“Grace Harlowe, you don’t mean it? You’ve always fought valiantly for other girls’ rights, why won’t you fight for your own? The whole affair is ridiculous and unjust. If worse comes to worst you can go before the Board and defend yourself. The members will believe you.”
Grace shook her head sadly, but positively. “I’d never do that, Emma. If it comes to a point where I must fight to be house mother here, then I’d much rather resign. I couldn’t bear to have the story creep about the college that I had even been criticized by the Board. I’ve loved my work so dearly, and I’ve tried so hard to do it wisely that I’d rather give it up and go quietly away, feeling in my heart that I have done my best, than to fight and win at last nothing but a blotted escutcheon. You understand how it is with me, dear old comrade.”
“Grace, it breaks my heart to hear you say such things! You mustn’t talk of going away.” Emma sprang from the chair into which she had dropped and drew Grace into her protecting embrace. Grace’s head was bowed for a moment on Emma’s shoulder.
“Don’t cry, dear,” soothed Emma.
“I’m not crying, Emma. See, I haven’t shed a tear. I did all my crying a while ago.” Grace raised her head and regarded Emma with two dry eyes that were wells of pain. “I have had another shock, too, since I came home. Tom Gray has resigned his position with the Forestry Department at Washington, and has sailed for South America. I—never—thought—he’d—go—away. He isn’t even going to write to me, Emma, and I don’t know when he will come back. Perhaps never. You know how dangerous those South American expeditions are?”
“Poor Gracious,” comforted Emma, “you have had enough sorrows for one day. You need a little cheering up. You and I are not going to eat dinner at Harlowe House to-night. We are going to let Louise Sampson look after things while we go gallivanting down to Vinton’s for a high tea. I’m going to telephone Kathleen and Patience. There will be just four of us, and no more of us to the tea party. They will have to come, engagements or no engagements.”
“I don’t care to see any one to-night, Emma,” pleaded Grace.
“You only think you don’t. Seeing the girls will do you good. If you stay here you’ll brood and grieve all evening.”
“All right, I’ll go; just to please you. I must see Louise and tell her we are going.”
“You stay here. I’ll do all the seeing. Take off your hat and bathe your face. You’ll feel better.” Emma hurried out of the room and up the next flight of stairs to Louise Sampson’s room, thinking only of Grace and how she might best comfort her. She was more aroused than she cared to let Grace see over Miss Wharton’s harsh edict. She made a secret vow that if Grace would not fight for her rights she, Emma Dean, would. Then she remembered Grace’s words, “I’d rather give it up and go quietly away, feeling in my heart that I have done my best, than to fight and, at last, win nothing but a blotted escutcheon.” No, she could not take upon herself Grace’s wrongs, unless Grace bade her do so, and that would never happen.