Grace Harlowe\'s Problem
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Jessie Graham Flower >> Grace Harlowe\'s Problem
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"You could see," murmured Patience.
"Yes, I could," declared Elfreda with a good-natured grin. "But so long
as I can't be here to see, I'm going to pass the job along to you,
Kathleen. I'm sure that if any one can find out the cause of poor
Grace's woes it will be you. Go after it and run it down just as you
would a big story, and if you can find and kill the wicked monster and
make the princess happy again, well, there isn't anything that J.
Elfreda Briggs won't do for you."
"I'll do it," vowed Kathleen, setting her sharp little chin at a
resolute angle.
"You can't lose much time, either. College closes the second week in
June," reminded Elfreda.
"Trust me to find out before that time."
Having disposed of this important matter, J. Elfreda's gravity vanished
and she became her usual funny self again. The three girls had a merry
time together and set off for the dress rehearsal in high spirits.
When they reached Greek Hall they found that Grace and Arline had
already arrived and were sitting far back in the hall watching a
sextette of girls in smart white linen skirts, blue serge coats and
straw hats, banded with blue ribbon, who were down on the programme for
a song entitled "Our Fraternity Friends," the number ending with a gay
little dance taught them by Hilda Moore.
"Aren't they clever?" asked Grace eagerly, turning to Kathleen. The
three young women had made their way to where she was seated. "They only
began practicing that dance last week. Miss Moore taught them. She
dances beautifully."
The rehearsal proceeded without a hitch. Arline and Elfreda, being sure
of themselves, did not take part in it. Kathleen West's clever one-act
play, "In the Days of Shakespeare," was worthy of her genius. It
presented the scene from the "Taming of the Shrew," where Petruchio
ridicules Katherine's gown and berates the tailor. This scene was
enacted in accordance with the Elizabethan age, when the nobility were
permitted to take seats on the stage with the actors, the latter being
obliged to step around and over that part of the audience in order to
make their entrances and exits. These favored nobles had also the
privilege of expressing freely their opinions of the merits of the
long-suffering mummers, which they usually did in a loud voice. Kathleen
had made a careful study of the conditions prevailing in the theatre at
that period, and the little play was most mirth provoking from beginning
to end.
Mary Reynolds had also scored in the pathetic playlet, "The Freshman on
the Top Floor," depicting a lonely little girl whose poverty and
diffidence kept her out of the carefree college life that went on in the
house where she lived. Cecil Ferris essayed the role of the freshman.
The last number on the programme was Jean Brent's solo. After
considerable coaxing Louise had persuaded her to sing, and Gertrude
Earle accompanied her on the piano. Grace felt her brief resentment
against the girl vanish as she listened to her glorious voice which had
a suspicion of tragedy in it.
There was a certain amount of lingering on the part of the performers to
talk over the success of the dress rehearsal, but at last they all
trooped across the campus to Harlowe House.
By curious chance Evelyn Ward found herself walking directly behind Jean
Brent. She had been greatly affected by her singing. Obeying a sudden
impulse, she leaned forward and touched Jean's arm. "Can't we be friends
again, Jean," she said wistfully. "I--I love your voice, and I care so
much for you. There isn't much of the year left and----"
Jean's blue eyes grew strangely soft. "It was all my fault," she said
huskily. "Let's begin over again, Evelyn." And under the stars they made
a new and truer covenant.
CHAPTER XXII
FIGHTING LOYALHEART'S BATTLE
The revue was an unqualified success. Greek Hall was filled to
overflowing, and the money fairly poured into the box office for the
Harlowe House fund. There was a general rejoicing the next day among the
performers, and the same night a social session was held in the living
room at Harlowe House. To Grace it seemed as though she had been wafted
back once more to the dear dead days when the Sempers had held forth.
The presence of Arline and Elfreda was the last touch needed to complete
the illusion, and she went about her work feeling happier than she had
for a long time. Even the shadow cast upon her heart by Tom's absence
seemed less gloomy.
But on the heels of her brief elation trod disaster. Miss Wharton had
chosen to become highly incensed because she had not been consulted in
regard to the holding of the entertainment, and the long-suspended sword
fell. The revue had been given on Wednesday evening, and on Friday
morning Jean had received a note summoning her to Miss Wharton's office.
This time Miss Wharton intended to interview the two young women
separately. She believed that Jean would reveal what she had hitherto
kept a secret if Grace were not present. With unreasonable prejudice she
chose to place the brunt of Jean's refusal to speak upon Grace's
shoulders.
