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EXIT BETTY
by
GRACE LIVINGSTON HILL
* * * * *
BOOKS BY
GRACE LIVINGSTON HILL
April Gold
Happiness Hill
The Beloved Stranger
The Honor Girl
Bright Arrows
Kerry
Christmas Bride
Marigold
Crimson Roses
Miranda
Duskin
The Mystery of Mary
Found Treasure
Partners
A Girl to Come Home To
Rainbow Cottage
The Red Signal
White Orchids
Silver Wings
The Tryst
The Strange Proposal
Through These Fires
The Street of the City
All Through the Night
The Gold Shoe
Astra
Homing
Blue Ruin
Job's Niece
Challengers
The Man of the Desert
Coming Through the Rye
More Than Conqueror
Daphne Deane
A New Name
The Enchanted Barn
The Patch of Blue
Girl from Montana
The Ransom
Rose Galbraith
The Witness
Sound of the Trumpet
Sunrise
Tomorrow About This Time
Amorelle
Head of the House
Ariel Custer
In Tune with Wedding Bells
Chance of a Lifetime
Maris
Crimson Mountain
Out of the Storm
Exit Betty
Mystery Flowers
The Prodigal Girl
Girl of the Woods
Re-Creations
The White Flower
Matched Pearls
Time of the Singing of Birds
Ladybird
The Substitute Guest
Beauty for Ashes
Stranger Within the Gates
The Best Man
Spice Box
By Way of the Silverthorns
The Seventh Hour
Dawn of the Morning
The Search
Brentwood
Cloudy Jewel
The Voice in the Wilderness
* * * * *
EXIT BETTY
BY
GRACE LIVINGSTON HILL
Author of
Marcia Schuyler, The Search, Dawn of the Morning, Etc.
Grosset & Dunlap
Publishers New York
Made in the United States of America
Copyright, 1919, by The Christian Herald
Copyright, 1920, by J. B. Lippincott Company
EXIT BETTY
CHAPTER I
THE crowd gave way and the car glided smoothly up to the curb at the
canopied entrance to the church. The blackness of the wet November night
was upon the street. It had rained at intervals all day.
The pavements shone wetly like new paint in the glimmer of the street
lights, and rude shadows gloomed in every cranny of the great stone
building.
Betty, alone in the midst of her bridal finery, shrank back from the
gaze of the curious onlookers, seeming very small like a thing of the
air caught in a mesh of the earth.
She had longed all day for this brief respite from everyone, but it had
passed before she could concentrate her thoughts. She started forward, a
flame of rose for an instant in her white cheeks, but gone as quickly.
Her eyes reminded one of the stars among the far-away clouds on a night
of fitful storm with only glimpses of their beauty in breaks of the
overcast sky. Her small hands gripped one another excitedly, and the
sweet lips were quivering.
A white-gloved hand reached out to open the car door, and other hands
caught and cared for the billow of satin and costly lace with which she
was surrounded, as if it, and not she, were the important one.
They led her up the curtained way, where envious eyes peeped through a
furtive rip in the canvas, or craned around an opening to catch a better
glimpse of her loveliness, one little dark-eyed foreigner even reached
out a grimy, wondering finger to the silver whiteness of her train; but
she, all unknowing, trod the carpeted path as in a dream.
The wedding march was just beginning. She caught the distant notes, felt
the hush as she approached the audience, and wondered why the ordeal
seemed so much greater now that she was actually come to the moment. If
she had known it would be like this--! Oh, why had she given in!
The guests had risen and were stretching their necks for the first
vision of her. The chaplet of costly blossoms sat upon her brow and
bound her wedding veil floating mistily behind, but the lovely head was
bowed, not lifted proudly as a bride's should be, and the little white
glove that rested on the arm of the large florid cousin trembled
visibly. The cousin was almost unknown until a few hours before. His
importance overpowered her. She drooped her eyes and tried not to wish
for the quiet, gray-haired cousin of her own mother. It was so strange
for him to have failed her at the last moment, when he had promised long
ago to let nothing hinder him from giving her away if she should ever be
married. His telegram, "Unavoidably detained," had been received but an
hour before. He seemed the only one of her kind, and now she was all
alone. All the rest were like enemies, although they professed deep
concern for her welfare; for they were leagued together against all her
dearest wishes, until she had grown weary in the combat.
She gave a frightened glance behind as if some intangible thing were
following her. Was it a hounding dread that after all she would not be
free after marriage?
With measured tread she passed the long white-ribboned way, under arches
that she never noticed, through a sea of faces that she never saw, to
the altar smothered in flowers and tropical ferns. It seemed
interminable. Would it never end? They paused at last, and she lifted
frightened eyes to the florid cousin, and then to the face of her
bridegroom!
It was a breathless moment, and but for the deep tones of the organ now
hushing for the ceremony, one of almost audible silence. No lovelier
bride had trod those aisles in many a long year; so exquisite, so
small, so young--and so exceeding rich! The guests were entranced, and
every eye was greedily upon her as the white-robed minister advanced
with his open book.
