“But I’m afraid you might get lost. The blizzard is driving out of the northeast—and that means something in this country. You’ll find it more disagreeable than you think.”
“I’m not afraid to walk in a blizzard,” Dorothy argued, “we used to do it a lot at school—I love it.”
“Oh, very well, then,” went on Mrs. Lawson. “I used to enjoy that sort of thing myself. Somebody had better go with you, though. Let me see—” She hesitated. “Oh, yes—Gretchen will be just the person. She’s a nice little thing—a native of Ridgefield, you know. Gretchen can show you round the place, and there’ll be no chance of your getting lost.”
Dorothy was amused by this pretended concern for her safety. She knew that Mrs. Lawson feared she might take it into her head to walk to the railroad station and board the first train back to town. Gretchen as guide and chaperone would be able to forestall anything like that. Mrs. Lawson was not yet sure of the new secretary!
Dorothy’s features betrayed no sign of her thoughts. “That will be ever so much pleasanter than going alone,” she agreed. “Gretchen seems to be a sweet girl. I saw her this morning when she brought my breakfast and unpacked my clothes. I’m sorry, though, that you can’t come too.” Deception, she found, was becoming a habit when treating with her hostess.
“Thank you, my dear—I’m sorry, too.” Mrs. Lawson went toward the tasselled bell rope that hung beside the fireplace. “Run upstairs now and get into warm things. I’ll ring for Gretchen and have her meet you down here in quarter of an hour.”
Fifteen minutes afterward, warmly dressed in whipcord jodhpurs, a heavy sweater and knee-length leather coat of dark green, Dorothy came out of her room onto the gallery, pulling a white wool skating cap well down over her ears. With a white wool scarf twisted about her throat, the long ends thrown back over her shoulders, she looked ready for any winter sport as she ran lightly down the stairs, the rubber soles of her high arctics making no sound on the broad oaken steps.
Gretchen, well bundled up in sweater and heavy tweed skirt was waiting for her.
“You certainly do look like a picture on a Christmas magazine cover, Miss Jordan,” the girl exclaimed, while they walked to the front door. “I’m glad you’ve got warm gauntlets. It’s mighty cold out—you’ll need them.”
Dorothy laughed gaily and swung open the door. “Nothing could be more becoming than your own costume, Gretchen. That light blue skating set is just the color of your eyes.”