Jean obeyed the summons and came away from Overton Hall with a white,
set face. Almost the first person she encountered on the campus was
Evelyn, who was hurrying to one of her classes, and in her anguish of
mind she poured forth the whole bitter story to her roommate.
"Oh, Jean, why didn't you tell me this before," cried Evelyn. "I never
knew until the night of the dress rehearsal that things were not going
smoothly for Miss Harlowe. Kathleen West told me in confidence that
something was wrong, and asked me to find out anything I could
concerning it and let her know. We must go straight to her and tell her
everything. She can help us if any one can. Just for once I'll cut my
English recitation. Come on. Oh, I do hope Kathleen is at home."
But Kathleen was not at Wayne Hall, and after some parleying the two
girls concluded to wait until she returned from her classes to her
luncheon. It was ten o'clock when they rang the bell of the college
house where Grace had spent four happy years, and for the next hour and
a half they waited in an agony of suspense. When Kathleen arrived they
hurried her off to her room and proceeded to acquaint her with all the
facts in their possession concerning the misfortune so soon to overtake
Grace.
Kathleen listened to them without comment. When they had finished
talking she asked one sharp question, "Do you know Miss Wilder's
address?"
Neither girl knew it, but Evelyn was seized with a bright idea. "Hilda
Moore knows it. I am sure she does."
"Then hurry to Overton Hall and get it from her," ordered Kathleen. "I'm
going to send a telegram. Are you sure Miss Wharton hasn't sent for
Grace yet?"
"Yes, yes. She said she intended to send for Miss Harlowe to-morrow
morning. Evidently she has a reason of her own for not sending for her
to-day," was Jean's eager response. "But she is going to report us to
President Morton and the Board within the next day or so."
"Good-bye. I'll be back directly." Evelyn dashed out of the room and
down the stairs on her errand.
Twenty minutes later she returned. "Here it is," she handed it to the
newspaper girl.
Kathleen had not taken off her hat since her arrival at Wayne Hall.
"Come on, girls," she said. "You must go home and have your luncheon.
Just leave everything to me. I think I can promise Miss Wharton a
surprise."
"What did she say to you, Jean?" asked Evelyn as they left Kathleen at
the corner, headed for the telegraph office, and went on to Harlowe
House.
"What didn't she say. She is going to send me away if she can. I told
her everything, but it only made matters worse. I said over and over
again that Miss Harlowe was not to blame, but she grew harder every
minute. How I despise her." Jean shuddered with disgust. "All this is
merely an excuse to oust Miss Harlowe. Why she doesn't like her,
goodness knows. What is Miss West going to do, I wonder?"
"Telegraph Miss Wilder for one thing. Still, she can't write or come
here in time to save Miss Harlowe," declared Evelyn. "Hilda knows about
it. She said Miss Wharton dictated a perfectly horrid letter to Mrs.
Gray, too, about Miss Harlowe this morning."
"Oh, dear," half sobbed Jean. "It's dreadful, and it's all my fault."
Evelyn did not answer. She could not help feeling that Jean deserved
this bitter moment.
"Shall you tell Miss Harlowe?" asked Evelyn as they hurriedly ascended
the steps.
Jean nodded.
When they entered the dining room, for luncheon they learned to their
utter consternation that Grace had gone for the day to visit a classmate
in Westbrook and would not return until after dinner that night. In the
meantime Kathleen West had hurried to the telegraph office and
despatched the following message to Miss Wilder. "Wire President Morton,
delay action, charges made by Miss Wharton against Grace Harlowe, until
word from you. Letter will follow. Answer. Kathleen West."
"There," she chuckled when she heard the tap of the operator's machine,
"that will help a little. Never mind the expense."
She was late to luncheon, and therefore missed Patience, but toward the
close of the afternoon they met, and Kathleen took her into her
confidence. All evening the two girls remained in the living room
listening intently for the ring of the bell that might mean an answer to
Kathleen's urgent message. At ten minutes to nine Kathleen said wearily.
"It's too late to hear to-night. The telegraph office closes at nine
o'clock. The answer will come in the morning. Even as she spoke, the
door bell rang loudly. Pale and trembling with suspense, she herself
answered the door. Hastily signing the messenger boy's book she closed
the door on his retreating back and returned to the living room,
nervously tearing open the envelope as she walked. Then she cried out in
surprise.
"What is it?" questioned Patience in alarm.
