GRACE MAKES A RESOLUTION
"What do you think has happened?" demanded J. Elfreda Briggs, bursting
into the room where Anne and Grace were busily making up for lost time.
They had lingered at Vinton's until after eight o'clock. Then the
thought of to-morrow with its eternal round of classes had driven them
home, reluctantly enough, to where their books awaited them. It was
almost nine o'clock before they had actually settled themselves, and
Elfreda's sudden, tempestuous entrance caused Anne to lay down her
Horace with an air of patient resignation. "We might as well begin
saying 'unprepared' now, and grow accustomed to the sound of our own
voices," she announced.
"I think so, too," agreed Grace. "Well, Elfreda, why this thusness? What
has happened? Have you been elected to the Pi Beta Gamma, or did you get
an unusually large check from home?"
"Catch the P. B. Gammas troubling themselves about me," scoffed Elfreda.
"As for a check, I've written for it, but so far I've seen no signs of
it. When I do lay hands on it we'll celebrate the event with feasting
and merrymaking."
"Then I can't guess," sighed Grace. "You'd better tell us."
"Well," began Elfreda, her eyes twinkling, "I have a dinner invitation
for to-morrow night at Martell's."
"That is nothing startling," scoffed Anne. "We've just come from
Vinton's."
"But the rest of my news is remarkable," persisted the stout girl. "I am
invited to dine"--Elfreda paused, then finished impressively--"with the
Anarchist."
"You don't mean it!" Grace looked her surprise.
"Of course I mean it," retorted Elfreda. "I wouldn't say so if I didn't.
She delivered her invitation on the way over to chapel this morning. I'd
give you an imitation of the way she did it if I hadn't accepted."
Grace shot a quick, approving glance toward Elfreda which the latter saw
and interpreted correctly. "I wouldn't have thought about that last
year, would I, Grace?" she asked shyly.
Grace laughed rather confusedly. "How did you guess so much? The way you
stumble upon things is positively uncanny."
"Observation, my dear, observation," returned Elfreda patronizingly.
"One can learn almost everything about everybody if one keeps one's eyes
open."
"You seem to carry out your own theory," admitted Grace smilingly. "Have
you finished your work for to-night?"
"Years ago," declared Elfreda extravagantly. "Miriam hasn't, at least
she was still studying when I left the room. I'll tell you what I'll do.
I'll make some fudge. Mrs. Elwood will let me have some milk and we have
the rest of the stuff in our room. I'll send Miriam in here. Then I can
have the whole room to myself. When it's done, I'll call you."
With a joyful skip that fairly jarred the furniture in the room Elfreda
bounded through the doorway and vanished. Two minutes later Miriam
appeared, an amused look on her dark face, several books tucked under
one arm. "Driven from home," she declaimed, posing on the threshold, her
free hand appealingly extended. "Will no one help me?"
"I will." Grace reached forth her hand, dragging Miriam into the room.
"Hurry through your lessons and we'll have a spread. I'm sorry you
weren't with us to-night, but Anne and I weren't sure as to just how
successfully our plan would work. Everything went smoothly, though."
Grace related briefly what had taken place at the dinner.
"I am glad Ruth and Arline settled their differences," commented Miriam.
"We all knew that Arline was at fault. She is such a dear little thing,
one hesitates to say so."
"She was very sweet to-night," interposed Anne. "She asked Ruth's
forgiveness and took the blame for their little coolness on her own
shoulders."
"I don't wish to cause dissension in this happy band, but we really must
stop talking and study," warned Grace. "I haven't made a satisfactory
recitation this week, and I vote for reform."
"All right, my dear Miss Harlowe," flung back Miriam. "'Work, for the
Night is Coming.'"
"You mean going," giggled Anne.
After this interchange of flippant remarks silence reigned, broken only
by the sound of turning leaves or an occasional sigh over the appalling
length of a lesson. The three girls were fully absorbed in their work
when Elfreda poked her head in the room to announce that the fudge was
made. "I've a bottle of cunning little pickles, and a box of cheese
wafers. I made some tea, too. Hurry, or it will be half-past ten before
we have time to eat a single thing."
"I can't possibly finish studying my Latin to-night," sighed Miriam.
"Every day the lessons seem to get longer. Miss Arthur hasn't a spark of
compassion."
"Don't stop to grumble," commanded Elfreda. "Come along."
The half-past ten o'clock bell rang before the fudge was half gone. In
fact, it was after eleven before the quartette prepared for sleep.
During the evening all thought of the troublesome theme had left Grace's
mind. It was not until after she had turned out the light and gone to
bed that it came back to her with such disagreeable force that for the
time being all idea of sleep fled. For the first time since her entrance
into Overton College she had incurred the displeasure of one in
authority over her, and through no fault of her own.
As Grace lay staring into the darkness the recollection of that bitter
time during her junior year at high school, when Miss Thompson had
accused her of shielding the girl who had destroyed the principal's
personal papers, came back, vivid and complete. Eleanor Savelli, now
numbered among her dearest friends and a member of the Phi Sigma Tau,
had been the transgressor, and Grace had refused to voice her
suspicions. It had all come right in the end, although Miss Thompson's
displeasure had been hard to bear.
Perhaps this affair would end happily, too. Suppose the other girl had
chosen the same subject? Grace gave vent to a soft exclamation of
impatience at her own supposition. She wished she dared believe that it
were so, but common sense told her that she could not hope to deceive
herself by any such delusion.
"Who could the girl be?" Grace asked herself over and over. Surely, no
one of her intimate friends. Nor any girl at Wayne Hall, either. Whoever
was guilty would be severely punished, perhaps sent home. Overton prided
itself on its honor. Its children must be above reproach at all times.
Mabel's evidence would clear her. But what of the other girl?
"Whoever she is," speculated Grace, "by this time she is probably sorry
for what she did. I suppose she is frightened, too. I'm going to make
Miss Duncan let her off this once, and if I can find out who she is, I'm
going to stand by her so faithfully that she'll never again care to do a
dishonest thing as long as she lives."
It was a long time before Grace fell asleep that night. Her perturbed
state of mind over the stolen theme had served to make her wakeful, and
her thoughts flitted from one subject to another, as she lay waiting for
the sleep that refused to come, always returning, however, to that of
the unlucky theme.
When, at last, it came, it brought disturbing dreams, in which she
figured as the transgressor. The theme did not belong to her, but to J.
Elfreda Briggs. She had stolen it from the pocket of Elfreda's brown
serge coat, and Miss Duncan had seen her take it. During the morning
exercises in the chapel, Miss Duncan had mounted the steps of the
platform, and, standing beside Dr. Morton, had shouted forth her guilt
to the whole college, while she had endeavored to creep out of the
chapel unnoticed.