Grace Harlowe\'s Problem

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Mary paused for breath after this long speech. The club, to a member,
had eyed her with growing interest as she talked.

"I think that's a splendid plan," agreed Evelyn Ward. "I'm willing to do
all I can toward it. I've had only a little stage experience, but I'd
love to help coach the actors for their parts."

For the next half hour the plan for increasing the club's treasury was
eagerly discussed. A play committee, consisting of Mary Reynolds, Evelyn
Ward, Nettie Weyburn and Ethel Hilton, a tall, dark-haired girl, noted
for making brilliant recitations, was chosen.

"Has any one else a suggestion?" asked Louise Sampson, when the first
excitement regarding the new project had in a measure subsided.

"Why couldn't we have a Service Bureau?" asked Nettie Weyburn. "I mean
we could post notices that any one who wishes a certain kind of work
done, such as mending, sewing or tutoring, could apply to our bureau.
Every one knows that the students of Harlowe House are self-supporting.
We wouldn't be here if we weren't. Some of us have a very hard time
earning our college fees. Some of us have been obliged to borrow money,
and comparatively few of us ever have pocket money. If the girls who
don't have to do things for themselves found that we could always be
depended upon for services I imagine we would have all the work we could
do."

"Hurrah for Nettie!" exclaimed Cecil Ferris. "I think that's a fine
idea."

"So do I," echoed several voices.

"But we'd have to put some one in charge of the bureau, and no one of us
could afford to spend much time looking after it," reminded Louise.

"Oh, we could take turns," was Nettie's prompt reply. "Then, too, we
could have certain hours for business, say from four o'clock until six
on every week day, except Saturday and from two o'clock until five on
Saturday afternoons."

"But where would we receive the girls who came to see about having work
done?" asked Alice Andrews, a business-like little person who roomed
with Louise Sampson.

"I will see that the Service Bureau has a desk installed in one corner
of the living room," offered Grace, who had, up to this point, listened
to the various girls' remarks, a proud light in her eyes. She loved the
sturdy self-reliance of the members of her household. "And there will
also be times when I can do duty on the Bureau, too," she added.

"No, Miss Harlowe, you mustn't think of it," said Louise Sampson. "You
do altogether too much for us now."

"I am here to take care of my household," smiled Grace. "Besides, it
will be a pleasure to help a club of girls who are so willing to help
themselves."

"Miss Harlowe is really and truly interested in the girls here, isn't
she?" Jean Brent commented to Evelyn Ward in an undertone. Having passed
her examinations Jean was now a full-fledged freshman.

"Yes, indeed," returned Evelyn, with emphasis. "She has done a great
deal for me. More than I can ever hope to repay."

"What--" began Jean. Then she suddenly stopped and bent forward in a
listening attitude. The electric bell on the front door had just
shrilled forth the announcement of a visitor. A moment and the maid had
entered the room with, "A lady to see you, Miss Harlowe. I didn't catch
her name. It sounded like Brant."

Jean Brent grew very white. Turning to Evelyn she said unsteadily, "I
don't feel well. I think I will go up stairs." Without waiting for
Evelyn to reply, she rose and almost ran out of the living room ahead of
Grace. As she stepped into the hall she darted one lightning glance
toward the visitor, then she stumbled up the stairs, shaking with
relief. She had never before seen Grace's caller.

"How do you feel?" was Evelyn's first question as she entered their room
fully two hours later. "You missed a spread. We had sandwiches and cake
and hot chocolate."

"I can't help it," muttered Jean uncivilly. Then she said
apologetically, "I'm much better, thank you. Please forgive me for being
so rude."

While in the next room Grace was saying to Emma, who, owing to an
engagement, had not attended the meeting, "Really, Emma, the name
'Riddle' certainly applies to Miss Brent. She came to the meeting with
the others, and when it was only half over she bolted from the living
room and upstairs as though she were pursued by savages. I wouldn't have
noticed her, perhaps, but I had been called to the door. Mrs. Brant came
to see me about my sewing. Miss Brent hurried out of the living room
ahead of me. I saw her give Mrs. Brant the strangest look, then up the
stairs she ran as fast as she could go."

"Grace," Emma looked at her friend in a startled way. "You don't suppose
Miss Brent has run away from home do you? The names Brant and Brent
sound alike. She may have thought that some member of her family had
followed her here."