Kathleen held out to her the disquieting bit of yellow paper. "Don't be
frightened. It's good news. See." Patience read over her shoulder.
"Start east to-day. Recovered. Don't write. Reach Overton Friday week.
Keep secret. Telegraphed president. Katherine Wilder."
"Hurrah, we've saved the day," rejoiced Kathleen.
"And Kathleen West and Evelyn Ward have left milestones worth leaving
along College Lane," reminded Patience with a smile that was very near
to tears.
* * * * *
Grace returned to Harlowe House from Westbrook at a little after eight
o'clock in the evening. She found Jean Brent anxiously awaiting her
arrival, and at Jean's request they went at once to her room, where Jean
acquainted her with the bad news.
Grace listened with compressed lips, saying nothing.
Jean wound up her narration with, "I know it is all my fault, Miss
Harlowe, but truly I tried to make things come right for you. I told
Miss Wharton all about myself and tried to make her understand that you
weren't in the least to blame for my misdeeds. But I only made matters
worse. She is contemptible." Jean's voice vibrated with bitter scorn.
"I thank you for defending me." Grace spoke unemotionally. "I hope that
President Morton will overlook the charge against you. I must go now. I
wish to be alone. I must decide what I am to do. Good night." She had
remained standing near the door during Jean's recital, now she opened it
and walked slowly down the hall to her own door.
She entered her pretty room as one might enter a chamber of death. So
the end had come. Well, she would meet it with a stout heart and a clear
conscience. But she would not wait for Miss Wharton to charge her with
being unfit for the trust Mrs. Gray had reposed in her. She stepped to
the library table and, opening a drawer, took out a sheet of her own
monogrammed stationery and an envelope. Seating herself at the table, she
took her pen from its rack. After a little thought she began writing in
the clear, strong hand that characterized her. Her letter consisted of
not more than a dozen lines. When she had finished she sealed, stamped,
and addressed it to President Morton with a firm, unfaltering hand.
Wrapping a light scarf about her shoulders, she stole softly downstairs
and outdoors without being observed by the knot of girls in the living
room. Crossing the campus, she dropped her letter into the post box at
the farther side, nearest the street. Then she walked slowly back,
stopping at her favorite bench under the giant elm. The moon, almost at
the full, flooded the wide green stretch with her pale radiance. The
fringed arms of the old elm waved her a gentle welcome.
Grace sank upon the rustic seat racked with many emotions. How often she
had sat there and dreamed of what her work was to be, and now, just as
she had begun to reap the glory of it, it was to be snatched from her.
The soft beauty of the spring night coupled with the ordeal through
which she had just passed filled her with an unspeakable sadness. She
bowed her head upon her hands, but her thoughts lay too deep for tears.
Yet even while she sat for the last time in the spot she loved so
dearly, Kathleen West and Patience Eliot were standing side by side
reading the telegram that was to bring light out of darkness.
CHAPTER XXIII
GRACE SOLVES HER PROBLEM
Grace waited impatiently for an answer to her letter of resignation. She
expected hourly a summons to President Morton's office, but it did not
come. It was now six days since Jean Brent's interview with Miss
Wharton. Surely the dean had long since executed her threat to humiliate
and depose Grace from the position of which she had been so proud. Then
why did not President Morton take action at once and end this torturing
suspense? Grace could not answer this question. She could only wonder
and wait.
But while she wondered and waited Kathleen West was leaving no stone
unturned. In the championing of Grace's rights she did nothing by
halves. The very next morning after receiving Miss Wilder's telegram she
marched boldly into President Morton's office for a private interview
with that dignified gentleman. Her newspaper experience had taught her
how to gain an audience with the most difficult persons. She had little
trouble in obtaining admittance to the president's private office. It
was a long interview, lasting, at least, a half hour, and when Kathleen
rose to go President Morton shook her hand and bowed her out in his most
amiable manner.
From Overton Hall she went directly to the telegraph office and sent
another telegram. This time it was addressed to Mrs. Rose Gray, Oakdale,
N.Y., and read: "Come to Overton, but fix arrival Friday. Grace needs
you. Serious. Wire train. Meet you. Kathleen West."
By five o'clock that afternoon she had received this answer: "Arrive
Friday, 9.20 P.M. Arrange for me, Tourraine. Rose Gray," and was
triumphantly showing it to Patience Eliot and planning her work of
vindication in Grace's behalf.
