Jean stood staring at Grace. A look of stubborn resolve crept into her face. Grace, watching her intently, knew what the answer would be. The strange girl opened her lips to speak. Then, obeying her natural impulse to give the other person the greatest possible chance, Grace raised a protesting hand.
“Don’t say you won’t do as I ask, Miss Brent. Take a little time to think over the matter. I am going to give you until after Thanksgiving to decide whether or not you will trust me. Remember my sole desire is to help you.”
For the first time Grace’s sweet earnestness seemed to awaken a responsive chord in the heart of the obstinate freshman. The ready color dyed her cheeks crimson. The hard, defiant light left her eyes.
“If only she would tell me now and have it over with,” thought Grace, noting the signs of softening on Jean’s part. The girl appeared to be considering Grace’s proposal in the spirit in which it had been made. Then, all in an instant, she changed. It was as though she had suddenly recalled something disagreeable.
“There is really no use in waiting until after Thanksgiving for my answer. I can’t tell you. I suppose you will send me away because I won’t tell you, but if I did tell you, you would send me away just the same. So you see it doesn’t really make much difference. It was silly in me to come here. I might have known better,” she ended with a mirthless smile.
Grace regarded Jean with growing annoyance. She had been offered a chance to explain herself and she had refused it. True, Grace could also refuse to allow her to remain a member of Harlowe House, but this she did not wish to do. Her pride whispered to her that among the girls who were enrolled as members of the household, made possible by Mrs. Gray’s generosity, there had been no failures. Jean Brent should not be the first. She would bear with her a little longer.
“I repeat, Miss Brent,” she said, “that I do not wish you to answer me until after Thanksgiving. Then, if you decide, as I hope you will, to be frank with me, I promise you that I will do my utmost to protect you.”
Jean’s only response was, “Good night, Miss Harlowe.” Then she turned and left the office.
Grace sat poking holes in an unoffending sheet of paper with her lead pencil. She wondered what Jean Brent’s secret could possibly be, and how she could best reach this stubborn, self-centered freshman. And in her wholehearted effort to be of service to the girl, who apparently needed her help, she did not dream that she was laying the cornerstone of a house of trouble for herself.