Grace Harlowe's Problem

by Josephine Chase

  CHAPTER XVIII

  THE BLOTTED ESCUTCHEON

  But Grace was destined to receive another shock before the long day wasdone. The shadows of early twilight were beginning to blot out the shortwinter day when she let herself into Harlowe House. Stepping into heroffice she reached eagerly for the pile of mail lying on the slidingshelf of her desk. The handwriting on the first letter of the pile wasTom's. Grace eyed it gloomily. It was not warranted to lighten herpresent unhappy mood. She opened it slowly, almost hesitatingly. UnlikeTom's long, newsy letters, there was but one sheet of paper. Then shestrained her eyes in the rapidly failing daylight and read:

  "DEAR GRACE:

  "When you receive this letter I shall be out at sea and on my way to South America. I have resigned my position with the Forestry Department to go on an expedition up the Amazon River with Burton Graham, the naturalist. He is the man who collected so many rare specimens of birds and mammals for the Smithsonian Institute while in Africa, two years ago. It is hard to say when I shall return, and, as it takes almost a month for a letter to reach the United States, you are not likely to hear often from me.

  "Aunt Rose is deeply grieved at my going. Still she understands that, for me, it is best. When last I saw you in Oakdale I had no idea of leaving civilization for tropical wildernesses. Mr. Graham's invitation to join his expedition was wholly unexpected, and I was not slow to take advantage of it.

  "I would ask you to write me, but, unfortunately, I can give you no forwarding address. Mr. Graham's plans as to location are a little uncertain. Perhaps, until I can bring myself to think of you in the way you wish me to think, silence between us will be happiest for us both. God bless you, Grace, and give you the greatest possible success in your work. With best wishes,

  "Your friend, "TOM."

  Grace stared at the sheet of paper before her, with tear-blurred eyes.She hastily wiped her tears away, but they only fell the faster. MissWharton's injustice, Jean Brent's selfishness, together with the suddenshock of Tom's departure out of the country and out of her life, weretoo much for her high-strung, sensitive nature. Dropping into the chairbefore her desk, she bowed her head on the slide and weptunrestrainedly.

  Her overflow of feelings was brief, however. Given little to tears,after her first outburst she exerted all her will power to controlherself. The girls were dropping in by ones and twos from their classes,the maid would soon come into the living room to turn on the lights, andat almost any moment some one might ask for her. She would not care tobe discovered in tears.

  Grace picked up the rest of her mail, lying still unopened, and wentupstairs to her room with the proud determination to cry no more. Shewas quite sure she would not have cried over Tom's letter had all elsebeen well. It was her interview with Miss Wharton that had hurt her socruelly. Yet, with the reading of Tom's farewell message, deep down inher heart lurked a curiously uncomfortable sense of loss. It was asthough for the first time in her life she had actually began to missTom. She had not expected fate to cut him off so sharply from her. Sheknew that her refusal to marry him had been the primary cause of hisgoing away. Mrs. Gray would perhaps blame her. These expeditions weredangerous to say the least. More than one naturalist had died of feveror snakebite, or had been killed by savages. Suppose Tom were never tocome back. Grace shuddered at the bare idea of such a calamity. And hedid not intend to write to her, so she could only wonder as the days,weeks and months went by what had befallen him. She would never know.

  While she was sadly ruminating over Tom's unexpected exit from herlittle world, Emma Dean's brisk step sounded outside. The door swungopen. Emma gave a soft exclamation as she saw the room in darkness.Pressing the button at the side of the door, she flooded the room withlight, only to behold Grace standing in the middle of the floor, stillwearing her outdoor wraps, an open letter in her hand.

  "Good gracious, Gracious, how you startled me! What is going on? Tellyour worthless dog of a servant, what means this studied pose in themiddle of the room in the dark? Not to mention posing in your hat andcoat. And, yes," Emma drew nearer and peered into her friend's face withher kind, near-sighted eyes, "you've been crying. This will never do.Tell me the base varlet that hath caused these tears," she rumbled in adeep voice, "and be he lord of fifty realms I'll have his blood.'Sdeath! Odds bodkins! Let me smite the villain. I could slay and slay,and be a teacher still. Provided the faculty didn't object, and I wasn'tarrested," she ended practically.

