It was twenty minutes past eleven o’clock that night when the train reached Overton, and Grace was not sorry to end her long ride. It had been an unusually lonely journey. For the first time in her experience she had made it alone, and without speaking to a person on the train. Then, too, the regret of parting with those she loved still weighed heavily upon her. “I do hope Emma is awake” was her first thought as she crossed the station yard and hailed the solitary taxicab that always met the late New York train, lamenting inwardly that the lateness of the hour and the weight of her luggage prevented her from walking home through the crisp, frosty night, under the stars.
The vestibule light of Harlowe House shone out like a beacon across the still white campus. Grace thrilled with an excess of love and pride at sight of her beloved college home. How much it meant to her, and how sweet it was to feel that her business of life consisted in being of help to others. If she married Tom that meant selfish happiness for they two alone, but as house mother she was of use to seventeen times two persons. “The greatest good to the greatest number,” she whispered, as she slid her latchkey into the lock.
The living room was dark. The girls had long since gone to their rooms. Grace’s feet made no sound on the soft velvet carpet as she hurried up the stairs. A gleam of yellow light from under her door showed that Emma was indeed keeping vigil for her.
“Hooray, Gracious!” greeted Emma as the door closed behind her roommate. She flung her long arms affectionately about Grace and kissed her. “Is it four days or four weeks since I saw you off to New York and returned to my humble cot to wrestle with the job of managing that worthy aggregation known as the Harlowites?”
“I should say it was four hours,” corrected Grace. “Not that I didn’t miss you, dear old comrade. We all missed you. Every last person wished you had come with me, and sent you their best wishes. It was splendid to spend Thanksgiving with Father and Mother, and to see Mrs. Gray and the others. Did you receive my postcard? I wrote you that Hippy and Nora were with us. They gave us a complete surprise.” Grace related further details of her visit, walking about the room and putting away her personal effects as she talked.
As usual Emma had made chocolate and arranged on the center table a tempting little midnight luncheon for the traveler. It was not long until Grace had donned a pretty pale blue negligee and the two friends were seated opposite each other enjoying the spread.
“Now I’ve told you all my news, what about yours?” asked Grace at last.
“I’ve only one tale to tell,” responded Emma dryly, “and that is not a pleasant one. The news of Miss Brent’s sale has traveled about the campus like wildfire. We’ve had a perfect stream of girls coming here. They have conceived the fond idea that Harlowe House is a headquarters for second-hand clothing. I have labored with them to convince them that such is not the case, but still they yearn for the Brent finery. Judging from what I hear, it must have been ‘some’ wardrobe. Pardon my lapse into slang, O, Overton. A number of the teachers have commented on the affair. I’ve been asked several pointed questions.”
“How dreadful!” broke in Grace, her face clouding. “Still I was almost sure something would come of it. That was the reason I forbade Miss Brent to hold a sale when first she proposed it to me. Do you think that Miss Wilder and—Miss Wharton know it?” Grace hesitated before pronouncing the latter’s name.
“Miss Wilder doesn’t know, because she left for California last Saturday.”