"Beloved, we are met together to-night to join this man----!"
At that word they saw the bride suddenly, softly sink before them, a
little white heap at the altar, with the white face turned upward, the
white eyelids closed, the long dark lashes sweeping the pretty cheek,
the wedding veil trailing mistily about her down the aisle, and her big
bouquet of white roses and maiden-hair ferns clasped listlessly in the
white-gloved hands.
For a moment no one stirred, so sudden, so unexpected it was. It all
seemed an astonishing part of the charming spectacle. The gaping throng
with startled faces stood and stared. Above the huddled little bride
stood the bridegroom, tall and dark and frowning, an angry red surging
through his handsome face. The white-haired minister, with two red spots
on his fine scholarly cheeks, stood grave with troubled dignity, as
though somehow he meant to hold the little still bride responsible for
this unseemly break in his beautiful service. The organ died away with
a soft crash of the keys and pedals as if they too leaped up to see; the
scent of the lilies swept sickeningly up in a great wave on the top of
the silence.
In a moment all was confusion. The minister stooped, the best man sprang
into the aisle and lifted the flower-like head. Some one produced a fan,
and one of the ushers hurried for a glass of water. A physician
struggled from his pew across the sittings of three stout dowagers, and
knelt, with practiced finger on the little fluttering pulse. The bride's
stepmother roused to solicitous and anxious attention. The organ came
smartly up again in a hopeless tangle of chords and modulations, trying
to get its poise once more. People climbed upon their seats to see, or
crowded out in the aisle curiously and unwisely kind, and in the way.
Then the minister asked the congregation to be seated; and amid the
rustle of wedding finery into seats suddenly grown too narrow and too
low, the ushers gathered up the little inert bride and carried her
behind the palms across a hall and into the vestry room. The stepmother
and a group of friends hurried after, and the minister requested the
people to remain quietly seated for a few minutes. The organ by this
time had recovered its poise and was playing soft tender melodies, but
the excited audience was not listening:
"I thought she looked ghastly when she came in," declared the mother of
three frowsy daughters. "It's strange she didn't put on some rouge."
"Um-mm! What a pity! I suppose she isn't strong! What did her own mother
die of?" murmured another speculatively, preparing to put forth a theory
before any one else got ahead of her.
"Oh! The poor child!" sympathized a romantic friend. "They've been
letting her do too much! Didn't they make a handsome couple? I'm crazy
to see them come marching down the aisle. They surely wouldn't put off
the wedding just for a faint, would they?"
And all over the church some woman began to tell how her sister's child,
or her brother's niece, or her nephew's aunt had fainted just before her
wedding or during it, till it began to seem quite a common performance,
and one furnishing a unique and interesting part of the program for a
wedding ceremony.
Meanwhile on a couch in the big gloomy vestry room lay Betty with a
group of attendants about her. Her eyes were closed, and she made no
move. She swallowed the aromatic ammonia that some one produced, and she
drew her breath a little less feebly, but she did not open her eyes, nor
respond when they spoke to her.
Her stepmother stooped over finally and spoke in her ear:
"Elizabeth Stanhope! sit up and control yourself!" she said sharply in a
low tone. "You are making a spectacle of yourself that you can never get
over. Your father would be ashamed of you if he were here!"
It was the one argument that had been held a successful lash over her
poor little quivering heart for the last five years, and Betty flashed
open her sorrowful eyes and looked around on them with a troubled
concentration as if she were just taking in what had happened:
"I'm so tired!" she said in a little weary voice. "Won't you just let me
get my breath a minute?"
The physician nodded emphatically toward the door and motioned them out:
"She'll be all right in just a minute. Step outside and give her a
chance to get calm. She's only worn out with excitement."
She opened her eyes and looked furtively about the room. There was no
one there, and the door was closed. She could hear them murmuring in low
tones just beyond it. She looked wildly about her with a frantic thought
of escape. The two windows were deeply curtained, giving a narrow
glimpse of blank wall. She sprang softly to her feet and looked out.
There was a stone pavement far below. She turned silently and tried a
door. It opened into a closet overflowing with musty hymn-books. She
closed it quickly and slipped back to her couch just in time as the door
opened and the doctor came back. She could catch a glimpse of the others
through the half open door, anxiously peering in. She gathered all her
self-control and spoke:
"I'm all right now, Doctor," she said quite calmly. "Would you just ask
them to send Bessemer here a minute?"
"Certainly." The doctor turned courteously and went back to the door,
half closing it and making her request in a low tone. Then her
stepmother's excited sibilant whisper:
"Bessemer! Why, he isn't here! He went down to the shore last night."
"Sh-h-h!" came another voice, and the door was shut smartly.
Betty's eyes grew wide with horror as she lay staring at the closed
door, and a cold numbness seemed to envelop her, clutching at her
throat, her heart and threatening to overwhelm her.
Bessemer not here! What could it mean? Her mind seemed unable to grasp
and analyze the nameless fear that awaited her outside that door. In a
moment more they would all swarm in and surround her, and begin to
clamor for her to go back into that awful church--and _she could
not_--EVER! She would far rather die!
