Presently a little roadster swung up to the curb and a young man, after greeting Trixy, asked if he could not give them a lift. It was while driving out to Oakland that Gloria tried to vision herself in these new surroundings permanently. The town was so unlike Barbend—a newly built place with everything glowing and shining and threatening to break out over night in further improvements. There was a hum and a din, but no moan of the water bending over the bar, and no call of the kingfishers’ tallying their catches from the lake or river.
And how would Tommy compare with this artless Hal Caldwell? Of course Hal was older, but would Tommy ever get to be like that? The capable little car buzzed along. Trixy chatted first into Gloria’s ear then over the wheel into Hal’s. Every one on the way bowed, smiled or called out pleasantly, and while the ride was only a short one it seemed to Gloria to typify life in Sandford.
They left her in front of her Aunt Harriet’s new cottage, and Trixy wanted Gloria to promise she would call her up on the ’phone before she left town. Trixy Travers was the sort of girl who makes friends as readily as she smiles, and who keeps them without any more apparent effort.
But whatever happened within the cottage between Gloria and her Aunt Harriet it seemed to take all the glow out of the girl’s face, and to put more gleam into her dark eyes. She did not wait to see Hazel later, instead, she walked away quickly, not even waiting for the little “jigger” that would have taken her to the regular trolley. Had Trixy Travers happened to meet her on the return trip, perhaps even her winning smile might not have been able to penetrate Gloria’s clouds.
The rain had stopped and it was late afternoon. A repressed sunset was apologizing for the other dismal outlines of a jaded world, but none of this diverted the young girl under the linen hat that shaded little wisps of curls making tendrils to border the pretty face. It was pretty even in its sadness.
Tommy happened to be at the square when her car rumbled in. She tried to avoid him but he waited for her, his own face aglow with some good news.
“I made it!” he exclaimed. “I made the extra three dollars.”
“Oh, that’s good.” Gloria jerked her mind back to the disabled bicycle and smiled.
“Yep, I ran the launch all afternoon and Pop Sargeant gave me the dollar he’s been owing me so long.”
“That’s fine,” said Gloria abstractedly.