But while her friends were busying themselves in her cause Grace was
engaged in packing her two trunks and arranging her affairs at Harlowe
House. So far as she knew, Emma Dean and Jean Brent, alone, were aware
of what was about to happen. Jean, whose fate still hung in the balance,
went about looking pale and forlorn. Being in Kathleen's confidence,
Evelyn had not informed her roommate of the secret work that was being
done in behalf of Grace. She understood that Jean was suffering acutely,
and longed to tell her that all promised well for Grace, but not for
worlds would she have betrayed Kathleen's confidence.
Emma Dean had learned of the mailing of Grace's resignation from Grace
herself when she had returned to Harlowe House late that same evening.
For once her flow of cheer had failed her, and she had broken down and
cried disconsolately. For the next two days she had been unconsolable.
Her bitterness against Miss Wharton was so great that it distressed
Grace, who sought in vain to comfort her. But on Monday afternoon she
returned from her classes in a lighter, more cheerful frame of mind. In
fact as the week progressed she appeared to have thrown off her sorrow
and was as funny as ever.
Grace tried to be honestly glad that Emma's sorrow had been so
short-lived, but she could not help feeling a little hurt to think that
Emma, of all persons, should forget so quickly. Once or twice Emma
caught the half reproachful gaze of her gray eyes, and had hard work to
refrain from telling Grace that the hateful shadow was soon to be
lifted. For Emma and Kathleen West had had a private confab, during
which both girls had laughed and cried and laughed again in a most
irrational manner.
So the week wore away, and Friday came and went, leaving Grace still
waiting and dreading. If she had happened to pass the Hotel Tourraine at
twenty-five minutes to ten on Friday evening she would have seen a
taxicab drive up to the entrance and a sprightly, little old lady step
out of it, assisted by a keen-faced, black-eyed young woman, who took
her by the arm and hurried her into the hotel. And if she had been on
the station platform when the 11.40 train from the west pulled in she
would have eagerly welcomed the stately dark-eyed woman who signaled a
taxicab and drove off up College Avenue.
Saturday morning dawned, clear and radiant. The glad light of early
summer streamed in upon Grace. For a brief space she forgot her sorrows
as she knelt at the open window and drank in the pure morning air. Then
one by one they came back. She wondered whether the same sun were
shining on Tom, far away in the jungle, and if he were well, and
sometimes thought of her. How happy she might have made him and herself
if only she had not been so blind. Through the bitterness of being found
wanting she had come to realize what a wonderful thing it was to be
truly loved. Never had the love of her parents and friends for her
seemed so sacred. And how beautiful, how steadfast, Tom's affection for
her had been! With a sigh she turned her thoughts away from that lost
happiness. Now came the old torturing question, "Would the summons come
to-day?"
She was still brooding over it when she went downstairs to breakfast.
Stopping in her office, she hastily went over her mail. It was with a
sense of desperate relief that she separated an envelope, bearing the
letter head of Overton College from the little pile of letters on the
slide of her desk, and opened it. It was from President Morton, and
merely stated that he wished her to call at his office at eleven o'clock
that morning.
With the letter in her hand, Grace entered the dining-room. She intended
to show it to Emma, but the latter, who had risen early on account of
some special work she wished to do, had eaten a hasty breakfast and
departed. Grace slipped the letter into her blouse and made a pretense
of eating breakfast. But she had lost all appetite for food. After
sipping part of a cup of coffee she rose from the table and, returning
to her office, opened the rest of her mail.
Under any circumstances but those of the present her letters would have
delighted her. There was one from Eleanor Savelli, written from her
father's villa in Italy, a long lively one from Nora, containing a
breezy account of Oakdale doings, and a still longer letter from Anne.
There was one from Julia Crosby, and an extremely funny note from J.
Elfreda Briggs, describing a visit she had recently made to the night
court.
One by one she read them, then laid them aside with an indifference born
of suffering. If only there had been one for her in Tom's clear, bold
handwriting. But it was useless to linger, even for a moment, over what
might have been. Grace gathered up her letters and, locking them in her
desk, went upstairs, with slow, dragging steps, to dress for her call
upon President Morton.
It was three minutes to eleven when a slim, erect figure walked up the
steps of Overton Hall. Grace wore a smartly tailored suit of white
serge, white buckskin shoes, white kid gloves and a white hemp hat
trimmed with curved white quills. The lining of the hat bore the name of
a famous maker. She had taken a kind of melancholy pride in her toilet
that morning, and the result was all that she could have wished.
