THE INTERRUPTED CONFIDENCE
The days that lay between Thanksgiving and Christmas passed swiftly and
uneventfully for Grace. As the holiday vacation drew near she was
divided, however, between her desire to go home and her duty to Harlowe
House. It was Emma Dean who finally settled the question by announcing
that she did not intend to go home for Christmas and would gladly look
after things during Grace's absence. The trip home was too expensive,
Emma had stated frankly, and her railroad fare would be quite a help
when added to the Dean housekeeping fund. Once she had made her decision
to stay at Overton she began to lay plans for a happy holiday season for
the Harlowe House girls, who, without exception, were also to remain in
Overton for their vacation. Two days before Christmas Grace left Overton
for Oakdale, with many injunctions to Emma to take things easy and to
telegraph her at once if she needed her.
Once at home a round of merry parties began. True to their promise
Jessica and Reddy had come back to Oakdale for Christmas. The only
missing member of the Eight Originals was Anne, and the Sunday morning
following Christmas Day she walked into the Harlowe's living room
accompanied by Everett Southard and his sister. She could not bear to
allow the holidays to pass without seeing her friends, so she and the
Southards had taken the midnight train for Oakdale, determined to spend
at least one day there. That evening a contented, happy company gathered
at the Nesbits, as Miriam's and David's guests, at a dinner given in
honor of the unexpected arrivals. After a short, but exceedingly
earnest, confab in a cosy corner just off the hall, Anne and David had
appeared arm in arm, and, to an accompaniment of meaning smiles, had
announced their engagement. Although Miriam Nesbit was entirely unaware
of it, four pairs of eyes, belonging to the feminine half of the Eight
Originals had kept a lynx-like watch upon her and Everett Southard.
Afterward Grace confided to Anne that she believed Miriam did like Mr.
Southard a little, and it was quite plain to be seen that Mr. Southard
cared for her, while Jessica and Nora were wagging their heads in secret
agreement of the same belief.
Only one thing marred Grace's pleasure in being at home and that was the
thought that she was making Tom Gray unhappy. Outwardly he was the same
sunny, smiling Tom she had known for so many years, but there were times
when the mask of cheerfulness fell away and Grace read in his eyes a
look of pain and longing that caused her to reproach herself. Then her
honest nature would reassert itself and she would vow never to promise
to marry Tom out of sympathy. Unless there came a time when she was
absolutely convinced that he meant more to her than her work she and Tom
would have to go on in the same old way.
But aside from this one cloud it seemed to Grace that she had never
before so fully appreciated her father and mother. "You grow dearer
every minute," she assured them on her last night at home. She sat
between them on a little stool, holding a hand of each. "If you don't
put me out on the steps to-morrow morning with my luggage, and lock the
door in my face, I know I'll never, never have the courage to go away
from you. It is really a tragedy, this wanting to be in two places at
once."
"Dear child," said her mother softly, while her father stroked her
shining hair and wondered how he ever managed to get along without her
during the long months she spent at Overton. "We hate to give you up,
Gracie," he said, "but we love you all the more for your faithfulness to
your work."
And that was the thought which Grace took back with her to Overton. She
smiled to herself as she swung briskly through the quiet streets. Their
approbation had quickened her spirit to put forth fresh effort. She felt
as though she could remove mountains if they happened to rise suddenly
in her path. And in this state of mental exhilaration she ran up the
steps of Harlowe House and, after a second's fumbling with her latchkey,
let herself in.
It was almost six o'clock in the afternoon, and the darkness of early
January had settled down upon the landscape. A wet, discouraging snow,
which made the streets a slush-covered menace to pedestrians, was
falling, and Grace gave a soft sigh of satisfaction as she stepped into
the cheery, well-lighted hall. Knowing that she was quite likely to find
Emma in her room she hurried up the stairs. Her hand was on the door
knob when she heard what sounded suspiciously like a sob. Grace flung
open the door and rushed into her room, her face alive with concern.
What could possibly have happened to make jolly, self-reliant Emma Dean
cry? She exclaimed in quick surprise, however, for, other than herself,
the room held no occupant. "I'm sure I heard some one crying," she
murmured. She listened intently. A moment later the same doleful sound
was again borne to her ears. Walking quickly into the bathroom she stood
by the door that opened into Evelyn Ward's room.
"It comes from Miss Ward's room," was her second surmisal. "I wonder
what I ought to do. She is so easily offended that, if I go to her, she
may resent my call and think me meddlesome and interfering." Grace
continued to listen uneasily to the unmistakable sounds of grief that
came from the next room.
"Something serious has certainly happened. I can't stand it to hear her
cry so. I'll take the risk of being misunderstood," she decided with a
grim little smile.
Stepping out of her room into the hall she knocked softly on Evelyn's
door, receiving no answer. Her second and rather more emphatic knock
elicited a faint, "Who is there?"
"Miss Harlowe," answered Grace. "May I come in for a moment, Miss Ward?"
She heard Evelyn moving about the room for a moment, then the door was
opened slowly, and with apparent reluctance on the part of the pretty
freshman, who had evidently dried her tears for the time being.
"How do you do, Miss Harlowe?" she said in a queer, strained voice. "I
did not know that you had returned from your vacation." She did not
offer her hand to Grace. In her blue eyes lay a look of positive fear.
"I came in not more than ten minutes ago," returned Grace, stepping into
the room and closing the door after her. Then with her usual directness
she said, "Miss Ward, I heard you crying. I came to see if I could help
you."
