Grace Harlowe's Problem Part 22

"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 s.n.a.t.c.hed from her.

The soft beauty of the spring night coupled with the ordeal through which she had just pa.s.sed 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 cla.s.ses 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 pa.s.s 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, a.s.sisted 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.

Sat.u.r.day morning dawned, clear and radiant. The glad light of early summer streamed in upon Grace. For a brief s.p.a.ce 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 appet.i.te 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 circ.u.mstances 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 k.n.o.b, 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 G.o.dmother! 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 gla.s.ses 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 att.i.tude 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 rea.s.suring 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 a.s.suring 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 inst.i.tution of learning I have never known a young woman who has carried out so faithfully the traditions of Overton College."

Grace listened to the president's words with a feeling of joy so deep as to be akin to pain. The shadow had indeed lifted. In the eyes of those whose good opinion she valued so greatly she was worthy of her trust.

She never forgot that wonderful morning in President Morton's office.