DULL DAYS.
The days that followed were the quietest that this summer had brought
to Hetherford. Not only had the _Vortex_ gone, but Wendell and
Churchill had carried the other men off on the _Sylph_ for a
long-planned fishing excursion, and the girls were left to their own
devices. This was too common an occurrence to be looked upon as a
great hardship; yet it was quite obvious, even to Nan, that they did
not revel so much in their once treasured independence, and that the
old-time simple pleasures had somehow lost their zest. There was
something strangely amiss in the little colony. Jean, who had always
been depended upon to set the ball rolling, and to keep everyone in
good spirits, failed them utterly. She was so quiet and absent-minded,
so unlike her usual self, that Eleanor began to fear that her surmises
in regard to the letter had been incorrect after all. Miss Stuart's
presence at the manor acted as a great restraint upon everybody. She
did not adapt herself in the least to their quiet, humdrum existence,
and maintained a stoical silence that was especially irritating. The
weather was very depressing. A fine drizzling rain fell persistently,
the sky was gray and leaden, and the roads and lanes were almost
impassable with the mud. The dampness retarded Gladys' recovery, and
she was fractious and troublesome. Poor Helen was in despair, for Miss
Stuart was unreasonable enough to resent her spending so much time in
the nursery, and took small pains to conceal the fact that she was
almost bored to death.
By Friday Aunt Helen was seriously fretting over her niece, for Helen
was looking pale and tired and seemed quite incapable of coping with
the anxieties of housekeeping, Gladys, and the entertainment of her
difficult friend.
On the afternoon of this day the rain ceased and Nathalie, in despair
of any more interesting amusement, declared her intention to drive to
the station to see the express arrive.
"Not that anyone ever comes here," she said dolorously as she drew on
her driving gloves.
An hour later she burst into the drawing-room, her face radiant, her
eyes twinkling. Helen sat before the low tea-table serving tea, Miss
Stuart lounged in a huge armchair, while Jean was on her way between
the tea-table and Miss Stuart, with a dainty cup in her hand. She
paused, and looked expectantly at Nathalie.
"Well, cheer up, girls, for I have some news at last. Who do you think
arrived to-day?"
Even Miss Stuart leaned forward in her chair, and lost something of
her air of languor.
"Don't ask tiresome riddles, Nathalie," pleaded Jean, "but tell us."
"Mrs. Archer."
Miss Stuart looked blank; Helen laughed softly, and Jean handed Miss
Stuart her cup of tea with a disgusted expression on her bonny face.
"You must, indeed, be in the depths to call that good news," she said
scornfully.
"I didn't say good news. I said news," Nathalie retorted triumphantly,
"and in any case I think Mrs. Archer is a godsend after the monotony
of the last few days."
Miss Stuart smiled faintly for Nathalie, but echoed her sentiments.
"I think Cliff's mother is a charming woman," interposed Helen. "She
is somewhat overbearing and imposing, but I know she does not mean to
be disagreeable."
"I like her," maintained Nathalie. "She is so worldly, so thoroughly
magnificent."
Jean laughed and meekly took her cup of tea from Helen.
"I have not another word to say. I suppose the truth is that I am
mortally afraid of Mrs. Archer. She completely subdues me."
After a moment she spoke again, from the comfortable place she had
taken on the divan:
"Do you know, Nathalie, just for one moment I thought it might have
been Guy of whom you were speaking."
Helen set the teapot down suddenly, and there was a moment's
uncomfortable silence. Miss Stuart let her glance travel slowly from
Helen's flushed face to Jean's grave one.
"Are you speaking of Mr. Appleton?" she asked lazily.
"Yes," replied Jean, with perfect unconsciousness, "I suppose you met
him at the same time you did Helen. I wish it had been he instead of
Mrs. Archer."
Miss Stuart shrugged her shoulders, and answered with insolent
disregard of Jean's evident affection for Guy:
"A nice enough man in his way, but so deadly uninteresting, so lacking
in that knowledge of the world which alone makes a man worth talking
to."
Jean's eyes flashed, and her voice trembled with anger.
"Mr. Appleton is a very dear friend of ours, Miss Stuart, and to none
of us is it agreeable to hear him spoken ill of."
She looked impulsively across at Helen, feeling sure that her sister
would speak some word of vindication of Guy, but the girl's head was
bent and she seemed wholly occupied in pushing the tea-cups aimlessly
about on the polished surface of the mahogany tea-table. For the first
time in her life Jean felt a contempt for her sister, and pressed her
lips tightly together to keep down the bitter words that rose to them.
Nathalie, who hated a scene above all things, and yet was too
thoroughly in sympathy with Jean to feel equal to changing the
conversation, sat down at the piano and began to drum.
Miss Stuart looked from one to the other and laughed unpleasantly.
"Mr. Appleton should be proud of such an ardent champion."
Jean made no answer. She finished her tea in silence and then left
the room, followed by a sneering glance from Miss Stuart's eyes.