  Grace's woe-be-gone face brightened at Emma's nonsense. "You alwayssucceed in making me smile when I am the bluest of the blue," she saidfondly.

  "I can't see why such strongly dramatic language as I used should makeyou laugh. It was really quite Shakespearian. You see I have 'the bard'on the brain. We have been taking up Elizabethan English in one of myclasses, and once I become thoroughly saturated with Shakespearian verseI am likely to quote it on all occasions. Don't be surprised if I burstforth into blank verse at the table or any other public place. But hereI've been running along like a talking machine when you are 'full fathomfive' in the blues. Can't you tell your aged and estimable friend, Emma,what is troubling you?"

  "You were right, Emma. The summons came." Grace's voice was husky. "I'vejust had a session with Miss Wharton."

  "About Miss Brent?"

  "Yes. She sent for both of us. She asked Miss Brent to explain certainthings which she could, but would not, explain. I was in Miss Brent'sconfidence. As you know, she told me about herself after I came backfrom the Thanksgiving holiday. It entirely changed my opinion of her. Iwish I could tell you everything, but I can't. I gave her my word ofhonor that I would keep her secret. But, to-day, when she saw howunjustly Miss Wharton reprimanded me I thought she might have strained apoint and told Miss Wharton her story. Still I don't know that it wouldhave helped much." Grace sighed wearily. "Miss Wharton is not MissWilder. She is a hard, narrow-minded, cruel woman," Grace's dispiritedtones gathered sudden vehemence, "and she would misjudge Miss Brent justas she misjudged me. She is going to send for us again in a few days,and she declares that, if I do not tell her everything, she will takemeasures to have me removed from my position here." Grace turned tragiceyes to her friend.

  "The idea!" rang out Emma's indignant cry. "Just as though she could.Why, Harlowe House was named for you. If Mrs. Gray knew she even hintedsuch thing she'd be so angry. I believe she'd turn Indian giver and takeback her gift to Overton."

  "Oh, no, she wouldn't do quite that, Emma." Heartsick though she was,Grace smiled faintly. "She would be angry, though. She must never knowit. It made her so happy to give Harlowe House to Overton. She would beso hurt, for my sake, that she would never again take a particle ofpleasure in it. When Miss Wharton sends for me I shall ask herpoint-blank if she really intends to try to have me removed from myposition by the Board. If she says 'yes,' I'll resign, then and there."

  "Grace Harlowe, you don't mean it? You've always fought valiantly forother girls' rights, why won't you fight for your own? The whole affairis ridiculous and unjust. If worse comes to worst you can go before theBoard and defend yourself. The members will believe you."

  Grace shook her head sadly, but positively. "I'd never do that, Emma. Ifit comes to a point where I must fight to be house mother here, then I'dmuch rather resign. I couldn't bear to have the story creep about thecollege that I had even been criticized by the Board. I've loved my workso dearly, and I've tried so hard to do it wisely that I'd rather giveit up and go quietly away, feeling in my heart that I have done my best,than to fight and win at last nothing but a blotted escutcheon. Youunderstand how it is with me, dear old comrade."

  "Grace, it breaks my heart to hear you say such things! You mustn't talkof going away." Emma sprang from the chair into which she had droppedand drew Grace into her prot
ecting embrace. Grace's head was bowed for amoment on Emma's shoulder.

  "Don't cry, dear," soothed Emma.

  "I'm not crying, Emma. See, I haven't shed a tear. I did all my crying awhile ago." Grace raised her head and regarded Emma with two dry eyesthat were wells of pain. "I have had another shock, too, since I camehome. Tom Gray has resigned his position with the Forestry Department atWashington, and has sailed for South America.I--never--thought--he'd--go--away. He isn't even going to write to me,Emma, and I don't know when he will come back. Perhaps never. You knowhow dangerous those South American expeditions are?"

  "Poor Gracious," comforted Emma, "you have had enough sorrows for oneday. You need a little cheering up. You and I are not going to eatdinner at Harlowe House to-night. We are going to let Louise Sampsonlook after things while we go gallivanting down to Vinton's for a hightea. I'm going to telephone Kathleen and Patience. There will be justfour of us, and no more of us to the tea party. They will have to come,engagements or no engagements."

  "I don't care to see any one to-night, Emma," pleaded Grace.

