“Well,” Hilda looked concerned, “I could see the girl this afternoon and change the date.” She smiled engagingly at Louise.
“Of course you will,” Louise agreed, answering the smile. “You see I know you, Hilda Moore.”
“But I wouldn’t do it for any one else except Miss Harlowe or Miss Dean,” was Hilda’s positive assertion. “Mercy, look at the time! I’ll have to run for it if I expect to reach the office before Miss Wilder. Good-bye.”
Hilda was gone like a flash, leaving Louise to stare contemplatively at the notice. As the president for the year of the Harlowe House Club she felt deeply her responsibility. She had been unanimously elected at the club’s first meeting, greatly to her surprise.
Louise Sampson was perhaps better fitted to be president of the Harlowe House Club than any other member of that interesting household. Emma and Grace had agreed upon the point when, before the election, the former’s name had been mentioned as a probable candidate. This thought sprang again to Grace’s mind as she came from her office and saw Louise still standing before the bulletin board, apparently deep in thought. She turned at the sound of Grace’s step.
“Oh, Miss Harlowe!” she exclaimed. “I do hope our meeting to-night will be a success. Surely some one will have a real live idea for the club to act upon.”
“Thirty-four heads are better than one,” smiled Grace. “There is inspiration in numbers.”
“We did wonderfully well with the caramels last year, and this year I believe they will be more popular than ever. We made twice as many as usual last Saturday, and sold them all. We were obliged to disappoint quite a number of girls, too. Our little bank account is growing slowly but surely. Still there are certainly other things we can do to earn money, collectively and individually. Really I mustn’t get started on the subject. It is time I went to my chemistry recitation. You’ll be at the meeting to-night, won’t you, Miss Harlowe? We couldn’t get along without you.”
A faint flush rose to Grace’s cheeks at Louise’s parting remark. How wonderful it was to feel that one was really useful. Yes; the thirty-four girls under her care really needed her. They needed her far more than did Tom Gray. Grace frowned a trifle impatiently. She had not intended to allow herself to think of Tom, yet there was something in the expression of Louise Sampson’s gray eyes that reminded her of him. Resolving to put him completely out of her mind, Grace went into the kitchen to consult with the cook concerning the day’s marketing. The postman’s ring, however, caused her to hurry back to her office where the maid was just depositing her morning mail on the slide of her desk.
Her letters were from Anne, Elfreda and her mother, and they filled her with unalloyed pleasure. Her mother’s unselfish words, “I hope my little girl is finding all the happiness life has to offer in her work,” thrilled her. How different was her mother’s attitude from that of Tom Gray. Surely no one could miss her as her mother missed her, yet she had given her up without a murmur, while Tom had protested bitterly against her beloved work and prophesied that some day she would realize that work didn’t mean everything in life.