That evening Mrs. Andrews and her sister, Mrs. Archer, called at the
manor. The young people had taken advantage of the first clear evening
since Miss Stuart's arrival and had gone for a walk, so Mrs. Dennis
asked her guests up to her room. During the conversation Mrs. Andrews
said:
"How badly Helen is looking lately."
Aunt Helen agreed with her and related to Mrs. Archer the facts of
Gladys' accident, and dilated upon Helen's untiring devotion to her
little sister.
"She is worn out," she sighed in conclusion, "and it is so hard for
her to have Miss Stuart here just at present."
"You don't mean Lillian Stuart, that beautiful girl about whom
everyone is raving?" exclaimed Mrs. Archer, roused to a degree of
interest she rarely felt when in Hetherford.
"I suppose it is the same. She is certainly very beautiful, but
somehow," and Aunt Helen's face grew puzzled, "she doesn't seem at all
the kind of girl my Helen should care for. However, they are close
friends, so I----"
"Oh, she is a great belle," Mrs. Archer interrupted brusquely. "Poor
girl! What in the world does she do with herself in this
out-of-the-way place?"
Mrs. Andrews replied with some heat:
"She must be very hard to please if she cannot find anything to amuse
or interest her here."
A gleam of amusement flashed into Aunt Helen's eyes, but was instantly
suppressed. Hetherford was the basis of an old feud between the
sisters, and had been the cause of more than one bitter quarrel. Mrs.
Archer was a fashionable woman to the tips of her fingers, and for
years she had striven to impress her easy-going sister with the
importance of society, and to persuade her at least to spend her
summers in some resort more frequented by the world of society. Mrs.
Andrews, however, stood out against her and stoutly maintained that
she and her children were perfectly happy where they were, and Mrs.
Archer had to content herself with an occasional visit from her niece
Mollie, who was eminently unsatisfactory as a fashionable girl. To
crown her displeasure, her only son Clifford, instead of finding
pleasure in his charming home at Newport, insisted upon spending the
summer at Hetherford Inn, and Mrs. Archer bore a great grudge against
this small place. She was a very hospitable woman, and enjoyed keeping
open house, but she found it a great drawback to have no young person
at home.
As she rose to leave, it suddenly occurred to her that it would be
very delightful to take two of the girls back to Newport with her. Her
choice fell upon Helen, because in that way she could include Miss
Stuart in the invitation. Mrs. Dennis met the suggestion with
approval, for she knew it would do Helen good to get away from home
for a few days, and that so pleasant a change would please Miss
Stuart. In the midst of the discussion, the two girls walked into the
room.
Mrs. Archer's shrewd, worldly eyes took in every detail of Miss
Stuart's beautiful face and faultless gown, and she instantly dropped
the somewhat patronizing tone she had used toward Helen, and urged
their acceptance with great cordiality. Helen hesitated, for she was
loath to leave Gladys again, but Aunt Helen and Miss Stuart overruled
all her objections, and it was agreed that they should accompany Mrs.
Archer.
The quiet that settled down over the manor after their departure was
very grateful to Jean, who during the past week had been disturbed and
harassed. She knew that she was fast approaching the most serious
crisis of her life. All during these joyous summer days she had
drifted on so happily, evading self-questionings, living only for the
day. Now she realized that the drifting was at an end. On his return
Valentine Farr would speak to her, and although she had no doubt as to
the answer she would give him, yet she trembled a little and would
fain have been alone with her secret. And now, when she would have had
her whole mind dominated by this one thought, Miss Stuart's unwelcome
presence in the house thrust other and less pleasant thoughts upon
her. Up to the time of this last visit Jean's dislike of Miss Stuart
had been a vague, passing sentiment, which had concerned her but
little. She had distrusted her always, but even that distrust was
purely intuitive, for she had no idea of the part Miss Stuart had
played in the severing of Helen's engagement. In that slight
controversy about Guy, however, Jean had unwittingly pierced beneath
the surface of Miss Stuart's suave manner, and had caught a glimpse of
the girl's true nature. She could not understand why this should
affect her so strongly. In vain she tried to account for it to
herself. Miss Stuart, although so dear a friend of Helen's, occupied a
comparatively unimportant position in their home life. In another
fortnight she would be gone from among them, and for months they would
know nothing of her, save what Helen might choose to communicate from
her oft received letters. So Jean argued with herself, battling with a
curious sense of apprehension that struggled within her. She longed to
talk it all over with Aunt Helen, whose judgment was always to be
trusted; but that seemed a kind of disloyalty to Helen, so she
smothered the vague doubts and fears which threatened to overwhelm her
usual good sense. Her thoughts flew off to Farr, and poised over that
strange talk they had had on that last afternoon. She drew from her
pocket a letter that had come from him, and read it over slowly,
lingering over every sentence. But when she had finished and was
folding it into its envelope again, she sighed a little, for even that
dear missive could not quite dispel the vision which haunted her of
Lillian Stuart's beautiful, cruel face.