  "You only think you don't. Seeing the girls will do you good. If youstay here you'll brood and grieve all evening."

  "All right, I'll go; just to please you. I must see Louise and tell herwe are going."

  "You stay here. I'll do all the seeing. Take off your hat and bathe yourface. You'll feel better." Emma hurried out of the room and up the nextflight of stairs to Louise Sampson's room, thinking only of Grace andhow she might best comfort her. She was more aroused than she cared tolet Grace see over Miss Wharton's harsh edict. She made a secret vowthat if Grace would not fight for her rights _she_, Emma Dean, would.Then she remembered Grace's words, "I'd rather give it up and go quietlyaway, feeling in my heart that I have done my best, than to fight and,at last, win nothing but a blotted escutcheon." No, she could not takeupon herself Grace's wrongs, unless Grace bade her do so, and that wouldnever happen.

  Fortunately Kathleen and Patience were both at home. Better still,neither had an engagement for that evening, and at half-past six o'clockthe four faithful friends were seated at their favorite mission alcovetable at Vinton's, ordering their dinner, while Grace tried earnestly toput away her sorrow and be her usual sunny self.

  But while Grace had been passing through the Valley of Humiliation,there was another person under the same roof who was equally unhappy.That person was Jean Brent. On leaving Grace she had gone directly toHarlowe House. Ascending the stairs to her room with a dispirited step,she had tossed aside her wraps and seated herself before the window. Shesat staring out with unseeing eyes, remorseful and sick at heart.Grace's bitter words, "If you had obeyed me I would not be leaving MissWharton's office this afternoon, under a cloud," still rang in her ears.How basely she had repaid Miss Harlowe, was her conscience-strickenthought. Miss Harlowe had advised and helped her in every possible way.She had taken her into Harlowe House on trust. She had sympathized withher when Jean had told her her secret, and she had brought upon herselfthe dean's disapproval, would perhaps leave Harlowe House, rather thanbetray the girl who had confided in her. Jean's conscience lashed hersharply for her stubbornness and selfish ingratitude. If only she hadbeen frank in the beginning. Miss Harlowe would have explained all toMiss Wilder, and Miss Wilder would have been satisfied. Then she wouldhave had no sale of her wardrobe, and Miss Harlowe would have beenspared all this miserable trouble.

  What a failure she had made of her freshman year? She had made fewfriends except Althea and her chums. They were shallow and selfish to afault. She had held herself aloof from the Harlowe House girls, who,notwithstanding their good nature, showed a slight resentment of herproud attitude toward them and her absolute refusal to join in the workof the club. Since the day when Evelyn had taken her to task fordisobeying Grace the two girls had exchanged no words other than thosewhich necessity forced them to exchange. Evelyn had not forgiven Jeanfor her passionate advice to her to mind her own affairs. Jean, knowingEvelyn's resentment to be just, cloaked herself in defiance and ignoredher roommate. Little by little, however, the cloak dropped away and Jeanbegan to long for Evelyn's companionship. The yellow crepe gown and thebeautiful evening coat still lay in the bottom of Jean's trunk. In herown mind she knew that she had begun to hope for the time when she andEvelyn would settle their differences. She would then give Evelyn thebelated Christmas gift. She grew daily more unhappy over theirestrangement, and heartily wished for a reconciliation. Yet she wasstill too proud to make the first advances.

  It was hardly likely that Evelyn would make the first sign. Her pridewas equal to, if not greater, than Jean's. She, who abhorred prying andinquisitiveness, had been accused by Jean of meddling in her affairs.Evelyn vowed inwardly never to forgive Jean. So these two young girls,each stiff-necked and implacable, dressed, studied and slept in the sameroom in stony silence, passing in and out like two offended shadows.Gradually this strained attitude became so intolerable to Jean that shelonged for some pretext on which to make peace. As she sat at the windowwondering what she could do to atone for her fault the door opened andEvelyn entered the room. A swift impulse seized Jean to lift the veil ofresentment that hung between them. She half rose from her chair asthough to address Evelyn. The latter turned her head in Jean'sdirection. Her blue eyes rested upon the other girl with the cold,impersonal gaze of a stranger. Beneath that maddening, ignoring glanceJean's good intentions curled up and withered like leaves that aretouched by frost, and her aching desire for reconciliation was once moredriven out of her heart by her pride.