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Grace Harlowe's Problem

<h2>CHAPTER XXIII</h2><h3>GRACE SOLVES HER PROBLEM</h3> Grace waited impatiently for an answer to her letter of resignation. She expected hourly a summons to President Morton’s office, but it did not come. It was now six days since Jean Brent’s interview with Miss Wharton. Surely the dean had long since executed her threat to humiliate and depose Grace from the position of which she had been so proud. Then why did not President Morton take action at once and end this torturing suspense? Grace could not answer this question. She could only wonder and wait. But while she wondered and waited Kathleen West was leaving no stone unturned. In the championing of Grace’s rights she did nothing by halves. The very next morning after receiving Miss Wilder’s telegram she marched boldly into President Morton’s office for a private interview with that dignified gentleman. Her newspaper experience had taught her how to gain an audience with the most difficult persons. She had little trouble in obtaining admittance to the president’s private office. It was a long interview, lasting, at least, a half hour, and when Kathleen rose to go President Morton shook her hand and bowed her out in his most amiable manner. From Overton Hall she went directly to the telegraph office and sent another telegram. This time it was addressed to Mrs. Rose Gray, Oakdale, N.Y., and read: “Come to Overton, but fix arrival Friday. Grace needs you. Serious. Wire train. Meet you. Kathleen West.” By five o’clock that afternoon she had received this answer: “Arrive Friday, 9.20 p.m. Arrange for me, Tourraine. Rose Gray,” and was triumphantly showing it to Patience Eliot and planning her work of vindication in Grace’s behalf. But while her friends were busying themselves in her cause Grace was engaged in packing her two trunks and arranging her affairs at Harlowe House. So far as she knew, Emma Dean and Jean Brent, alone, were aware of what was about to happen. Jean, whose fate still hung in the balance, went about looking pale and forlorn. Being in Kathleen’s confidence, Evelyn had not informed her roommate of the secret work that was being done in behalf of Grace. She understood that Jean was suffering acutely, and longed to tell her that all promised well for Grace, but not for worlds would she have betrayed Kathleen’s confidence. Emma Dean had learned of the mailing of Grace’s resignation from Grace herself when she had returned to Harlowe House late that same evening. For once her flow of cheer had failed her, and she had broken down and cried disconsolately. For the next two days she had been unconsolable. Her bitterness against Miss Wharton was so great that it distressed Grace, who sought in vain to comfort her. But on Monday afternoon she returned from her classes in a lighter, more cheerful frame of mind. In fact as the week progressed she appeared to have thrown off her sorrow and was as funny as ever. Grace tried to be honestly glad that Emma’s sorrow had been so short-lived, but she could not help feeling a little hurt to think that Emma, of all persons, should forget so quickly. Once or twice Emma caught the half reproachful gaze of her gray eyes, and had hard work to refrain from telling Grace that the hateful shadow was soon to be lifted. For Emma and Kathleen West had had a private confab, during which both girls had laughed and cried and laughed again in a most irrational manner. So the week wore away, and Friday came and went, leaving Grace still waiting and dreading. If she had happened to pass the Hotel Tourraine at twenty-five minutes to ten on Friday evening she would have seen a taxicab drive up to the entrance and a sprightly, little old lady step out of it, assisted by a keen-faced, black-eyed young woman, who took her by the arm and hurried her into the hotel. And if she had been on the station platform when the 11.40 train from the west pulled in she would have eagerly welcomed the stately dark-eyed woman who signaled a taxicab and drove off up College Avenue. Saturday morning dawned, clear and radiant. The glad light of early summer streamed in upon Grace. For a brief space she forgot her sorrows as she knelt at the open window and drank in the pure morning air. Then one by one they came back. She wondered whether the same sun were shining on Tom, far away in the jungle, and if he were well, and sometimes thought of her. How happy she might have made him and herself if only she had not been so blind. Through the bitterness of being found wanting she had come to realize what a wonderful thing it was to be truly loved. Never had the love of her parents and friends for her seemed so sacred. And how beautiful, how steadfast, Tom’s affection for her had been! With a sigh she turned her thoughts away from that lost happiness. Now came the old torturing question, “Would the summons come to-day?” She was still brooding over it when she went downstairs to breakfast. Stopping in her office, she hastily went over her mail. It was with a sense of desperate relief that she separated an envelope, bearing the letter head of Overton College from the little pile of letters on the slide of her desk, and opened it. It was from President Morton, and merely stated that he wished her to call at his office at eleven o’clock that morning. With the letter in her hand, Grace entered the dining-room. She intended to show it to Emma, but the latter, who had risen early on account of some special work she wished to do, had eaten a hasty breakfast and departed. Grace slipped the letter into her blouse and made a pretense of eating breakfast. But she had lost all appetite for food. After sipping part of a cup of coffee she rose from the table and, returning to her office, opened the rest of her mail. Under any circumstances but those of the present her letters would have delighted her. There was one from Eleanor Savelli, written from her father’s villa in Italy, a long lively one from Nora, containing a breezy account of Oakdale doings, and a still longer letter from Anne. There was one from Julia Crosby, and an extremely funny note from J. Elfreda Briggs, describing a visit she had recently made to the night court. One by one she read them, then laid them aside with an indifference born of suffering. If only there had been one for her in Tom’s clear, bold handwriting. But it was useless to linger, even for a moment, over what might have been. Grace gathered up her letters and, locking them in her desk, went upstairs, with slow, dragging steps, to dress for her call upon President Morton. It was three minutes to eleven when a slim, erect figure walked up the steps of Overton Hall. Grace wore a smartly tailored suit of white serge, white buckskin shoes, white kid gloves and a white hemp hat trimmed with curved white quills. The lining of the hat bore the name of