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Grace Harlowe's Problem

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<h2>CHAPTER XXII</h2><h3>FIGHTING LOYALHEART’S BATTLE</h3> The revue was an unqualified success. Greek Hall was filled to overflowing, and the money fairly poured into the box office for the Harlowe House fund. There was a general rejoicing the next day among the performers, and the same night a social session was held in the living room at Harlowe House. To Grace it seemed as though she had been wafted back once more to the dear dead days when the Sempers had held forth. The presence of Arline and Elfreda was the last touch needed to complete the illusion, and she went about her work feeling happier than she had for a long time. Even the shadow cast upon her heart by Tom’s absence seemed less gloomy. But on the heels of her brief elation trod disaster. Miss Wharton had chosen to become highly incensed because she had not been consulted in regard to the holding of the entertainment, and the long-suspended sword fell. The revue had been given on Wednesday evening, and on Friday morning Jean had received a note summoning her to Miss Wharton’s office. This time Miss Wharton intended to interview the two young women separately. She believed that Jean would reveal what she had hitherto kept a secret if Grace were not present. With unreasonable prejudice she chose to place the brunt of Jean’s refusal to speak upon Grace’s shoulders. Jean obeyed the summons and came away from Overton Hall with a white, set face. Almost the first person she encountered on the campus was Evelyn, who was hurrying to one of her classes, and in her anguish of mind she poured forth the whole bitter story to her roommate. “Oh, Jean, why didn’t you tell me this before,” cried Evelyn. “I never knew until the night of the dress rehearsal that things were not going smoothly for Miss Harlowe. Kathleen West told me in confidence that something was wrong, and asked me to find out anything I could concerning it and let her know. We must go straight to her and tell her everything. She can help us if any one can. Just for once I’ll cut my English recitation. Come on. Oh, I do hope Kathleen is at home.” But Kathleen was not at Wayne Hall, and after some parleying the two girls concluded to wait until she returned from her classes to her luncheon. It was ten o’clock when they rang the bell of the college house where Grace had spent four happy years, and for the next hour and a half they waited in an agony of suspense. When Kathleen arrived they hurried her off to her room and proceeded to acquaint her with all the facts in their possession concerning the misfortune so soon to overtake Grace. Kathleen listened to them without comment. When they had finished talking she asked one sharp question, “Do you know Miss Wilder’s address?” Neither girl knew it, but Evelyn was seized with a bright idea. “Hilda Moore knows it. I am sure she does.” “Then hurry to Overton Hall and get it from her,” ordered Kathleen. “I’m going to send a telegram. Are you sure Miss Wharton hasn’t sent for Grace yet?” “Yes, yes. She said she intended to send for Miss Harlowe to-morrow morning. Evidently she has a reason of her own for not sending for her to-day,” was Jean’s eager response. “But she is going to report us to President Morton and the Board within the next day or so.” “Good-bye. I’ll be back directly.” Evelyn dashed out of the room and down the stairs on her errand. Twenty minutes later she returned. “Here it is,” she handed it to the newspaper girl. Kathleen had not taken off her hat since her arrival at Wayne Hall. “Come on, girls,” she said. “You must go home and have your luncheon. Just leave everything to me. I think I can promise Miss Wharton a surprise.” “What did she say to you, Jean?” asked Evelyn as they left Kathleen at the corner, headed for the telegraph office, and went on to Harlowe House. “What didn’t she say. She is going to send me away if she can. I told her everything, but it only made matters worse. I said over and over again that Miss Harlowe was not to blame, but she grew harder every minute. How I despise her.” Jean shuddered with disgust. “All this is merely an excuse to oust Miss Harlowe. Why she doesn’t like her, goodness knows. What is Miss West going to do, I wonder?” “Telegraph Miss Wilder for one thing. Still, she can’t write or come here in time to save Miss Harlowe,” declared Evelyn. “Hilda knows about it. She said Miss Wharton dictated a perfectly horrid letter to Mrs. Gray, too, about Miss Harlowe this morning.” “Oh, dear,” half sobbed Jean. “It’s dreadful, and it’s all my fault.” Evelyn did not answer. She could not help feeling that Jean deserved this bitter moment. “Shall you tell Miss Harlowe?” asked Evelyn as they hurriedly ascended the steps. Jean nodded. When they entered the dining room, for luncheon they learned to their utter consternation that Grace had gone for the day to visit a classmate in Westbrook and would not return until after dinner that night. In the meantime Kathleen West had hurried to the telegraph office and despatched the following message to Miss Wilder. “Wire President Morton, delay action, charges made by Miss Wharton against Grace Harlowe, until word from you. Letter will follow. Answer. Kathleen West.” “There,” she chuckled when she heard the tap of the operator’s machine, “that will help a little. Never mind the expense.” She was late to luncheon, and therefore missed Patience, but toward the close of the afternoon they met, and Kathleen took her into her confidence. All evening the two girls remained in the living room listening intently for the ring of the bell that might mean an answer to Kathleen’s urgent message. At ten minutes to nine Kathleen said wearily. “It’s too late to hear to-night. The telegraph office closes at nine o’clock. The answer will come in the morning.” Even as she spoke, the door bell rang loudly. Pale and trembling with suspense, she herself answered the door. Hastily signing the messenger boy’s book she closed the door on his retreating back and returned to the living room, nervously tearing open the envelope as she walked. Then she cried out in surprise. “What is it?” questioned Patience in alarm. Kathleen held out to her the disquieting bit of yellow paper. “Don’t be frightened. It’s good news. See.” Patience read over her shoulder. “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. <hr class="minor" /> 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 snatched from her. The soft beauty of the spring night coupled with the ordeal through which she had just passed 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. <hr class="major" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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