She sprang to her feet again and glided noiselessly to the only
remaining uninvestigated door in the room. If this was another closet
she would shut herself inside and stay till she died. She had read tales
of people dying in a small space from lack of air. At least, if she did
not die she could stay here till she had time to think. There was a key
in the lock. Her fingers closed around it and drew it stealthily from
the keyhole, as she slid through the door, drawing her rich draperies
ruthlessly after. Her fingers were trembling so that she scarcely could
fit the key in the lock again and turn it, and every click of the metal,
every creak of the door, sounded like a gong in her ears. Her heart was
fluttering wildly and the blood seemed to be pouring in torrents behind
her ear-drums. She could not be sure whether there were noises in the
room she had just left or not. She put her hand over her heart, turned
with a sickening dread to look about her prison, and behold, it was not
a closet at all, but a dark landing to a narrow flight of stone steps
that wound down out of sight into the shadows. With a shudder she
gathered her white impediment about her and crept down the murky way,
frightened, yet glad to creep within the friendly darkness.
There were unmistakable sounds of footsteps overhead now, and sharp
exclamations. A hand tried the door above and rattled it violently. For
an instant her heart beat frightfully in her throat at the thought that
perhaps after all she had not succeeded in quite locking it, but the
door held, and she flew on blindly down the stairs, caring little where
they led only so that she might hide quickly before they found the
janitor and pried that door open.
The stairs ended in a little hall and a glass door. She fumbled wildly
with the knob. It was locked, but there was a key! It was a large one
and stuck, and gave a great deal of trouble in turning. Her fingers
seemed so weak!
Above the noises grew louder. She fancied the door was open and the
whole churchful of people were after her. She threw her full weight with
fear in the balance, and the key turned. She wrenched it out of the
rusty keyhole, slid out shutting the door after her, and stooping,
fitted in the key again. With one more Herculean effort she locked it
and stood up, trembling so that she could scarcely keep her balance. At
least she was safe for a moment and could get her breath. But where
could she go? She looked about her. High walls arose on either hand,
with a murky sky above. A stone walk filled the space between and ran
down the length of the church to a big iron gate. The lights of the
street glistened fitfully on the puddles of wet in the depressions of
the paving-stones. The street looked quiet, and only one or two people
were passing. Was that gate locked also, and if so could she ever climb
it, or break through? Somehow she must! She shuddered at the thought of
what would happen if she did not get away at once. She strained at the
buttons on her soft white gloves and pulled the fingers off, slipping
her hands out and letting the glove hands hang limp at her wrists. Then
with a quick glance backward at a flicker of light that appeared
wavering beyond the glass door, she gathered her draperies again and
fled down the long stone walk. Silently, lightly as a ghost she passed,
and crouched at the gate as she heard footsteps, her heart beating so
loudly it seemed like a bell calling attention to her. An old man was
shuffling past, and she shrank against the wall, yet mindful of the
awful glass door back at the end of the narrow passage. If they should
come now she could not hope to elude them!
She stooped and studied the gate latch. Yes, it was a spring lock, and
had no key in it. Stealthily she tried it and found to her relief that
it swung open. She stepped around it and peered out. The gateway was not
more than a hundred feet from the brightly lighted corner of the main
avenue where rows of automobiles were lined up waiting for the wedding
ceremony to be over. She could see the chauffeurs walking back and forth
and chatting together. She could hear the desultory wandering of the
organ, too, from the partly open window near by. A faint sickening waft
of lily sweetness swept out, mingled with a dash of drops from the maple
tree on the sidewalk. In a panic she stepped forth and drew back again,
suddenly realizing for the first time what it would be to go forth into
the streets clad in her wedding garments? How could she do it and get
away? It could not be done!
Down the street, with a backward, wistful glance at the church, hurried
a large woman with a market basket. Her curious eyes shone in the
evening light and darkness of the street. There was something about her
face that made Betty know instantly that this woman would love to tell
how she had seen her, would gather a crowd in no time and pursue her.
She shrank farther back, and then waited in awful fear and tried to
listen again. Was that a rattling at the glass door? She must get away
no matter what happened! Where? Was there an alleyway or anything across
the block? Could she hope to cross the street between the shadows
unnoticed?
She looked out fearfully once more. A girl of her own age was
approaching around the corner, paddling along in rubbers, and a long
coat. She was chewing gum. Betty could see the outline of a strong
good-natured jaw working contentedly as she was silhouetted against the
light. She had her hands in her pockets, and a little dark hat worn
boyishly on the back of her head, and she was humming a popular song.
Betty had slipped behind the half open gate again and was watching her
approach, her desperation driving her to thoughts that never would have
entered her mind at another time. Suddenly, as the girl passed directly
in front of the gate, Betty leaned forward and plucked at her sleeve:
"Wait!" she said sharply; and then, with a pitiful pleading in her
voice, "Won't you help me just a minute, please?"