Unconsciously the immaculate purity of her costume bespoke the pure,
high, steadfast soul which looked out from her gray eyes. As she paused
at the door for a moment, her hand on the knob, she experienced
something of the thrill of a martyr, about to die for a sacred cause.
Then she opened the door.
For an instant she stood as though transfixed. Was she dreaming, or
could she actually believe her own eyes? A sudden faintness seized her.
Everything turned dark. She swayed slightly, then with a little sobbing
cry of, "Fairy Godmother! Miss Wilder!" she ran straight into Mrs.
Gray's outstretched arms.
That throbbing, wistful cry brought the tears to Miss Wilder's eyes,
while President Morton took off his glasses and wiped them with his
handkerchief. Great tears were rolling down Mrs. Gray's cheeks which she
made no effort to hide. "My little girl," she said brokenly. "How dared
that dreadful woman treat you so shabbily?"
It was at least ten minutes before the three women could settle down to
the exchanging of questions and explanations. President Morton, the soul
of old-fashioned courtesy, beamed his approval on them.
"Now my dear," said Miss Wilder at last, "I wish you to begin at the
very beginning of this affair, and tell us just what has happened."
Grace began with the coming of Jean Brent to Overton and of her refusal
to be frank concerning her affairs. Then she went on to the sale of her
wardrobe which Jean had conducted in her absence and her final
revelation of her secret to Grace after the latter had commanded it.
Then she told of her promise to Jean not to betray her secret and of the
summons sent them by Miss Wharton, to come to her office.
"But what was this secret, Grace?" questioned Miss Wilder gravely. "We
have the right to know."
The color flooded Grace's pale face. She hesitated, then with an
impulsive, "Of course you have the right to know," she went on, "Jean
Brent's father and mother died when she was a child. She was brought up
by an aunt who is very rich. This aunt gave her everything in the world
she wanted but one thing. She would not allow Jean to go to college. She
did not believe in the higher education for girls. She believed that a
young girl should learn French, music and deportment at a boarding
school. Then when she was graduated she must marry and settle down. One
of the friends of Jean's aunt had a son who was in love with Jean. He
had been babied by his mother until he had grown to be a hateful,
worthless young man, and Jean despised him. Her aunt told her that she
could take her choice between marrying this young man or leaving her
house forever. She gave Jean a week to decide. Then she went into the
country to spend a week end with this young man's mother at their
country place. She thought because Jean was utterly dependent upon her
that she would not dare to defy her.
"Jean had a little money of her own, so she packed her trunks while her
aunt was away and went to Grafton to talk things over with Miss Lipton,
who has known her since she was a baby. She was a dear friend of Jean's
mother. As Jean was of age she had the right to choose her own way of
life. Miss Lipton knew all about Overton College and Harlowe House, so
she wrote me and applied for admission for Miss Brent. I had room for
one more girl, and I considered Miss Lipton's recommendation sufficient
to admit Miss Brent to Harlowe House. Naturally I was displeased when
she disobeyed me and held the sale. Still I do not consider that her
offense warrants dismissal."
"Miss Brent will _not_ be expelled from college," emphasized President
Morton.
"What I cannot understand is Miss Wharton's unjust attitude toward you.
Surely she could readily see that you were not at fault," cried Mrs.
Gray in righteous indignation.
Miss Wilder, too, shook her head in disapproval of Miss Wharton's course
of action. President Morton looked stern for a moment. Then his face
relaxed. He turned to Grace with a reassuring smile that told its own
story.
"Miss Harlowe," he said, looking kindly at Grace, "it has always been my
principle to uphold the members of the faculty in their decisions for
or against a student, if these decisions are fair and just. I am
convinced, however, that you have received most unjust treatment at Miss
Wharton's hands. Therefore I am going to tell you in strict confidence
that Miss Wharton has not filled the requirements for dean demanded by
the Overton College Board. On the day I received your letter of
resignation I wrote Miss Wharton, asking for her resignation at the
close of the college year. I had received a letter from Miss Wilder
stating that she would be able to resume her position as dean of this
college next October. I had determined to send for you to inquire into
your reason for wishing to resign the position you have so ably filled,
when I received Miss Wilder's telegram. At her request I delayed matters
until her arrival. Miss West also called at my office in your behalf. I
take great pleasure in assuring you that I was prepared to accept any
explanation you might make of the charges which Miss Wharton made
against you and Miss Brent. In all my experience as president of this
institution of learning I have never known a young woman who has carried
out so faithfully the traditions of Overton College."
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