KATHLEEN WEST, CONFIDANTE
When Evelyn Ward left Grace Harlowe with the letters, which she had
tried so hard to obtain, in her possession, she had but one thought.
That thought was to leave Harlowe House before Grace realized the full
meaning of her guilt. For two days Evelyn's suit case had been packed
for just such an emergency. She had not been sure that she could stem
the tide of retribution that had set in against her, so she was prepared
to slip away if she failed to obtain the letters that meant her undoing.
Hardly had Grace reseated herself in her office when Evelyn, suit case
in hand, her hat on, the coat to her suit thrown over her arm, stole
stealthily down the stairs and let herself out of the house without a
sound. Once clear of the house she set off across the campus, almost at
a run, in the direction of the station. At four o 'clock there was a
train to New York. She had a little money. She would go there. Once
there she would try to get into a theatrical company.
Arrived at the station she glanced fearfully about her. She did not wish
to meet any one she knew. Leaving her suit case in charge of the station
master she left the station and walked slowly up the street. She would
stroll about until almost train time. She had over an hour's wait. If
she encountered any of the students she knew on the street they would
attach no importance to seeing her.
It was five minutes to four when she purchased her ticket to New York.
To her relief she had seen no one she knew. When the train pulled into
the station she was the first person to board it. She took a seat on the
side of the car farthest from the platform, so she did not see a slim
hurrying girl's figure rush madly down the platform, just as the train
was about to start, and swing herself up the car steps on the last
second, heedless of the warning expostulation of the porter.
Torn with remorse for the past, fearful of the future, which, to her
overwrought imagination, crouched like a huge black monster ready to
spring upon her and engulf her in its cruel jaws, Evelyn watched the
swiftly passing landscape with unseeing eyes. When a voice from the seat
behind her suddenly addressed her with, "Good evening, Miss Ward," she
half sprang to her feet in blind terror. Turning, she found herself
looking into the keen, dark eyes of Kathleen West, the newspaper girl.
"Oh--good evening," she faltered.
"Going to New York?" was the brisk question.
Evelyn nodded.
"I'm coming into your seat. I hate riding alone in a train. I'm so glad
you are going the whole way."
Evelyn made no reply. She wished Kathleen a thousand miles off.
The newspaper girl scrutinized narrowly her companion's lovely set face.
Trained in the study of human nature she had learned to know the outward
signs of a perturbed spirit. Her straight brows knit in a puzzled frown.
Then, noting that Evelyn had colored hotly under the shrewd fixity of
her sharp eyes, she glanced carelessly away.
Neither girl spoke for a little. Evelyn was wondering distractedly how
she could escape from Kathleen, when they reached New York, without
arousing suspicion on the part of the newspaper girl. Kathleen, whose
intuition as well as her eyes told her that all was not well with
Evelyn, racked her brain for the words which would tear down the wall of
stony reticence which this strange girl had built about herself. Try as
she might she could think of no effectual way to begin. Deciding to bide
her time she tried to rouse Evelyn's too-apparently flagging spirits by
a crisp account of a big newspaper story which she had run to earth
during her Easter vacation. At first she met with small success, but as
she talked on Evelyn grew interested in spite of herself and began
asking half timid, half eager questions about New York. Was it hard to
get work there? Could a girl live on six or seven dollars a week in a
large city? How did these girls go about it to find positions? In what
section of the city did most of the working girls, who had no homes,
live?
Kathleen answered her questions imperturbably, telling of her own
experience in New York as a beginner of newspaper work. Later Evelyn
plied her with countless questions regarding the stage, its advantages
and disadvantages. The throb of anxiety in her voice was stronger than
her elaborate pretense of indifference. Figuratively, Kathleen pricked
up her ears. It was only when they had exhausted the subjects of the
working girl and the stage that she launched at Evelyn the seemingly
innocent question, "Where are you going to stay in New York, Miss Ward?"
"I--why--" stammered Evelyn.
