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Grace Harlowe's Problem

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<h2>CHAPTER X</h2><h3>LAYING THE CORNERSTONE OF A HOUSE OF TROUBLE</h3> Jean did not return to Harlowe House for dinner that night. Instead she turned her steps toward Holland House, where Althea Parker lived, assured that in Althea she would find sympathy. In spite of the fact that Jean lived at Harlowe House, a plain acknowledgment of her lack of means, Althea shrewdly suspected that the mysterious freshman had come from a home of wealth, and was posing as a poor girl for some reason best known to herself. Jean’s remarkable wardrobe had impressed her deeply, while Jean herself carried out the impression of having been brought up in luxury. She was self-willed, extravagant, careless of the future, and her flippant opinion, delivered to Althea, of the Service Bureau and work in general, was all that was needed to convince the shrewd junior of Jean’s true position in life. Then, too, Jean was extremely likable, although Althea stood a little in awe of her remarkable poise and a certain imperiousness that occasionally crept into the girl’s manner. Jean rang the bell at Holland House with mingled feelings of resentment and defiance. Resentment against Evelyn for daring to take her to task; defiance of Grace and her commands. “Is Miss Parker in?” she inquired of the maid who opened the door. “She just came in, miss.” “Very well. I’ll go on upstairs. She won’t mind me.” Jean knocked on Althea’s door. Althea called an indifferent “Come in,” and she entered to find her engaged in reading a letter that had come by the afternoon mail. “Oh, hello, Jean,” she drawled at sight of the other girl. “You must have come in right behind me. What are you glowering about?” “Evelyn is angry with me because I had the sale,” began Jean. “That’s what I came to tell you. I’m sorry I told her that Miss Harlowe had forbidden me to have it. Now she thinks I ought to go to Miss Harlowe and tell her that I disobeyed her before she hears of it from some other source.” “Nonsense!” exclaimed Althea. “Don’t be so silly. Ten chances to one she’ll never hear of it. If ever she does, it will probably be as ancient history. I’ll caution the girls again to keep still. Who told Evelyn?” “That Miss Correll. Evelyn saw her wearing my black and white check coat and recognized it,” returned Jean gloomily. “She came rushing into my room like a young tornado with the plea that Miss Harlowe would blame her for my misdeeds.” Jean was tempted to add that which Evelyn had told her in confidence. Then her better nature stirred, and she was silent. “Evelyn isn’t nearly as good company this year as she was last,” complained Althea. “Ever since the latter part of her freshman year, she’s been so different. I’ve always had an idea,” Althea lowered her voice, “that last spring she broke some rule of the college and ran away. One night, just before college closed—it was long after ten o’clock, too—Miss Harlowe telephoned me and asked if Evelyn were with me. I found out afterward that she had gone to New York all by herself. She’d never been there but once before when she spent a week-end with me, and she didn’t know a soul. I never could find out anything else, though. Evelyn went to her classes on Monday, and not one word did she ever say about it. I didn’t find out about the New York part of it until this fall, though. A Willston man whom we both know saw her in New York with that clever Miss West, who wrote ‘Loyalheart.’” Jean listened with attentive gravity. She guessed that Althea had perhaps hit upon the truth. Evelyn had confessed to her that there had been that in her freshman year of which she was ashamed. She had said it was about clothes, yet what had clothes to do with breaking the rules of Overton and running away to New York? Whatever it was, it should remain Evelyn’s secret. She would tell Althea nothing. “Let’s go to Vinton’s for dinner,” she proposed, with an abrupt change of subject. “I’ve plenty of money now—while it lasts.” “All right,” agreed Althea, “only I mustn’t stay out late. I’ve a frightful lesson in physics to study for to-morrow.” Jean did not particularly enjoy her dinner. In spite of her defiant manner she had begun to feel slightly conscience-stricken. She almost wished she had not gone on with the sale. Still she could have obtained the necessary money in no other way. Now that the mischief was done she could hope only that Miss Harlowe would hear nothing of it—not for a long time, at any rate. As she crossed the campus and ran lightly up the steps of Harlowe House she resolved to shake off her recent fear of the discovery, on Grace’s part, of her disobedience and act as though nothing had happened. Her resolution was destined to receive an unexpected jolt. “Miss Harlowe wants to see you, Miss Brent,” were the words with which the maid greeted her as she stepped