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Grace Harlowe's Problem

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<h2>CHAPTER XVII</h2><h3>THE SUMMONS</h3> “There are Deans and deans,” observed Emma Dean with savage emphasis, “but the Deans, of whom I am which, are, in my humble opinion, infinitely superior to the dean person stalking about the halls of dear old Overton.” “What do you mean, Emma?” asked Grace. The dry bitterness of her friend’s outburst regarding deans in general was too significant to be allowed to pass unquestioned. It was the evening of Grace Harlowe’s return from the Christmas holiday she had spent with her dear ones at Oakdale. Grace and Emma were in their room. Despite the one sad memory which time alone could efface, Grace was experiencing a peace and comfort which always hovered about her for many days after her visits home. Next to home, however, Overton was, to her, the place of places, and she had returned to her work with fresh energy and enthusiasm. She believed that she had definitely put behind her forever all that unhappy part of her life regarding Tom Gray. It had been hard indeed, and had brought tears to the eyes so unaccustomed to weeping. Still Grace was glad that she had faced the inevitable and seen clearly. Tom would, in time, forget her and perhaps marry some one else. She wished with all her heart that he might be happy, and her one regret was that she had caused him pain. In reality Grace had exhibited toward her old friend a hardness of purpose quite at variance with her usually sweet nature. She wondered a little that she could have been so inexorable in her decision, yet she believed herself to be wholly justified in the course she had taken. Already she was beginning to commend herself inwardly for her loyalty to her work, and Emma’s blunt arraignment of the dean of Overton College acted like a dash of cold water upon her half-fledged self-content. “All day I’ve been tempted to tell you a few things, Gracious,” began Emma, “but I hated to disturb you. I know just how you feel when you come back from that blessed little town of yours. So I’ve been keeping still while you told me all about Anne’s wedding and the good times you had. It was one glorious succession of good times, wasn’t it?” “Yes.” Grace was silent for a brief space of time. Then she said gravely, “There was only one flaw, Emma. I refused again, and for the last time, to marry Tom Gray. I was sorry, but I couldn’t help it. I don’t love him.” “I’m sorry, too, that you couldn’t find it in your heart to care for him. I liked him best of those four young men.” “Every one likes him. My friends all hoped that we would marry.” Grace sighed. “Still one’s friends can’t decide such matters for one. One must solve that particular problem alone.” “Just so,” agreed Emma. “Although no one ever asked my hand in holy matrimony except a callow youth whom I tutored in algebra last summer. He had failed in his June examination and had to pass in September or be forever labeled a dunce by his fond family. Now you see why I can understand the psychology of saying ‘no’ to a proposal. This stripling, who was at least five years my junior, proposed to me out of sheer gratitude. I actually succeeded in drumming quadratic equations into his stupid head, and he offered me his hand by the way of reward.” Grace’s sad expression had by this time vanished. She was regarding Emma with a smiling face. “Really and truly, Emma, did that happen to you?” “It did, indeed,” averred Emma solemnly. “You aren’t half so amazed as I was. I felt as though one of my Sunday-school class of little boys had suddenly exhibited signs of the tender passion. I labored long and earnestly to convince him that I was not his fate, and in due season he passed his examination and promptly forgot me. I did not weep and wail at being forgotten, either. Still there was a grain of satisfaction in being sought. If I go down to my grave in single blessedness I shall at least have the satisfaction of knowing that some one yearned for my life-long society.” She beamed owlishly at Grace, and laughter routed the sorrowful face she had turned to Emma only a moment before. But Emma was only trying to prepare Grace for unpleasant news. Now that she had put her in a lighter frame of mind, she said: “I might as well tell you about Miss Wharton, Grace.” Grace’s eyes were immediately fixed on her in mute question. “The news of the sale traveled to Miss Wharton, as I was afraid it would,” began Emma. “Miss Brent wasn’t here when first the dean heard of it. She had gone home with Miss Parker for Christmas. Evelyn Ward wasn’t here, either. She and Kathleen West and Mary Reynolds went to New York. Mary and Kathleen to work on the paper, and Evelyn to work for two weeks in that stock company of Mr. Forrest’s. You knew about that, of course. It was the day after Christmas that Miss Wharton heard about the sale. She sent for Miss Brent