"Do you expect to be met at the station? It will be almost midnight when
we reach New York, you know."
"I know," muttered Evelyn. Averting her face from Kathleen she stared
out the window.
"It's now or never," decided Kathleen. Her strong supple fingers closed
suddenly over one of the limp white hands that lay so helplessly in
Evelyn's lap. "Miss Ward," she said in a low tense voice, "something
dreadful has happened to you. I want you to tell me about it. Remember
this. No matter what it is, I am your friend. I feel sure that you are
going blindly and alone, to the coldest, cruelest city in the world and
I should never forgive myself if I allowed you to do it."
Into Evelyn's eyes leaped indescribable terror as Kathleen's hand closed
over hers. For an instant she stared wildly at the newspaper girl, then
the stony reserve, with which she had bolstered herself, gave away, and
tearing her hands free she covered her face with them.
Kathleen waited patiently till the tearless storm which shook Evelyn had
subsided a little. "Now tell me all about it," she urged gently.
Evelyn's hands dropped from her face. The tortured look in her blue eyes
aroused all Kathleen's sympathy. Haltingly, tremblingly, bit by bit,
Evelyn told of the temptation to use her sister's hard-earned money for
fine clothes, and the gulf of deception and dishonesty into which she
had plunged by yielding to it.
Kathleen listened without comment. When Evelyn had finished she said,
"You must go back to Overton, Miss Ward, and to Grace Harlowe. She will
forgive everything and set you right with yourself again."
"Oh, I couldn't," protested Evelyn wildly. "She knows already how
dishonest I've been. I can never go back to Overton. I must stay in New
York and work and never see Ida or any one again. I have forfeited all
claim to friendship or love."
"Nonsense! Just get rid of that idea as fast as ever you can. You are
going to my boarding house with me to-night. To-morrow we will go and
see Anne Pierson. I know where the Southards live. We will ask her to
get you an engagement. Perhaps you can meet Mr. Forest."
"Miss Harlowe told Miss Pierson about me, and she wrote and offered to
get me an engagement," faltered Evelyn, "but I knew I couldn't take it,
so I refused. There wouldn't be any chance for me now. That was several
weeks ago."
"There is sure to be something for you. You are beautiful, you know,"
went on Kathleen in an appraising, matter-of-fact tone. "You are sure to
make good. You must. You're going to pay Semper Fidelis back as soon as
ever you can and you'll have to work hard and save your money."
Forgetting for the instant her remorse and humiliation Evelyn clasped
her hands in an eagerness born of the desire to make reparation. "Oh, I
will!" Then her face clouded. "Miss Pierson won't care to help me after
the dreadful things I've done."
"Who is going to tell her about them? I'm not. I know Grace Harlowe
won't. It isn't necessary for you to tell her either. It shall be a
secret among we three. I know Grace will say so."
The two girls, so strangely brought together and united in this new bond
of fellowship, talked on. It was ten minutes to twelve when they reached
New York City. At the station they were met by a tall clean-cut, young
man with keen blue eyes. "Got your wire, Kathleen." He stooped and
kissed the self-reliant Miss West, who turned very pink. "I'll have to
explain," she smiled as she introduced him to Evelyn. "Mr. Vernon is my
fiance, but don't you dare breathe it at Overton. Miss Ward won't be
able to see the persons she is to call upon until to-morrow. She's going
to my boarding house with me. You can call a taxicab and ride that far
with us." The newspaper girl's clever explanation bridged a yawning gap.
Kathleen and Mr. Vernon kept up a steady conversation during the ride.
Evelyn sat silent, trying to realize just what had happened to her. She
experienced an immeasurable sense of relief, as though she had been
dragged, just in time, from the edge of a frightful precipice. Long
after Kathleen had gone to sleep that night she lay staring into the
darkness, wide-eyed and wondering at the goodness of this girl whom she
hardly knew, and into her heart crept a sudden revelation of what true
fellowship meant and was to mean to her forever afterward.