Grace Harlowe's Return to Overton Campus Part 18

The days that lay between Thanksgiving and Christmas pa.s.sed 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 pa.s.s 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 rea.s.sert 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 a.s.sured 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 s.h.i.+ning 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 k.n.o.b 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 circ.u.mstances. 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," a.s.sured 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 finis.h.i.+ng, she stepped to it and turned the k.n.o.b. "h.e.l.lo, 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 fas.h.i.+on. 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.

CHAPTER XVII

A WEEK-END IN NEW YORK