon they motored through Central Park and farout Riverside Drive. Aside from this, the rest of their stay found thethoroughly 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 hadbrought even a breath of sadness to her old friend, Mrs. Gray. Therewere moments, too, when she experienced a faint resentment against Tom.Must her reunions with her friends be forever haunted by the knowledgethat she had made one of the Eight Originals unhappy? The approachingmarriage of Anne to David meant, that of the four girls she, only, hadchosen to walk alone. She knew that Anne, Nora and Jessica would hailjoyfully the news of her engagement to Tom. Living in the tenderatmosphere 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 theNesbits' in David's car, that Anne ventured to broach the subject of Tomto Grace. Elfreda, Hippy, Miriam and Nora were in the automobile justahead. Mr. and Mrs. Harlowe and Mrs. Gray had driven to the station inDavid's car, so, on the return, Grace and Anne had the tonneau of theautomobile quite to themselves.
Both girls were unusually quiet, and David, fully occupied in drivinghis car through the crowded streets, said little.
"Anne," it was Grace who broke the silence, "if David insisted upon yourgiving up the stage entirely, would you marry him?"
"Yes," came Anne's unhesitating answer. "I love him so much that I coulddo even that. Only he hasn't asked me to make the sacrifice. Heunderstands what my art means to me, and is willing to compromise. I amnot going on any more road tours. I may play an occasional engagement inthe large cities, but I have promised, so far as is possible, to remainin 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. Yousee the Southards knew all about me and my affairs. Long ago Mr.Southard began educating David to his point of view in regard to thestage. David is neither narrow-minded nor obstinate, so it has all comeright for me," she ended happily. Then she added, as her hand foundGrace's. "I wish you loved Tom, Grace."
"And you, too, Anne!" Grace's tones quivered with vexation. "Am I neverto be free from that shadow?"
"Why, Grace!" Anne looked hurt. "I didn't dream you felt so stronglyabout 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, wasdetermined to marry me to Tom. You are all on his side--every one ofyou. It's the old case of all the world loving a lover. I know you thinkI'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 Iought to marry Tom, just to please him. She realizes that my work meansmore to me than marriage." Grace's tone had again become unconsciouslypetulant.
Anne regarded her in silence. Hitherto she had not realized how remotewere 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. Itappeared as though too much had already been said on that score. Anneresolved to trespass no further. "Please forget what I said, Grace. I'msure I understand. I'll never mention the subject to you again."
Grace eyed Anne quizzically. "I ought to be grateful to my friends forhaving my welfare at heart," she admitted, "and I do appreciate theirsolicitude. Don't think I've turned against Tom because they have triedto plead his cause. So far, it hasn't made any difference. I can't helpthe way I feel toward him. Still, I'd rather not talk about him. Itdoesn'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 beforethe Nesbits' home and David stood at the open door of the car to helpthem out. During the few short hours that remained to Grace before timefor her train to Overton she and Anne had no further opportunity forconfidences.
* * * * *
It was twenty minutes past eleven o'clock that night when the trainreached Overton, and Grace was not sorry to end her long ride. It hadbeen an unusually lonely journey. For the first time in her experienceshe had made it alone, and without speaking to a person on the train.Then, too, the regret of parting with those she loved still weighedheavily upon her. "I do hope Emma is awake" was her first thought as shecrossed the station yard and hailed the solitary taxicab that always metthe late New York train, lamenting inwardly that the lateness of thehour and the weight of her luggage prevented her from walking homethrough the crisp, frosty night, under the stars.
The vestibule light of Harlowe House shone out like a beacon across thestill white campus. Grace thrilled with an excess of love and pride atsight of her beloved college home. How much it meant to her, and howsweet it was to feel that her business of life consisted in being ofhelp to others. If she married Tom that meant selfish happiness for theytwo alone, but as house mother she was of use to seventeen times twopersons. "The greatest good to the greatest number," she whispered, asshe 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 upthe stairs. A gleam of yellow light from under her door showed that Emmawas 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. "Isit four days or four weeks since I saw you off to New York and returnedto my humble cot to wrestle with the job of managing that worthyaggregation known as the Harlowites?"
"I should say it was four hours," corrected Grace. "Not that I didn'tmiss you, dear old comrade. We all missed you. Every last person wishedyou had come with me, and sent you their best wishes. It was splendid tospend Thanksgiving with Father and Mother, and to see Mrs. Gray and theothers. Did you receive my postcard? I wrote you that Hippy and Norawere with us. They gave us a complete surprise." Grace related furtherdetails of her visit, walking about the room and putting away herpersonal effects as she talked.
As usual Emma had made chocolate and arranged on the center table atempting little midnight luncheon for the traveler. It was not longuntil Grace had donned a pretty pale blue negligee and the two friendswere 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 apleasant one. The news of Miss Brent's sale has traveled about thecampus like wildfire. We've had a perfect stream of girls coming here.They have conceived the fond idea that Harlowe House is a headquartersfor second-hand clothing. I have labored with them to convince them thatsuch is not the case, but still they yearn for the Brent finery.Judging from what I hear, it must have been 'some' wardrobe. Pardon mylapse into slang, O, Overton. A
number of the teachers have commented onthe affair. I've been asked several pointed questions."
"How dreadful!" broke in Grace, her face clouding. "Still I was almostsure something would come of it. That was the reason I forbade MissBrent to hold a sale when first she proposed it to me. Do you think thatMiss Wilder and--Miss Wharton know it?" Grace hesitated beforepronouncing the latter's name.
"Miss Wilder doesn't know, because she left for California lastSaturday."
A cry of surprise and disappointment broke from Grace. "Miss Wildergone, 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 privatecar, and knowing that she was ordered west for her health, they wroteand invited her to join them. They had arranged to leave New York Citythis morning, so she left Overton for New York yesterday morning. I amsure she wrote you. One of the letters that came for you while you weregone is addressed in her handwriting."
Emma reached down, opened the drawer of the table at which they weresitting, and drew out a pile of letters. "Here's your mail, Gracious. Goahead 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 whichbore various postmarks. The majority of the letters were from friendsscattered far and wide over the country. The thick white envelope, MissWilder's own particular stationery, lay almost at the bottom of thepile. 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 can make 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 withaffectionate solicitude. Stepping over to her, she slid her arm overGrace's shoulders. Grace raised her head. Her eyes met Emma's. Then shepushed the letter into Emma's hand. "Read it," she commanded.
"Do you think she understood?" was Emma's question as she handed backthe 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 troubleher with Miss Wharton's shortcomings. It would worry her, and that wouldretard her recovery. If the year brings me battles to fight, I mustfight them alone."
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