It was Grace's turn to look startled. "I don't know," she said
doubtfully. "I hope not. I should not like to harbor a runaway unless I
knew the circumstances warranted it, as was the case with Mary Reynolds.
I didn't think of Miss Brent's secret as being of that nature. Surely
Miss Lipton would not countenance a runaway. Still I don't wish to try
to force this girl's confidence. I prefer to let matters stand as they
are, for the present, at least. I've promised to respect her secret,
whatever it may be, and I am going to do so."

Emma shook her head disapprovingly.

"I don't like mysteries, Grace. When we talked Jean Brent over a few
days ago I told you that I didn't think it mattered if she choose to
wrap herself in mystery. But I've changed my mind. I believe you owe it
to yourself to insist on a complete explanation from her. Suppose later
on you discovered that you had been deceived in her, that she was
unworthy. Then, again, she might put you in a disagreeable position
with President Morton or Miss Wilder. You remember the humiliation you
endured at Evelyn's hands. I, who know you so well, understand that your
motive in trusting Miss Brent unquestioningly is above reproach. But
others might not understand. If she proved untrustworthy, _you_ would be
censured far more than she." Emma's tones vibrated with earnestness.

Grace sat silent. She realized the truth of her friend's words. Emma
rarely spoke seriously. When she did so, it counted. Still, she had
given her promise to this strange young girl, and she would keep her
word. After all Jean Brent's secret might be of no more importance than
that of the average school girl.

CHAPTER VII

HER OWN WAY

The Service Bureau lost no time in preparing and posting notices on the
college bulletin board, and on those of the various campus houses, to
the effect that they were prepared to take care of any requests for
general services that might be made, and the immediate response with
which their venture met was gratifying in the extreme. Certain of the
club members found their spare time fully occupied in tutoring freshmen,
while those who were skilled needlewomen were kept busy mending, making
silk blouses, kimonos and even simple styles of gowns. Grace had
thoughtfully placed a second sewing machine in the sewing room, and it
never stood idle. There were requests for all sorts of services such as
hair dressing, manicuring and countless small labors which affluent
students were glad to turn over to their needy classmates.

Grace and Louise Sampson spent many hours of time and thought upon the
new venture. It required tact and judgment to select the various girls
for the various labors. First there was the customer to please. Second
the fact that each member of the club was anxious to be given the
opportunity to earn a little extra money. It was wonderful, too, the
amount of hitherto undiscovered ability which came to light at the call
for service, and it was not long before Nettie Weyburn had acquired
considerable reputation as a manicurist, while Ethel Hilton gained
lasting laurels as a hair dresser and Mary Reynolds proved herself a
competent tutor. Hilda Moore became a fad among certain girls who
loathed letter writing and willingly paid her for taking their dictation
and typing their home letters, while Cecil Ferris stood alone as an
expert mender of silk stockings. Louise Sampson made silk blouses.
Several members specialized on kimonos. Two girls were kept constantly
busy on hand-painted post cards, posters and cunning little luncheon
favors. There were also occasional requests for a maid or companion for
some special affair. In fact the high standard of excellence which the
Service Bureau aimed for, and obtained, caused its popularity to
increase rapidly.

There was but one member of this earnest and busy household to whom the
Bureau meant nothing. That member was Jean Brent. So far she had
discovered absolutely nothing she could do to earn money. She had not
the patience to tutor, she loathed the bare idea of performing personal
services for others, and she could not sew a stitch. Nevertheless the
fact that she needed money perpetually stared her in the face. True she
had written to Miss Lipton for a loan, and the money had been promptly
sent her. She had repaid Grace and Evelyn the small sums they had
advanced her, but the remainder of the money had dwindled away so
rapidly she could hardly have given an account of the way in which it
had been spent.

Now her thoughts turned to her trunks of unused finery. What possible
objection could Miss Harlowe have to her selling what was rightfully
hers? If she wished to dispose of certain of her own possessions it was
surely no one's affair save her own. Althea Parker, who was Evelyn's
friend, and the leader of a clique of the richest girls at Overton, had
been given an opportunity to see the contents of one of the trunks and
had gone into ecstacies over the dainty hats and frocks Jean had
displayed for her benefit. "For goodness' sake _where_ did you get such
lovely things?" had been Althea's curious question. "They must have cost
a lot of money."

"Do you think the girls in your set would be interested in them?" Jean
had asked, ignoring the other girl's question. "I--I should like to sell
them to any one who wants them. I must have some money. I need it at
once."

