I
Miss Reynolds called Grace on the telephone a week after Kemp’s death and with her usual kindly peremptoriness demanded that Grace dine with her the following night.
“I went away unexpectedly and didn’t have a chance to let you know. I’ve got something I want to talk to you about—just you and me. Please come!”
Grace was ashamed not to manifest more cordiality in accepting the invitation but she was beset by fears lest Miss Reynolds was seizing the first possible moment to question her as to her singular conduct at the door on the afternoon when she had gone to the house with Trenton. And that seemed long ago, hidden by the black wall of an impenetrable past.
Miss Reynolds called for her at Shipley’s at the closing hour and greeted her as though nothing had happened. She had been summoned to Baltimore on business, she explained. She talked in her brisk fashion throughout the dinner,—of impersonal matters, not mentioning the Trentons at all until they were settled in the living room.
“After all, I think I prefer plain bread-and-butter people—plain folks. A woman traveling with a maid and pretending to be keen about poor suffering humanity seems to me a good deal of a joke. Mrs. Trenton did one thing for me though and I ought to be grateful for that,—she sent me scampering back to the conservatives! I’d been just a little infected with some of these new ideas, but after having that woman in my house two days and hearing her talk and seeing how fussy she is about her personal comfort, I’m for hanging on to the old fogy notions a while longer.”
As Miss Reynolds continued her dissection of Mrs. Trenton’s social program, Grace felt suddenly a strong impulse to tell her friend the whole story of her acquaintance with Trenton. In a way Miss Reynolds had a right to know. She waited, wondering how she could begin and what her friend would say, when Miss Reynolds said in her characteristically abrupt fashion:
“Look here, little girl, you’ve got something on your mind; you haven’t been listening to me at all! You needn’t be afraid of me; I’m a queer old person but sometimes I do understand. I wouldn’t force your confidence; you know that,—but—why you dear child!”
Grace’s eyes had filled with tears. Miss Reynolds crossed to her quickly.
“How clumsy I am! I wouldn’t hurt you for worlds, dear!”
She sat down on a stool at Grace’s feet and drew the girl’s hands into her own.
“Poor dear heart,” she murmured softly. “It’s an awful big old world and little girls do sometimes get hurt—and lost. Maybe you’d like me to call the car and take you for a drive.”
“No; I want to tell you; I’ve got to tell you. But I’m afraid if I do——”
“You couldn’t tell me anything that would make me stop loving you,” Miss Reynolds replied gently....
Grace spared herself in nothing. She told the whole story, told it as a child might confess a grievous fault at a mother’s knee, described the spirit of revolt in which she had thought to ignore the old barriers, scorned the safeguards that had offered protection, exulted in her freedom. And now, appalled by the consequences of her treason she found herself defenceless, groping for the support of the very wall that she had contemptuously disregarded. Her day of rebellion was past; she was now eager to be received again into the ancient citadel.
“I think,” she said finally, “that that’s all.”
Then for the first time Miss Reynolds looked up at her. Her eyes were wet.
“Dear little girl,” she began and then was silent for a time, gently stroking the girl’s hands.
“I guessed there was something wrong, of course,” she went on, “when I met you in the hall that day. When I went in I saw right away that my interruption was unfortunate. But Mrs. Trenton very calmly introduced me to her husband. We talked a moment and he left. As he went out he merely bowed to her without saying anything. He struck me as being a gentleman—none of the look of a dissolute person, certainly a handsome man—a high-bred look and air.”
“Oh, tell me you saw the fineness, the nobility in him! I couldn’t bear to have you hate him!”
“Why, no, I don’t hate him. I’m only sorry for both of you! But—I don’t think you quite understand—well, that as individuals we are responsible to those who have prior claims upon our consideration. For the sake of happiness to the greater number we must often give up our own happiness. Many beautiful and noble women have done that.”
“Oh, I love him! I love him so!” moaned the girl.
“Yes, I believe you do, dear. It’s pitiful—the whole thing. Be sure I feel for you; I want to help you.”
Miss Reynolds rose and took a turn across the room.
“It’s in his favor that he realized the thing couldn’t go on; that for your sake it had to stop. That woman might easily ruin your life; and of course she has the right on her side.”
“Yes,—yes, I know. I’ve no justification at all except—except—I love him.”
“Yes, I understand. I believe you truly love him; but now its my business as your friend to urge you to forget. I realize that it won’t be easy. It would simplify matters if you could go away,—see other people, develop new interests.”
“Yes; I’d thought of that,” Grace replied. “But I can’t leave home; there are difficulties; it wouldn’t be kind.”
“No; I understand that. But that brings me to the matter I asked you here to talk about. I want to equip a house which self-supporting young women can manage entirely by themselves with the fewest possible restrictions, not an institution—I hate the word—but a club. You notice I’m not smoking!” Miss Reynolds smiled. “Well, Mrs. Trenton cured me of that; she left me bored with the whole business of being an emancipated woman. I’ve got the idea that the house I propose can set a standard of morals and manners—something that will be good for the whole community. But there mustn’t be a lot of restrictions. I want the girls who live there to use it as though it were their own home. I have every confidence that they’ll make a happy household with just a little sympathy and encouragement, and,” she smiled, “I hope—my example!”
“It’s perfectly wonderful!” cried Grace. “And it’s just like you!”
“Humph! It’s perfectly selfish on my part; I expect to have a lot of fun getting it started; maybe the girls will let me dig in the garden now and then. There’ll be a garden and tennis courts, and they must have a dance once a week, and I might drop in occasionally.”
“Oh, they’ll adore you!”
“Well, I don’t mean to bother them. There are such houses in New York and Chicago and I’m going to visit them and get all the practical ideas I can before I say anything about it. I need some one to help me collect data and look after the thousand and one details of planning. We’ll call it a secretaryship. Now, Grace,” and Miss Reynolds beamed on her, “will you help me?”
“Why, Miss Reynolds!”
“It might be just what you need right now,” Miss Reynolds went on, ignoring the girl’s questioning, troubled look. “In fact, my dear child, you put the whole idea in my head by things you’ve dropped from time to time about the problems of young business women.”
“But now—since you know——”
“Dear child, it’s knowing that makes me all the more eager to have your help! It’s only people who make mistakes and suffer that really understand. And we’ve got to have some heart in our club! So we’ll call it settled and we’ll go to New York two weeks from today and begin our work.”