The look of fear in Evelyn's eyes deepened. She continued to regard
Grace intently, as though trying to discover whether there could be any
other motive for her visit. In spite of the effort she was making to be
natural her face expressed absolute consternation.
"It--was--nothing," she stammered, at last. "I am not feeling very
well."
Grace was not deceived. She knew that Evelyn was not the kind of girl to
cry hysterically over a slight illness. Still she could not force this
perverse young woman to tell that which she did not choose to tell.
"I am sorry you won't let me help you. Are you sure that I can't be of
service to you."
"_You._" Evelyn laughed shortly. "No; I am quite sure that _you_ can't
be."
"Very well." Grace was about to leave the room.
"Wait a minute!" Evelyn's voice rang out sharply. "I--I--will tell you
my trouble, Miss Harlowe. It's about--my college fees. I paid part of
the money when I came here. My--my--sister has been very ill and can't
send the rest of the money. She made a special arrangement with the
registrar to make the other payment in November. I've received two
notices. I don't know what to do. I can't bear to leave Overton."
"Why didn't you come to me before?" asked Grace with gentle reproach. "I
can help you in this matter through the Semper Fidelis fund."
Grace went on to explain the purpose of the Semper Fidelis Club. "We
lend the students the money rather than give it to them, because they
like to feel that they are proceeding on a strictly business basis. It
takes away the slightest idea of charity and makes the girls quite
responsible for themselves."
"I see," murmured Evelyn. "But suppose I borrowed the money and then
found that I couldn't return it for ever so long?"
"There is neither time limit set nor interest charged on any reasonable
sum of money a girl may wish to borrow," returned Grace. "We have the
utmost confidence in our borrowers. The very fact that they come to us
for help is an avowal of their honesty. How much money do you wish to
borrow, Miss Ward?"
Evelyn rather hesitatingly named a sum considerably in excess of that
needed for her college fees. "It--will--pay my expenses for the year and
leave me a little besides for emergencies," she explained
apologetically. "Then poor Ida can get well and won't have to worry. I
am sure I can work at something this summer and pay at least part of the
money back to the club."
She swept a swift, speculative glance at Grace from under her eyelashes
which quite belied her earnest tones. Grace, however, absorbed for a
brief moment in her own thoughts, failed to see it. When she looked at
Evelyn the latter's face bore a sweetly grateful expression that made
her wonder if she had not been mistaken in her estimate of the,
hitherto, troublesome freshman. Her apparent anxiety to relieve her
sister of worry over financial difficulties was distinct evidence of an
affection of which Grace had not believed Evelyn capable. "I have
misjudged her," was Grace's thought. "She really cares for her sister."
Aloud she said, "I will write at once to Miss Thayer, who is the
president of the Semper Fidelis Club, and in whose name the account
stands, telling her the circumstances. Thus far we have not received
many calls for help since college opened, so there is quite a little
money in bank. It is during the last half of the year that we make the
greatest number of loans. I am sorry that your sister has been ill. If
you will give me her address I will write to her to-night."
Evelyn flushed hotly. "Oh, no, you mustn't!" she exclaimed sharply.
"That is--I mean you--mustn't put yourself--to so much trouble for me,"
she added lamely.
"It won't be a particle of trouble," assured Grace. "I should like to do
so."
Evelyn's confusion deepened. "I--can't--" she floundered.
Grace regarded her with quiet, searching eyes. But before she had time
to go on from wonder at Evelyn's strange objection to her writing her
sister to actual suspicion, Evelyn interposed eagerly, "I'll give you
the address, with pleasure, Miss Harlowe. Wait a moment." She sprang to
her open writing desk and seizing a piece of paper and a pencil wrote
energetically for a moment.
"Here it is."
She laid it before Grace, who picked it up and read, "Miss Ida Ward, 320
Duverne Street, Albany, N.Y."
A puzzled frown wrinkled Grace's forehead. "I thought your sister told
me she lived in Burton. I must have misunderstood her."
"So we did," put in Evelyn hurriedly, "but Ida is spending the winter
with my aunt in Albany. She went there just before she was taken ill. We
may never go back to Burton again to live. Of course I am not sure of
that. Perhaps I can find work in a large city during my summer
vacation."
"That reminds me," began Grace. "I had a talk with Miss Pierson when she
was here about your going on the stage. She saw you at Vinton's, and
when I told her you had stage ambitions she said she was quite sure she
could find work for you during the summer in a stock company. She will
try to take you with her."
"Really!" Evelyn sprang to her feet, her blue eyes glittering with
excitement. "Oh, Miss Harlowe, if I could, if she would take me! I'd
work so hard and pay every penny of everything I owe."
"But you don't owe anything yet," reminded Grace, smiling.
Evelyn did not answer. It was doubtful whether she heard Grace's last
words. She stood perfectly still, a curious look on her beautiful face.
Suddenly she said in a low, halting tone, "Miss Harlowe, if you knew
how--"
A knock on the door interrupted her speech. Without finishing, she
stepped to it and turned the knob. "Hello, Mary," she said
indifferently.
"Oh, Miss Harlowe, I didn't know that you had come home," cried Mary
Reynolds. "We have all missed you dreadfully, haven't we, Evelyn?"
"Yes," replied Evelyn in her usual indifferent fashion. Then as Grace
turned to go she said sweetly, "Thank you so much for your kindness to
me, Miss Harlowe."
But Grace reflected disappointedly as she went slowly into her own room
that Mary Reynolds' innocent interruption had occurred just in time to
prevent the establishment with Evelyn of the very footing which she had
been trying all year to gain.