Grace Harlowe's Problem Part 23

When at last she left the president and Miss Wilder, to accompany Mrs.

Gray back to the Tourraine, she said with s.h.i.+ning eyes, "Dear Fairy G.o.dmother, would you mind if we stopped at Wayne Hall. I _must_ see Kathleen West."

"Of course you must," agreed Mrs. Gray briskly. "I should like to see her myself. My opinion of that young woman is very high."

It seemed to Grace as though she could hardly wait until their taxicab drew up in front of Wayne Hall. Mrs. Elwood herself answered the bell.

"Oh, Mrs. Elwood," cried Grace, "is Kathleen in?"

"Yes; she came in only a little while ago."

"I'll wait for you in the living room, Grace. Bring that blessed little newspaper girl down stairs with you," directed Mrs. Gray.

As Grace hurried up the stairs and down the hall to the end room the memory of another day, when she had sought Kathleen West to do her honor, returned to her. Her face shone with a great tenderness as she turned the k.n.o.b and walked straight into the room without knocking. An instant and she had folded in her arms the alert little figure that sprang to meet her. "Kathleen, dear girl," she cried. "How can I ever thank you?"

"Don't try," smiled Kathleen, her black eyes looking unutterable loyalty at Grace. "I had to leave a milestone, you know, and I couldn't have left it in a better cause. I enlisted long ago under the banner of Loyalheart. So you see it was my duty to fight for her."

It was after three o'clock when Grace left Mrs. Gray at the Tourraine and went back to Harlowe House. At Mrs. Elwood's urgent invitation they had remained at Wayne Hall for luncheon, and with Patience added to their number had held a general rejoicing over the way things had turned out. Mrs. Gray's last words to Grace on saying good-bye to her at the hotel were, "Grace, I am coming over to see you this evening."

Grace walked home, her heart singing a song of thanksgiving and happiness. As she entered the house the maid met her with, "There's a lady to see you, Miss Harlowe. She just came."

Grace stepped into the living room. A tall, gray-haired woman of perhaps sixty, very smartly gowned, and of commanding appearance, rose to meet her. "Are you Miss Harlowe?" was her abrupt question. Then before Grace had time to do more than bow in the affirmative, she said with a brusqueness intended to hide emotion, "My name is Brent. Jean Brent is my niece. Tell me, is she with you still? I could not bring myself to ask the maid. I was afraid she might say that my niece was not here." In her anxiety, her voice trembled.

Grace's hand was stretched forth impulsively. "I am so glad," she said eagerly. "Jean needs you. She will soon be home from her cla.s.ses. Would you like to go to her room?"

The woman returned Grace's hand clasp with a fervor born of emotion. She was trying to hide her agitation, but Grace could see that she was deeply stirred. Once in Jean's room she gave one curious glance about her, then sank heavily into a chair and began to cry. "I have been a stubborn, foolish woman," she sobbed. "I drove my little girl away from me because I was determined to make her marry a man whom I now know to be worthless. Oh, I am afraid she will never forgive me."

Grace was touched by the proud woman's tearful remorse, but she doubted if Jean Brent would forgive her aunt. She had spoken most bitterly against her. Grace tried to think of something comforting to say. But before she could put her thoughts into words the door was suddenly opened and Jean walked into the room. At sight of the familiar figure she turned very pale. Her blue eyes gleamed with anger. She took a step forward.

"What brought _you_ here?" she asked tensely.

"Jean, my child, won't you forgive me?" pleaded the woman holding out her arms.

Grace waited to hear no more. But as she turned to leave the room she caught one look at Jean's face. The sudden anger in it had died out.

Grace believed that all would be well, but whatever pa.s.sed between aunt and niece was not for her ears. She went directly to her room to wait there until Emma came from her cla.s.ses. She had so much to say to her faithful comrade.

In due season Emma appeared with a cheery, "h.e.l.lo, Gracious. How is everything?"

"Everything is lovely. Emma Dean, you dear old humbug. No wonder you couldn't look sad when I talked about leaving Harlowe House. Now, confess. You were in the secret, weren't you?" Grace stood with her hands on Emma's shoulders, looking into her face.