"Sell them?" Althea's eye-brows had been elevated in surprise. "How
funny." Then her natural selfishness coming strongly to the surface, she
had said hastily. "I'd love to have that green chiffon evening gown.
It's never been worn, has it?" She decided it was not her business if
Miss Brent chose to sell her clothes. Jean had gravely assured her that
everything in the trunk was perfectly new and fresh, and Althea had,
then and there, bargained for almost a hundred dollars' worth of finery,
and promised to interest the girls of her set in Jean's possessions.

It was not until after Althea had gone that Jean remembered Grace's
objection to her proposed sale. She decided that she could not have the
sale after all. She would sell Althea the things she wished and tell her
the circumstances. But when she laid the matter before Althea the latter
had said lightly, "Oh, don't let a little thing like that worry you.
It's none of Miss Harlowe's business. Besides, I've told my friends, and
they are dying to see your things. Evelyn told me to-day that Miss
Harlowe was going to New York City on Friday night. You can have the
girls come up here on Saturday afternoon. I'll invite Evelyn to luncheon
and keep her away until after six o'clock. She wouldn't like it if she
knew. She's a regular goody-goody this year. What you must do is to get
the things out of the other trunks. Then the girls can see them. I'll
come to-morrow for these things I've selected; so have them wrapped up
for me. If we manage it quietly no one need be the wiser, for the girls
won't breathe a word of it to a soul."

Actuated by her need of money, Jean swallowed her scruples and obeyed
Althea's commands implicitly. Under the pretext of rearranging her
wardrobe, she spent her spare time in the trunk room going over her
effects and picking out those articles most likely to appeal to her
customers, and by Saturday everything was in readiness for the sale.
Evelyn, unsuspecting and jubilant over her luncheon engagement with
Althea, who had so far this term held herself rather aloof from her,
hurried off to keep her appointment, leaving Jean a clear field.

Locking the door, this strange girl began laying out her wares. There
were exquisite evening gowns, with satin slippers and silk stockings to
match, and there were afternoon and morning frocks, walking suits,
separate coats, hats, gloves, fans, scarfs, everything in fact to
delight the heart of a girl. Jean handled them all mechanically, and
without interest. It was only when she heard the murmur of girls'
voices outside her door that a deep flush mounted even to her smooth
forehead. She drew a deep breath and braced herself as for an ordeal,
then answered the peremptory knock on the door.

There were little delighted cries from the ten girls who came to the
sale as they examined Jean's beautiful wardrobe. Being of medium height,
her gowns fitted most of her customers, who exulted over the fact of
their absolute freshness. They were indeed bargains, and, as each girl
had come prepared to buy to the limit of her ample allowance, the money
fairly poured into Jean's hands.

For the rest of the afternoon a great trying-on of gowns ensued, and in
their eager appreciation of the pretty things before them they chattered
like a flock of magpies, arousing not a little curiosity among a number
of the Harlowe House girls who in passing through the hall heard the
murmur of voices and subdued laughter. It was after six o'clock when the
last girl, bearing a huge bundle and a suit case, had departed. Jean sat
down amidst the wreck of her possessions and sighed wearily. She sprang
up the next moment, however, and began feverishly to bundle the various
garments lying about on the bed and chairs into the open trunk. She had
sold many of her possessions. Those that were left would all go into the
one trunk. She must hurry them in before Evelyn returned. She was
likely to come in at almost any moment. Jean had saved a beautiful frock
of yellow crepe for Evelyn. She intended to give it to her for a
Christmas present. There were shoes, stockings and scarf to match, along
with a wonderful white evening coat, trimmed with wide bands of white
fur and lined with palest pink brocade. In the short time she had known
Evelyn she had become greatly attached to her, and although unlike in
disposition, they had, so far, managed to get along together as
roommates.

Jean knew, however, that Evelyn, who was devoted heart and soul to Grace
Harlowe, could not fail to disapprove of her high-handed disregard of
Grace's authority. She, therefore, determined to remove all traces of
the sale and trust to luck and the honor of the girls who had taken part
in it. If, later, Evelyn should recognize any of the various articles as
Jean's, it would do no particular harm. She would, no doubt, be shocked,
but still past lapses of good conduct never disturbed one as did those
of the present. Feeling that, in her case, at least, the end justified
the means, Jean bundled the last tell-tale effect into the trunk and
banged down the lid, resolving to meet Evelyn as though nothing had
happened, and let the future take care of itself.

