Grace Harlowe's Return to Overton Campus Part 9

"Of course you aren't," soothed Emma Dean. "I'm always late, but, as I used to tell Miss Harlowe, I am hardly ever too late. You may be almost the first girl to apply, or you may be among the latest, but not the too latest. There, isn't that encouraging? The best thing for you to do is to have an early luncheon and a long sleep. Suppose we go down to Vinton's, Grace, as soon as we get the fond souvenirs of the railroad off our faces. Then I'll come back here with Miss Reynolds and you can go on to Overton to see Miss Wilder. My business with her will keep until to-morrow. This little girl is too tired for interviews to-day."

"I think that's dear in you, Emma, and real wisdom too. Now let's go upstairs, at once." Grace led the way and the trio ascended to the second story.

"I'm going to put you in this room for the present, Miss Reynolds," said Grace. She paused before a door that faced the head of the stairs and threw it open. It was a pretty room, papered in dainty blue and white, with a blue and white floor rug and white enameled furniture. There were crisp, white dotted-swiss curtains at the windows and a sheer blue and white ruffled cover on the dressing table, while on the walls hung several neatly-framed water color and pen and ink sketches.

The shabby, tired girl gave a long sigh of satisfaction and weariness as she stood in the middle of the floor, her eyes eagerly devouring the pretty room.

"The bathroom is at the end of the hall," said Grace gently. "We'll stop for you in about half an hour."

The other girl did not answer, and Grace and Emma slipped away, leaving her to get used to her new surroundings.

"Well, did you ever?" asked Emma, the moment they were inside Grace's sitting-room with the door closed.

Grace shook her head. "Poor little thing," she murmured. "She can't possibly go about Overton in those clothes, Emma. Yet I can't offer her any of mine. She seems independent. I am afraid she would resent it. I wonder what her story is. Did you notice she said that 'they' wouldn't let her go to college, so she had run away from home? Suppose some one of her family should follow her here just after we had nicely established her at Harlowe House? We must find out everything about her.

I won't bother her with questions while she is so tired."

"I am sure she is eighteen," declared Emma positively. "That will free her from parental sway in this state. I think it would be a greater tragedy if she has come too late. What is the highest number of girls Harlowe House will accommodate?"

"Thirty-two," answered Grace.

"Then let us hope that Mary Reynolds is not unlucky thirty-three. The sooner you go to see Miss Wilder the sooner you'll know her fate. Now I'm going on a tour of exploration and noisy admiration. I'm sure I haven't ohs and ahs enough to fully express my feeling of elevated pleasure at so much magnificence. And to thing that I, ordinary, every-day me, should be asked to become co-partner to all this." Emma struck an att.i.tude and launched forth into fresh extravagances over the tastefully furnished suite of rooms.

"Emma, you ridiculous creature, wind up your lecture and get ready for luncheon," commanded Grace affectionately.

"Not until I've seen the last saw," returned Emma firmly.

For the next ten minutes she prowled and peered, examined and admired, to her heart's content. "Now I've seen everything," she averred, at last, with calm satisfaction, "and I'm twice as hungry as I was. But I can't leave off thinking what a lucky person Emma Dean is to have all this grandeur and Grace Harlowe thrown in."

"And I can't help thinking what a lucky person Grace Harlowe is to have Emma Dean."

"Then we're a mutual admiration society," finished Emma, "and there's no telling where we'll leave off."

"If I didn't have to go on to Overton Hall I wouldn't wear a hat,"

sighed Grace, half an hour later, reaching reluctantly for her hat. She and Emma had bathed their faces, rearranged their hair, and put on fresh lingerie blouses with their tailored suits. "Are you ready, Emma? I wonder if Miss Reynolds is. I'll stop and see."

Grace knocked lightly on the newcomer's door. It was opened immediately.

"Are you ready, Miss Reynolds?" she asked, her alert eyes noting that the offending peplum had been tucked inside the black skirt, and that Mary Reynolds with her hat off was a vast improvement on Mary Reynolds with her hat on. She also observed that the girl's hair, though drawn uncompromisingly back from her forehead, showed a decided tendency to curl. With her usual impulsiveness she exclaimed, "Oh, you have naturally curly hair, haven't you? It's such a pretty shade of brown. Do let me do it for you. It's a pity not to make the most of it."

The girl regarded her with grave surprise. "Are you making fun of me?"

she asked seriously.

"'Making fun of you,'" repeated Grace. "I should say not. I think you have beautiful hair. Why, what is it, Miss Reynolds?" For, with a queer, choking cry, the odd little stranger threw herself face downward on the bed and sobbed disconsolately.