into the hall. Jean’s heart sank. So it had come already. She stopped for a moment in the hall to gather her forces. Her feeling of penitence vanished. She threw up her head with a defiant jerk and walked boldly into the little office where Grace sat making up her expense account for November. “You wished to see me, Miss Harlowe?” Her tone was coldly interrogative, her eyes hostile, as she stared steadily at Grace. Grace looked up from her work and calmly studied the pretty, belligerent girl standing before her. In that glance she realized what a difficult task lay before her. “Yes, Miss Brent, I wished to talk with you,” she answered. “Sit down, please.” Jean slid reluctantly into the chair opposite Grace, surveying her with an expression which said plainly, “Well, why don’t you begin?” “Did you have a sale of your clothes in your room one week ago last Saturday?” The directness of Grace’s question astonished Jean. She found herself answering, “Yes,” with equal promptness. “Why did you disobey me?” asked Grace. “Because I needed the money,” declared Jean boldly, “and I couldn’t earn it, Miss Harlowe; I just couldn’t.” Grace gazed reflectively at the flushed face opposite her own. “Miss Brent,” she began, “when first you came to Harlowe House I believed that it was not necessary for me to know certain things which you did not wish to divulge. I might still be of that opinion if you had not disobeyed me. It is most peculiar for a girl to come to Overton utterly without funds, yet possessing quantities of the most expensive clothes. I have always felt assured of your right to be an Overton and a Harlowe House girl, yet others might not regard you so leniently. That is why I refused to allow you to have the sale. I feared you would bring down undue criticism upon you, and upon me as well. Once you became a subject for criticism you might be obliged to explain to the dean or the president of the Overton College what you have refused to explain to me. It was to protect you that I refused your request. Since you have seen fit to disregard my authority I can do but one thing. I must insist that you will tell me fully what you have, so far, kept a secret. In order to protect you I must know everything. I can no longer go on in the dark.” Jean stood staring at Grace. A look of stubborn resolve crept into her face. Grace, watching her intently, knew what the answer would be. The strange girl opened her lips to speak. Then, obeying her natural impulse to give the other person the greatest possible chance, Grace raised a protesting hand. “Don’t say you won’t do as I ask, Miss Brent. Take a little time to think over the matter. I am going to give you until after Thanksgiving to decide whether or not you will trust me. Remember my sole desire is to help you.” For the first time Grace’s sweet earnestness seemed to awaken a responsive chord in the heart of the obstinate freshman. The ready color dyed her cheeks crimson. The hard, defiant light left her eyes. “If only she would tell me now and have it over with,” thought Grace, noting the signs of softening on Jean’s part. The girl appeared to be considering Grace’s proposal in the spirit in which it had been made. Then, all in an instant, she changed. It was as though she had suddenly recalled something disagreeable. “There is really no use in waiting until after Thanksgiving for my answer. I can’t tell you. I suppose you will send me away because I won’t tell you, but if I did tell you, you would send me away just the same. So you see it doesn’t really make much difference. It was silly in me to come here. I might have known better,” she ended with a mirthless smile. Grace regarded Jean with growing annoyance. She had been offered a chance to explain herself and she had refused it. True, Grace could also refuse to allow her to remain a member of Harlowe House, but this she did not wish to do. Her pride whispered to her that among the girls who were enrolled as members of the household, made possible by Mrs. Gray’s generosity, there had been no failures. Jean Brent should not be the first. She would bear with her a little longer. “I repeat, Miss Brent,” she said, “that I do not wish you to answer me until after Thanksgiving. Then, if you decide, as I hope you will, to be frank with me, I promise you that I will do my utmost to protect you.” Jean’s only response was, “Good night, Miss Harlowe.” Then she turned and left the office. Grace sat poking holes in an unoffending sheet of paper with her lead pencil. She wondered what Jean Brent’s secret could possibly be, and how she could best reach this stubborn, self-centered freshman. And in her wholehearted effort to be of service to the girl, who apparently needed her help, she did not dream that she was laying the cornerstone of a house of trouble for herself. <hr class="major" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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