CHAPTER VIII

ALL IN THE DAY'S WORK

With the approach of the Thanksgiving holidays a great pleasure and a
great sorrow came to Grace. The "pleasure" was the joyful news that Mr.
and Mrs. Harlowe had accepted an invitation to spend Thanksgiving in New
York City with the Nesbits. This news meant that, for the first time
since her entrance into college as a freshman, Grace would have the
supreme satisfaction of being with her adored parents on Thanksgiving
Day. Anne, Miriam and Elfreda would be with her, too, which made the
anticipation of her four days' vacation doubly dear.

Then almost identical with this great joy had come the great sorrow.
Miss Wilder was going away. For the past year she had not been well, and
now she had been ordered West for her health. During Grace's first year
at Harlowe House the regard which Miss Wilder had always felt for her as
a student had gradually deepened until the two were on terms of
intimacy. Grace felt the same freedom in going to the dean with her
difficulties as she had with Miss Thompson, her loved principal of
high-school days.

It seemed to her as though this staunch friend, with her kindly
tolerance, and her amazing knowledge of girl nature, could never be
replaced. No matter how worthy of respect and admiration her successor
might be, she could never quite equal Miss Wilder. The possibility of
Overton without her had never occurred to Grace. True she had noted on
several occasions that Miss Wilder looked very pale and tired. She was
considerably thinner, too, than when Grace had entered college as a
freshman, yet she had always given out the impression of tireless
energy. Grace had never heard her complain of ill health, yet here she
was, threatened with a nervous breakdown. The only remedy, a complete
rest. As soon as her successor had been appointed she would start for an
extended western trip in search of health, which only time, the open air
and rest could restore. At the older woman's request Grace spent as much
time as possible in her company. They had long talks over the subject
that lay closest to the young house mother's heart, the welfare of her
flock, and Grace derived untold benefit from the dean's counsel.

It now lacked only a little time until Overton College would lose one of
its staunchest friends. Divided between the anticipation of meeting and
the pain of parting, Grace hardly knew her own state of mind. It was
with a very sober face that she hung the telephone on its receiver one
gray November morning, and slipping into her wraps, set out for Overton
Hall in obedience to Miss Wilder's telephoned request. The new dean,
Miss Wharton, had arrived, and Miss Wilder was anxious that Grace should
meet her. Miss Wharton had expressed herself as interested in Miss
Wilder's account of Harlowe House and its unique system of management.
She had also expressed her desire to meet Grace, and Miss Wilder,
hopeful that this interest might prove helpful to Grace, had readily
acceded to her wish.

Grace set forth for Overton Hall in good spirits, but whether it was the
effect of the raw November morning or that the shadow of parting hung
heavily over her, she suddenly felt her exhilaration vanish. A strange
sense of gloomy foreboding bore down upon her. She found herself
strangely reluctant to meet Miss Wharton. She had a strong desire to
about-face and return to Harlowe House. "What is the matter with you,
Grace Harlowe?" she said half aloud. With an impatient squaring of her
shoulders she marched along determined to be cheerful and make the best
of what she could not change.

As she entered Miss Wilder's office her quick glance took in the short,
rather stout figure seated beside Miss Wilder. This, then, was Miss
Wharton. What Grace saw in that quick glance was a round, red, satisfied
face lit by two cold pale blue eyes, and surmounted by lifeless brown
hair, plentifully streaked with gray. There was neither grace nor
majesty in her short, dumpy figure, and Grace's first impression of her
was decidedly unpleasant. An impression which she never had reason to
change.

Miss Wilder rose to meet Grace with outstretched hand. "My dear, I am
glad to see you this morning."

"And I to see you," responded Grace, her gray eyes full of affectionate
regard. "How are you feeling to-day, Miss Wilder?"

"Very well, indeed, for me," smiled the dean. "Almost well enough to
give up my western rest, but not quite. My heart is in my work here. It
is hard to leave it even for a little while. But I am leaving it in good
hands. I wish you to meet Miss Wharton, Grace."

She presented Grace to the other woman, who did not offer to take the
hand Grace extended, but bowed rather distantly. The color stung Grace's
cheeks at the slight. Still she forced herself to try to say honestly,
"I am glad to know you, Miss Wharton."

"Thank you," was the cold response, "You are much younger than I was
led to believe. It is rather difficult to imagine you as the head of a
campus house. You give one the impression of being a student."