Grace stood silent, watching the sob-wracked figure with puzzled, sympathetic eyes. Emma appeared in the doorway, her eyebrows elevated in astonishment. Grace motioned for her to come in. The girl on the bed wept on, while the two young women waited patiently for her sobs to cease.

Suddenly she sat up with a jerk, and dashed her hand across her eyes.

"I'm sorry--I--was so--so--silly," she faltered, "but I couldn't help it. No one ever told me that I was anything but plain and ugly before."

"You poor little thing," sympathized Emma.

Grace sat down on the bed beside Mary and put her arm across the thin shoulders. "Cheer up," she said brightly. "I am sure you are going to be happy at Overton. You feel blue just now because you are tired and hungry. Let me fix your hair and we'll hurry to Vinton's as fast as ever we can. I'm simply starved."

Mary Reynolds obediently sat on the chair Grace placed for her and the hair dressing began. Grace and Emma both exclaimed in admiration as Grace unbraided the soft-golden brown hair, which, once free, broke into waves and curls.

"Did you ever see a prettier head of hair?" exclaimed Emma.

"I think it would look best combed low over her forehead, don't you?"

asked Grace.

Emma nodded her approval as Grace, with deft fingers, arranged the thick curly locks in a strictly smart fas.h.i.+on which completely changed Mary Reynolds' forlorn appearance.

"Now look in the gla.s.s," directed Grace, when she had finished.

Mary gazed earnestly at her new self. "It can't be me," she said with a pardonable disregard of English.

"But it is," Grace a.s.sured her. "You must learn to do your hair like that and wear it so. Now let me put a tiny bit of powder on your face to scare away the tear stains and we'll be off."

The obnoxious helmet-like hat did not seem so unbecoming, now that Mary's curls peeped from under it, and Grace felt a certain degree of satisfaction in her efforts to make the new girl at least presentable.

She decided that once her large brown eyes had lost their scared, anxious expression and her thin face had grown plump, Mary would be really pretty.

During luncheon at Vinton's Grace quietly studied her charge. There was something about Mary that reminded one of Ruth Denton, she decided. She and Emma made every effort to put the prospective freshman at her ease.

By common consent they refrained from asking any questions likely to produce another flood of tears. As for Mary herself, although visibly embarra.s.sed at the ultra-smartness of Vinton's, the attention of the waiter, and the puzzling array of knives, forks and spoons, she managed, by watching Grace and Emma, to acquit herself with credit. Thanks to Emma's never-failing flow of humorous remarks the luncheon proved to be a merry meal and before it ended the forlorn girl looked almost happy.

"I'll see you later," said Grace, as they paused for a moment in front of Vinton's. "Emma, I leave Miss Reynolds in your care."

"I accept the responsibility," declared Emma, flouris.h.i.+ng her parasol in fantastic salute. "I'm going to march her home and put her to bed."

"While I go on to Overton Hall to learn her fate," smiled Grace.

"Good-bye. You may expect me when you see me."

Grace swung across the campus toward Overton Hall at her usual brisk pace. A few moments more and she would be fairly launched in her new undertaking. She had no desire to run out to meet the future, yet she could not refrain from wondering what her first year on the campus would bring her. So far it had brought her Mary Reynolds, but somewhere in the world there were thirty-one other girls whose faces were set toward Overton and Harlowe House.

A peculiar wave of dismay swept over Grace at the thought of actually being responsible for the welfare of so many persons. The old saying concerning the rus.h.i.+ng in of fools where angels walk warily came involuntarily to her mind. Then she laughed and squaring her capable shoulders murmured half aloud, "I'm neither a fool nor an angel. I'm just Grace Harlowe, a 'mere ordinary human being,' as Hippy would put it. I'm not going to be so silly as to expect to get along with a whole houseful of girls without some friction. Like the gardens Anne and I planted away back in our freshman year, there are sure to be a few weeds among the flowers."

CHAPTER IX

MARY REYNOLDS MAKES A NEW FRIEND

"Twenty-nine, thirty, thirty-one and Mary Reynolds makes thirty-two.

Isn't it fortunate that there was a place all ready for her?" Grace Harlowe looked eagerly up from the list of names which she had been intently scanning.

"Very fortunate," smiled Miss Wilder. "I am quite curious to see your protege, Miss Harlowe."

Miss Wilder, the dean of Overton College, had been genuinely glad to welcome Grace Harlowe back to the college fold. During Grace's four years as a student at Overton she had greatly endeared herself to the dignified, but kindly, dean, who had watched her pa.s.s from honor to honor with the same sympathetic interest which Miss Thompson, the princ.i.p.al of Oakdale High School, had ever exhibited in Grace's progress.