CHAPTER XV
Kathryn Morris had her plans completed, and if the truth were known she had never felt better pleased with herself––and she was not utterly depraved, either.
She was far more the primitive female than was Mary-Clare. She was simply claiming what she devoutly believed was her own; reclaiming it, rather, for she sagely concluded that on this runaway trip Northrup was in great danger and only the faith and love of a good woman could save him! Kathryn believed herself good and noble.
Mary-Clare had her Place in which she had been fed through many lonely, yearning years, but Kathryn had no such sanctuary. The dwelling-places of her fellow creatures were good enough for her and she never questioned the codes that governed them––though sometimes she evaded them!
After her talk with Helen Northrup, Kathryn did a deal of thinking, but she moved cautiously. She had never forgotten the address on Northrup’s letter to his mother and she believed he was still there. She again looked up road maps, located King’s Forest, and made some clever calculations. She could go in the motor. The autumn was just the time for such a trip. It would be easy to satisfy her aunt, Kathryn very well knew. The mere statement that she was going to meet Northrup and return with him would account for everything and relieve the situation existing at present with Sandy Arnold in daily evidence. “And if Brace is not playing in some messy puddle in his old Forest, I can get on his trail from there,” she reasoned secretly.
But, for some uncanny cause, Kathryn was confident that Northrup was at his first address. It was so like him to creep into a hole and be very dramatic and secretive. It was his 185 temperament, Kathryn felt, and she steeled herself against him.
On the morning that Northrup staggered over the rubbish of Hunter’s Point toward Twombley’s, Kathryn took her place in her limousine––her nice little travelling bag at her feet––and viewed with complacency the back of her Japanese chauffeur who had absorbed and digested all her directions and would be, henceforth, a well-oiled, safe-running part of the machinery, without curiosity or opinions.
They stopped for luncheon at a comfortable road-house, rested for an hour, and then went on. It was mid-afternoon when the yellow house at the crossroads made its appeal to be questioned.
“I’ll run in and ask the way,” Kathryn explained, and slowly went up to the door that once opened so humorously to Northrup’s touch. Again the door responded, and a bit startled, Kathryn found herself in the presence of a dull-faced girl seated by the table apparently doing nothing.
“I beg your pardon. Really, I did knock––the door just opened.” Kathryn was confused and stepped back.