and was greatly displeased to find her gone. However, she had had permission from the registrar, a fact that Miss Wharton couldn’t overlook. Then Miss Wharton sent for me. She said the sale was a disgrace to Overton, and that she was amazed to think you allowed such a proceeding. I explained to her that you knew nothing of it, that you were away at the time it took place, and she said you had acted most unwisely in placing your responsibilities on the shoulders of others even for a day. Your place was at Harlowe House every day of the college year. You had no business to assume such a responsible position if you did not intend to live up to it. “That’s about the extent of all she said. I was so angry I could scarcely control myself, but I managed to say quietly that President Morton and Miss Wilder had never questioned your absences from Harlowe House, and that I was sure you would lose no time in taking up the matter with her when you returned. Now you know what you may expect. I don’t know whether she has sent for Miss Brent since she came from New York. If she hasn’t, then mark my words, the summons will come to-morrow.” Emma proved to be a true prophet. The nine o’clock mail next morning brought two letters written on the stationery used by the Overton faculty. One was addressed to Grace, the other to Jean Brent. If the two young women had compared them they would have discovered that each one contained the same curt summons to the dean’s office. Both appointments were for half-past four o’clock that afternoon. Grace stopped at Jean’s table at luncheon that day and said softly. “Will you come to my office after you have finished your luncheon, Miss Brent?” Jean turned very pale. She bowed her acquiescence, and Grace went on to her own place. “I have been requested to call on Miss Wharton at half-past four o’clock this afternoon, Miss Brent,” informed Grace as, later, Jean stood before her. “I noted that you also received a letter written on the business stationery of Overton. Am I right in guessing that you have received the same summons?” For answer Jean opened the book she held under her arm and took from it an envelope. In silence she drew from it a letter, spread it open and handed it to Grace. “Just as I thought.” Grace returned the letter. “Miss Wharton has learned of your sale, Miss Brent. She is very indignant. Are you prepared to tell her what you confided to me?” Grace eyed the girl squarely. “Why should I, Miss Harlowe?” burst forth Jean. “No; I will tell Miss Wharton nothing.” “Nor will I,” was Grace’s quiet rejoinder. “Whatever she learns must come from you. I wrote to Miss Lipton and received a letter from her assuring me that you are not at fault in the matter that made your advent into Overton College a mystery to me. I need no further assurance. Miss Lipton’s school is known to the public as being one of the finest preparatory schools in the United States. If it were Miss Wilder instead of Miss Wharton I should advise you to tell her all. I am so sorry you did not tell us in the beginning. You must do whatever your conscience dictates. If necessary I will show Miss Wharton my letter from Miss Lipton, but I shall not betray your confidence unless you sanction my speaking.” “Please don’t tell her,” begged Jean. “It shall be as you ask,” returned Grace, but she was secretly disappointed at what might be either Jean’s selfishness or her pure inability to see the unpleasantness of the position in which she was placing the young woman who had befriended her. When Grace entered the familiar office and saw Miss Wharton’s dumpy figure occupying her dear Miss Wilder’s place she felt a distinct sinking of the heart. The dean surveyed her out of cold blue eyes, that seemed to Grace to contain a spark of deliberate malice. “Good afternoon, Miss Harlowe,” she said stiffly. As she spoke the door opened and Jean Brent walked calmly in. She bowed to Miss Wharton in a manner as chilly as her own and took a seat at one side of the room. The dean waved Grace to a chair. “Now, young women,” she began in a severe tone, “I wish a full explanation of this disgraceful sale that recently took place at Harlowe House. I will first ask you, Miss Brent if you had Miss Harlowe’s permission to conduct it?” “No. She refused to permit it. I held it in her absence,” answered Jean, defiance blazing in her blue eyes. “I see; a clear case of disobedience. What was your object in holding it?” “I needed money. I lost the greater part of my money on the train when I came to Overton.” “Why did you need money?” Miss Wharton exhibited a lawyer-like persistency. “To pay my college fees,” Jean made prompt answer. “But how could a girl with a wardrobe as complete and expensive as yours—I have been informed that it was remarkable—be in need of money to pay her expenses, or obliged to live in a charitable institution, as I believe Harlowe House is?” “You are mistaken. Harlowe House is not a charitable