Grace's eyes were fixed on the new dean with grave regard. Was this
salutary speech purely impersonal or did a spice of malicious meaning
lurk within it? Not since those far-off days when Miss Leece, a
disagreeable teacher of mathematics at Oakdale High School, had made her
algebra path a thorny one had she encountered any instructor that
reminded her in the least of the one teacher she had thoroughly
despised. Yet, as she strove to fight back her growing dislike and reply
impersonally, she was seized with the conviction that even as she and
Miss Leece had been wholly opposed to each other, so surely would she
and Miss Wharton find nothing in common. After what seemed an hour, but
was in reality a minute, Grace forced herself to smile and say with
quiet courtesy, "This is my second year as house mother at Harlowe
House. I am frequently taken for a student. I really feel no older than
my girls, and I hope I shall always feel so."

"It isn't years that count with Miss Harlowe," smiled Miss Wilder,
coming to Grace's defense. "It is the ability to keep things moving
successfully, and Miss Harlowe has shown that ability in a marked
degree," she added.

"Has she, indeed?" returned Miss Wharton, with what Grace felt to be
forced politeness. "I shall be interested in visiting Harlowe House and
learning Miss Harlowe's successful methods of management." Then she
turned to Miss Wilder and began a conversation from which it appeared as
though she deliberately sought to exclude Grace.

"I must go, Miss Wilder," said Grace, rising almost immediately. She
decided that she could not and would not endure Miss Wharton's rudeness.

Miss Wilder looked distressed. She could not understand Miss Wharton's
attitude, therefore there was nothing to do save ignore it.

"Very well, my dear. Run in and see me to-morrow. I shall be here from
two o'clock until four in the afternoon." She took one of Grace's soft
hands in both of hers. The brown eyes met the gray questioning ones with
a look of love and trust. Grace's resentment died out. She said a formal
good-bye to Miss Wharton and hurried from the room. She would go to see
Miss Wilder the next day as she had requested. Perhaps Miss Wharton's
rude reception of her was due merely to a brusque trait of character.
Perhaps she belonged to the old school who believed that youth and
responsibility could not go hand in hand. At any rate she would try
hard not to judge. Although she usually found her first impressions to
be correct, still there were always exceptions. Miss Wharton might prove
to be the exception.

On her way home she stopped at Wayne Hall. To her it was a house of
tender memories, and she never entered its hospitable doors without half
expecting to see the dear, familiar faces of the girls long gone from
there to the busy paths of the outside world.

"Why, how do you do, Miss Harlowe?" was Mrs. Elwood's delighted
greeting. "It certainly is good to see you. I think you might run over
oftener when you're so near, but I s'pose you have your hands full with
all those thirty-four girls. Did you come to see Miss West and Miss
Eliot? If you did, they're both at home, for a wonder. Miss West doesn't
have a recitation at this hour, and Miss Eliot's sick."

"Sick!" Grace sprang to her feet. "Oh, I must run up and see her at
once. To tell you the truth, Mrs. Elwood, I came to see you. I hadn't
the least idea that either of the girls were in, but if you'll forgive
me this time I'll run upstairs to see Patience and make you a special
visit some other day."

"Oh, I'll forgive you, all right," laughed Mrs. Elwood. "I'm glad to see
your bright face, if it's only for five minutes, Miss Harlowe."

"You're a dear." Grace dropped a soft kiss on Mrs. Elwood's cheek, then
hurried up the stairs, two at a time. Pausing at the old familiar door
at the end of the hall, she knocked. There was a quick, light step. The
door opened and Kathleen West fairly pounced upon her.

"Look who's here! Look who's here!" she chanted triumphantly. The tall,
fair girl in the lavender silk kimono, who reclined in the Morris chair,
turned her head languidly, then gave a cry of delight.

"You poor girl!" Grace embraced Patience affectionately. "Whatever is
the matter?"

"Oh, just a cold," croaked Patience. "In the words of J. Elfreda, 'I'm a
little horse.'" Her blue eyes twinkled. "It's worth being sick to have
you here, Grace."

"I've been intending to come over every night this week, but I'm so
busy," sighed Grace. "The Service Bureau keeps me hustling."

"What a progressive lot of people you Harlowites are," praised Kathleen.
"Did you know that Mary is doing a story about you and your family for
our paper. Of course there are no names mentioned. I saw to that."
Kathleen flushed. She recalled a time when she had used Grace's name
without permission.

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