a famous maker. She had taken a kind of melancholy pride in her toilet that morning, and the result was all that she could have wished. Unconsciously the immaculate purity of her costume bespoke the pure, high, steadfast soul which looked out from her gray eyes. As she paused at the door for a moment, her hand on the knob, she experienced something of the thrill of a martyr, about to die for a sacred cause. Then she opened the door. For an instant she stood as though transfixed. Was she dreaming, or could she actually believe her own eyes? A sudden faintness seized her. Everything turned dark. She swayed slightly, then with a little sobbing cry of, “Fairy Godmother! Miss Wilder!” she ran straight into Mrs. Gray’s outstretched arms. That throbbing, wistful cry brought the tears to Miss Wilder’s eyes, while President Morton took off his glasses and wiped them with his handkerchief. Great tears were rolling down Mrs. Gray’s cheeks which she made no effort to hide. “My little girl,” she said brokenly. “How dared that dreadful woman treat you so shabbily?” It was at least ten minutes before the three women could settle down to the exchanging of questions and explanations. President Morton, the soul of old-fashioned courtesy, beamed his approval on them. “Now my dear,” said Miss Wilder at last, “I wish you to begin at the very beginning of this affair, and tell us just what has happened.” Grace began with the coming of Jean Brent to Overton and of her refusal to be frank concerning her affairs. Then she went on to the sale of her wardrobe which Jean had conducted in her absence and her final revelation of her secret to Grace after the latter had commanded it. Then she told of her promise to Jean not to betray her secret and of the summons sent them by Miss Wharton, to come to her office. “But what was this secret, Grace?” questioned Miss Wilder gravely. “We have the right to know.” The color flooded Grace’s pale face. She hesitated, then with an impulsive, “Of course you have the right to know,” she went on, “Jean Brent’s father and mother died when she was a child. She was brought up by an aunt who is very rich. This aunt gave her everything in the world she wanted but one thing. She would not allow Jean to go to college. She did not believe in the higher education for girls. She believed that a young girl should learn French, music and deportment at a boarding school. Then when she was graduated she must marry and settle down. One of the friends of Jean’s aunt had a son who was in love with Jean. He had been babied by his mother until he had grown to be a hateful, worthless young man, and Jean despised him. Her aunt told her that she could take her choice between marrying this young man or leaving her house forever. She gave Jean a week to decide. Then she went into the country to spend a week end with this young man’s mother at their country place. She thought because Jean was utterly dependent upon her that she would not dare to defy her. “Jean had a little money of her own, so she packed her trunks while her aunt was away and went to Grafton to talk things over with Miss Lipton, who has known her since she was a baby. She was a dear friend of Jean’s mother. As Jean was of age she had the right to choose her own way of life. Miss Lipton knew all about Overton College and Harlowe House, so she wrote me and applied for admission for Miss Brent. I had room for one more girl, and I considered Miss Lipton’s recommendation sufficient to admit Miss Brent to Harlowe House. Naturally I was displeased when she disobeyed me and held the sale. Still I do not consider that her offense warrants dismissal.” “Miss Brent will not be expelled from college,” emphasized President Morton. “What I cannot understand is Miss Wharton’s unjust attitude toward you. Surely she could readily see that you were not at fault,” cried Mrs. Gray in righteous indignation. Miss Wilder, too, shook her head in disapproval of Miss Wharton’s course of action. President Morton looked stern for a moment. Then his face relaxed. He turned to Grace with a reassuring smile that told its own story. “Miss Harlowe,” he said, looking kindly at Grace, “it has always been my principle to uphold the members of the faculty in their decisions for or against a student, if these decisions are fair and just. I am convinced, however, that you have received most unjust treatment at Miss Wharton’s hands. Therefore I am going to tell you in strict confidence that Miss Wharton has not filled the requirements for dean demanded by the Overton College Board. On the day I received your letter of resignation I wrote Miss Wharton, asking for her resignation at the close of the college year. I had received a letter from Miss Wilder stating that she would be able to resume her position as dean of this college next October. I had determined to send for you to inquire into your reason for wishing to resign the position you have so ably filled, when I received Miss Wilder’s telegram. At her request I delayed matters until her arrival. Miss West also called at my office in your behalf. I take great pleasure in assuring you that I was prepared to accept any explanation you might make of the charges which Miss Wharton made against you and Miss Brent. In all my experience as president of this institution of learning I have never known a young woman who has carried out so faithfully the traditions of Overton College.” Grace listened to the president’s words with a feeling of joy so deep as to be akin to pain. The shadow had indeed lifted. In the eyes of those whose good opinion she valued so greatly she was worthy of her trust. She never forgot that wonderful morning in President Morton’s office. When at last she left the president and Miss Wilder, to accompany Mrs. Gray back to the Tourraine, she said with shining eyes, “Dear Fairy Godmother, 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 knob 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.” <hr class="minor" /> 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 classes. 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 passed between aunt and niece was not for her ears. She went directly to her room to wait there until Emma came from her classes. She had so much to say to her faithful comrade. In due season Emma appeared with a cheery, “Hello, 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 illustrious 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 Godmother. 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. <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/illus-244.png" alt="Tom’s Strong Hands Closed Over Hers." title="" width-obs="300" height-obs="459" /> Tom’s Strong Hands Closed Over Hers.</div> “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. <hr class="major" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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