institution!” Grace Harlowe’s voice vibrated with indignation. “I beg your pardon,” she apologized in the next instant. Miss Wharton glared angrily at her for fully a minute. Then, ignoring the interruption and the protest, turned again to Jean. “I cannot answer your question,” Jean spoke with quiet composure. “You mean you will not answer it,” retorted the dean. “I have nothing to say that you would care to hear.” Jean’s lips set in the stubborn line that signified no yielding. Miss Wharton turned to Grace. “You have heard what this young woman says. Can you answer the question I asked Miss Brent?” “The answer to the question must come from Miss Brent,” replied Grace with gentle evasion. “Miss Harlowe, you have not answered me.” Miss Wharton was growing angrier. “I insist upon knowing the details of this affair from beginning to end. Miss Brent’s conduct has been contrary to all the traditions of Overton.” “That is perfectly true,” admitted Grace. “Then if you know it to be true, why do you evade my question? It will be infinitely better for you to be frank with me. I am greatly displeased with you and the reports I hear of Harlowe House. I assured Miss Wilder, when first I met you, that I doubted President Morton’s and her judgment in allowing you to hold a position of such great responsibility. You are too young, too frivolous. I am informed that Harlowe House is almost Bohemian in its character.” “Then you have been misinformed.” Cut to the heart, Grace spoke with a dignity that was not to be denied. “Harlowe House is conducted on the strictest principles of law and order. We try to be a well-regulated household, upholding the high standard of Overton. If it had not been for two of my friends and I, Mrs. Gray would never have given it to the college, and thirty-four girls would have missed obtaining a college education. Miss Wilder believed in me. She trusted me. I regret that you do not. Regarding Miss Brent, I have received ample assurance of her honesty of purpose from Miss Lipton, the head of the Lipton Preparatory School for Girls. Miss Lipton and I are in possession of certain facts concerning Miss Brent which enable us to understand her peculiar position here. I regret, beyond all words, that Miss Brent did not confide in me before having the sale of her clothing. I do not condone her fault, but I am sure that in her anxiety to do what was best for herself she did not intend deliberately to defy me. Here is a letter from Miss Lipton which I wish you to read.” In her vexation Miss Wharton almost snatched the letter from Grace’s hand. There was a tense stillness in the room while she read it. Jean kept her gaze steadily turned from Grace. At last the dean looked up from the letter. “This letter is, by no means, an explanation, although I am well aware of the excellent reputation Miss Lipton’s school bears. What I am determined to have are the facts of this affair. If I can prevail upon neither of you to speak them I shall place the matter before President Morton and the Board of Trustees of Overton College.” Her threat met with no response from either young woman. “Before taking the matter up with President Morton, however, I shall give both of you an opportunity to reflect upon the folly of your present course. Within a few days I shall send for you again. If then you still continue to defy me I will take measures to have you, Miss Harlowe, removed from your charge of Harlowe House as being unfit for the responsibility, while you, Miss Brent, will be expelled from Overton College for disobedience and insubordination. That will do for this morning.” Miss Wharton dismissed them with a peremptory gesture. The two young women passed out of the room in silence. Once outside Overton Hall, Jean turned impulsively to Grace: “I am sorry, Miss Harlowe, but I couldn’t tell that horrid woman what I told you. She would neither understand me nor sympathize with me. I know you think I should have explained everything.” Grace could not trust herself to answer. Humiliated to the last degree by Miss Wharton’s bald injustice, she felt as though she wished never to see or hear of Jean Brent again. It was not until they were half way across the campus that she found her voice. She was dimly surprised at the resentment in her tones. “You chose your own course, Miss Brent, regardless of what I thought. That course has not only involved you in serious difficulty, but me as well. If you had obeyed me in the beginning, I would not be leaving Miss Wharton’s office this afternoon, under a cloud. I quite agree with you, however, that to tell Miss Wharton your secret now would not help matters. I must leave you here. I am going on to Wayne Hall.” With a curt inclination of her head, Grace walked away, leaving Jean standing in the middle of the campus, looking moodily after her. <hr class="major" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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