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Grace Harlowe's Problem

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<h2>CHAPTER IX</h2><h3>WHAT EVELYN HEARD ON THE CAMPUS</h3> “Ha! Whom have we here?” declaimed Emma Dean, pointing dramatically, as Grace opened the door and stepped into their room. One look at Grace’s sensitive face was sufficient. Emma had lived close to her friend too long not to know the signs of dejection in the features that usually shone with hope and cheerfulness. “Advance and show your countersign,” she commanded. “I haven’t any,” returned Grace soberly. “Spoken like a brigadier general who doesn’t need one,” retorted Emma. “You are just in time to hear my terrible tale. <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> “Oh, a terrible tale I have to tell Of the terrible fate that once befell A teacher of English who once resided In the same recitation room that I did,” </div> </div> she rendered tunefully. The shadow disappeared like magic from Grace’s face. “Now what have you done, you funny girl?” she asked, her sad face breaking into smiles. Emma was irresistible. “It is not what I have done, but what I might have done. What was it Whittier said in ‘Maud Muller’?” <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> “There’s really no one under the sun Can blame you for what you might have done,” </div> </div> paraphrased Emma briskly. Grace giggled outright. “Poor Whittier,” she sympathized. “Don’t pity him,” objected Emma. “Pity me for what nearly happened to me. The illustrious name of Dean came within a little of traveling about Overton attached to a funny story, which I will now relate for your sole edification. You remember that pile of themes I brought home on Tuesday?” Grace nodded. “Well, I finished them last night and wrapped them up ready to take back to the classroom to-day. They made a good-sized bundle, because I had collected them from all my classes. This morning I was in a hurry, so I picked up my bundle and ran. I always like to be in my classroom in good season. But fate was against me, for I met Miss Dutton, that new assistant in Greek, and she stopped me to ask me numerous questions, as she is fain to do unless one sees her first, and from afar off enough to suddenly change one’s course and miss her. Consequently I marched into my room to find my class assembled. I assumed a dignity which I didn’t feel, for I hate being late, and laid my bundle of themes on my desk. Every eye was fixed reprovingly upon me. I had said so much against straggling into class late, yet here I had committed that very crime. I untied my bundle and was just going to open it when that black-eyed Miss Atherton asked me a question. I answered the question, my eyes on her, my fingers folding back the paper. I reached for my themes and my hand closed over cloth instead of paper. A positive chill went up and down my spine. I gave one horrified glance at the supposed theme and poked it out of sight in a hurry. Another second and I would have offered some one my white linen skirt in full view of my class. Instead of themes I had brought my clean laundry to English IV.” “Oh, Emma!” gasped Grace mirthfully. “You’re not a bit sympathetic,” declared Emma with pretended severity. How Elfreda would love that tale. She would revel in the vision of Emma Dean solemnly proffering her linen skirt to an unsuspecting class. “I declare, Emma, you have driven away the blues.” “Have I?” inquired Emma with guileful innocence. It was precisely what she had intended to do. “What is troubling you, Gracious?” “I can’t endure the thought of losing Miss Wilder. I went to see her this morning and met Miss Wharton. I——” “Don’t like her,” finished Emma calmly. “No, I don’t,” returned Grace, with sudden vigor, “but how did you know it?” “Because I don’t like her, either. I was introduced to her yesterday afternoon in Miss Wilder’s office. I didn’t tell you, because I wished you to form your own impression of her, first hand.” “She was positively rude to me, Emma. She made me feel like a little girl. She said I looked more like a student than a person in charge of a campus house.” “I agree with her,” was Emma’s bland reply. “You might easily be taken for a freshman.” “But she didn’t mean it in the nice way that you do,” said Grace. “I hope she never comes to inspect Harlowe House. She will be sure to find fault.” “She’ll have to make a sharp search,” predicted Emma. “We won’t worry about it until she comes, will we? Now, what else is on your mind?” “The Riddle,” admitted Grace. She related what she had heard from Kathleen regarding the sale. “H-m-m!” was Emma’s dry response. “They took good care that I shouldn’t hear of it.” “I’m so sorry Evelyn lent herself to something she knew would displease me,” mourned Grace. “Perhaps she didn’t. I know for a certainty that she wasn’t in the house Saturday afternoon, for I met her on the campus and she told me that she was going to take luncheon and spend the afternoon with Althea Parker.” “She must have known about it.” “I am afraid the news of this sale will travel rapidly,” prophesied Emma. “Not only will Miss Brent be talked over, but you also will be criticized. You know I advised you, not long ago, to insist that Miss Brent make a full explanation of things. Take my advice and see her at once.” “I will,” decided Grace. “I’ll