"The Deans of whom I am which, have always been advocates of the truth,"

solemnly declared Emma, "therefore I will follow their ill.u.s.trious example and answer 'I was.' You tied _my_ hands and _my_ tongue so I couldn't fight for you, Gracious, but you couldn't tie Kathleen's."

"Oh, Emma, I have so much to tell you. I hardly know where to begin. I'm so happy. It's wonderful to feel once more that I am considered worthy of my work. You and I will have many more seasons of it, together."

"I wish we might," returned Emma, but a curious wistfulness crept into her eyes that Grace failed to note.

The two friends talked on until dinner time and went downstairs together, arm in arm. After dinner Emma pleaded an engagement with Miss Duncan, Grace's former teacher of English, and left the house at a little after seven o'clock. Grace slipped into her little office and seated herself at her desk. How glad she was that all was well again.

Yes, she and Emma would, indeed, spend many more seasons together. Yet, somehow, the thought of her work did not give her the same thrill of satisfaction that it once had. Try as she might she could not keep thoughts of Tom from creeping into her mind. Where was he to-night? Had he forgotten her? Mrs. Gray had not once mentioned his name to her, and she had not dared to ask for news of him. Her somber reflections were interrupted by Jean Brent and her aunt. A complete reconciliation had taken place. Miss Brent was now anxious to thank Grace for all she had done in her niece's behalf. They lingered briefly, then went on to the Hotel Tourraine, where Miss Brent had registered. They had not been gone long when the ringing of the door bell brought Grace to her feet. Mrs.

Gray had arrived. She hurried to the door to open it for her Fairy G.o.dmother. Then she drew back with a sharp exclamation. The tall, fair-haired young man who towered above her bore small resemblance to dainty little Mrs. Gray.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Tom's Strong Hands Closed Over Hers.]

"Grace!" said a voice she knew only too well.

"Tom," she faltered. Then both her hands went out to him. His own strong hands closed over them. The two pairs of gray eyes met in a long level gaze.

"Come into my office, Tom." She found her voice at last. "I--I thought you were thousands of miles away in a South American jungle."

"So I was, but I didn't go very deeply into it. Professor Graham met with a serious accident and we had to turn back to civilization. He fell and hurt his spine and we had to carry him to the nearest village, two hundred miles, in a litter. Naturally that broke up the expedition, and when he became better we decided to sail for home. Reached New York City last week. I telegraphed Aunt Rose, and she wired me to meet her in Overton. I came in on that 5.30 train. Of course I was anxious to see you, so Aunt Rose told me to run along ahead. She'll be here in a little while."

Once seated opposite each other in the little office, an awkward silence fell upon the two young people.

"I am so glad nothing dreadful happened to you, Tom." Grace at last broke the silence. "Those expeditions are very hazardous. I thought of you often and wondered if you were well." There was a wistful note in her voice of which she was utterly unconscious, but it was not lost on Tom.

"Grace," he said tensely, "did you really miss me?" He leaned forward, his face very close to hers. His eager eyes forced the truth.

"More than I can say, Tom," she answered in a low tone.

Tom caught her hands in his. She did not draw them away. "How much does that mean, Grace? I know I vowed never to open the subject to you again, but I never saw that look in your eyes before, and you never let me hold your hands like this. Which is to be, dear; work or love?"

"Love," was the half-whispered answer. And the gate of happiness, so long barred to Tom Gray, was opened wide.

CHAPTER XXIV

THE BOND ETERNAL

The full moon shone down with its broadest smile on the group of young people who occupied Mrs. Gray's roomy, old-fas.h.i.+oned veranda. As on another June night that belonged to the past, Mrs. Gray's Christmas children had gathered home.

"We're here because we're here," caroled Hippy Wingate. "But allow me to make one observation."

"_One_," jeered Reddy Brooks. "You mean one hundred."

"That's very unkind in you, Reddy," returned Hippy in a grieved tone.

"Just to show you how entirely off the track you are I will make that _one_ observation and subside."

"I didn't know you had such a word as 'subside' in your vocabulary,"

derided David Nesbit.

"Nora, where art thou? Thy husband is calling," wailed Hippy.

"I would hardly call that an observation," laughed Grace.