"Yours as ever, Anne."
Grace laid down the letter with a slight frown. Since Evelyn's first refusal to consider Anne's proposal Grace had held little communication with her. Of late Evelyn had gone about her affairs with a curious air of repression, which reminded Grace of the terrible calm that so often precedes a storm.
"I'll watch for her when she comes in from her classes and give her Anne's letter," said Grace, half aloud. She picked up the next envelope and looked curiously at the unfamiliar writing. The postmark was all but obliterated. Tearing the envelope she drew forth the letter, unfolded it and read:
"Dear Miss Harlowe:
"More than once I have planned to write and thank you for your goodness to Evelyn, but I have been so very busy that the time has slipped by faster than I realized. Fortunately, for Evelyn and me, I have had a great deal of work to do and have been in exceptionally good health, so that it has been easier than I thought to raise the money to pay her college fees. I will enclose the second payment of her fee in a letter which I am writing to her. I have mentioned in my letter to her that I have written to you. I thank you many times for your goodness to my little sister and trust that she has been truly appreciative of your kindness to her. Trusting that you have been well and that you have met with the greatest success in your year's work. With grateful thanks and best wishes.
"Yours sincerely,
"Ida Ward."
Grace read the letter through three times. When she raised her eyes from it her face wore an expression of mingled horrified suspicion and unbelief. Surely it could not be possible, and yet—before her mental eyes flashed the vision of that wet January afternoon when she had come back to Harlowe House from her Christmas vacation and had been greeted by the sound of Evelyn's sobs as she passed her door. How she had gone to Evelyn's room and there heard the pitiful story of Ida Ward's illness and her failure to send Evelyn's college fees, and of how, through the Semper Fidelis Fund, she had come forward and bridged Evelyn's difficulty.
What did it mean? "She must have—" muttered Grace. In her agitation she spoke aloud. Then she stopped abruptly. She would not condemn Evelyn without a hearing, but Evelyn would have to explain, if explanation were possible. She laid the letter on her desk and turning away from it tore open the last envelope, which bore the name of a business house in one corner. It contained a bill from Hanford's, the largest department store in Overton. At the bottom was written. "This account is long overdue. Please remit at once." Grace had a charge account at Hanford's on which, occasionally, she allowed certain girls in the house to buy goods, merely as a matter of accommodation to them. Her gaze traveled down the list of items in bewilderment.
"Why!" she exclaimed. "I never bought a gown there that cost seventy-five dollars, or silk stockings or a scarf. There must be some mistake. I know that none of the girls have either. I haven't bought anything since February. Let me see. It's only three o'clock. I think I'll walk down to Hanford's and have the matter adjusted. I must see Evelyn too, as soon as she comes in."