have a talk with her after dinner to-night.” Grace was not the only one, however, to whom the news of the sale came as a shock. Strangely enough Evelyn learned of it during the afternoon of the same day in which it had come to Grace’s ears. Her attention had been attracted to a smart black and white check coat which Edna Correll, a very plain freshman who tried to make up in extreme dressing what she lacked in beauty, was wearing. In crossing the campus on her way to Harlowe House she had encountered Edna in company with another freshman. For an instant she had wondered why the sight of the black and white coat which Edna wore seemed so strangely familiar. Then it had dawned upon her that it was identical with a coat belonging to Jean. “How do you like my new coat?” had been Edna’s salutation, and Evelyn had replied. “It’s wonderfully smart. Miss Brent has one very much like it.” “She had one, you mean,” Edna had corrected. “Why, weren’t you at the sale last Saturday! I suppose you selected what you wanted beforehand. That is where you had the advantage.” “What sale?” Evelyn had asked, completely mystified. Then explanations had followed. White with suppressed anger, Evelyn had bade Edna a hasty good-bye and sped across the campus toward Harlowe House. Without a word she brushed by the maid who answered the bell, and rushed upstairs as fast as she could run. The temper which she had tried so hard to control was now at a high pitch. How dared Jean deliberately place her in such an unpleasant position when she was trying so hard to be worthy of Miss Harlowe’s confidence? She flung open the door of her room. Then her eyes sought and found Jean standing before the wardrobe, her back to the door, a pair of black satin slippers in her hand. “How could you do it?” burst forth Evelyn. “You know Miss Harlowe forbade it. Now she will think that I knew all about it. Just when I am trying to merit her confidence.” Jean Brent whirled about. Her blue eyes flashed. One of the slippers she held in her hand swished through the air and landed with a thud against the opposite wall. The wave of anger with which she faced Evelyn was like the sudden sweep of a gale of wind out of a clear sky. The other slipper followed the first one. Then the doors of the wardrobe were slammed shut with a force that caused it to shake. To Evelyn it was as though a strong current of air had blown upon her. Here, indeed was a temper that outranked her own. “What right have you to speak to me in such a tone?” raged Jean. “You have nothing to say as to what I shall or shall not do. I won’t pretend I don’t know what you mean. I do know. I don’t in the least care what you think about it, either. My clothes are mine to do with just whatever I please. If Miss Harlowe imagines I am going to be a servant to half the girls at Overton for the sake of earning my fees she is mistaken. Why should she or any one else object to my selling my things, if I like? I don’t see how you found it out. The girls promised to keep the whole affair to themselves. I don’t understand why you should be so concerned, or what it has to do with Miss Harlowe’s opinion of you. From what you say I might almost assume that there had been a time when you were not to be trusted.” Evelyn’s beautiful face was crimson with anger and humiliation. She longed to answer Jean’s arraignment with a flood of words as bitter as her own, but her determined effort of months to rule her spirit now bore fruit. “I’m sorry I spoke so abruptly,” she said coldly. “I just heard about the sale from Miss Correll. You were quite right in what you said. There was a time when I could not be trusted. My trouble was about clothes, too. Miss Harlowe helped me find my self-respect again, and this year I am trying very hard to be an Overton girl in the truest sense of the word. I am telling you this in confidence because I wish you to understand why Miss Harlowe’s good opinion is so dear to me.” “You can go and tell her that you knew nothing about the sale,” muttered Jean sullenly. Something in Evelyn’s frank confession had made her feel a trifle ashamed of herself. Evelyn’s violet eyes grew scornful. “How can you suggest such a thing?” she asked. It was Jean’s turn to blush. “Forgive me,” she said penitently. “I know you aren’t a tell-tale. If she asks me about the sale, be sure I’ll exonerate you.” Evelyn shook her head. “I wish you’d go to her, Jean, and tell her what you have done. Sooner or later she is sure to find it out.” But Jean Brent was in no mood for this advice. It caused her anger to blaze afresh. “There you go again,” she blustered, “with your goody-goody advice to me about running to Miss Harlowe with every little thing I do. I hope I’m not such a baby. If Miss Harlowe sends for me, don’t think for a minute that I’ll be afraid to face her, but until she does send for me I am not going to concern myself about it, and I would advise you not to trouble yourself, either.” With this succinct advice Jean made a fresh onslaught on the unoffending wardrobe. Opening it she seized her hat and coat. With a last reverberating slam of its long-suffering doors she turned her back on it and Evelyn, and switched defiantly out of the room and on out of the house. <hr class="major" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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