“Don’t stay any longer than you wish, if it only makes things harder for you. One would rather, I know, face disappointment alone. And don’t try to fight your resentment, I shall feel better the angrier you are with me.”
Allan Drain and Mrs. Graham arose at the same time, and Mary Gilchrist, scarcely realizing what she was doing, half followed their example, so that she was enabled to see the two figures over the top of her screen.
Mrs. Graham’s back was turned to her, but she could catch a glimpse of her companion’s face. He was painfully white, yet his lips were firmly closed and his expression showed less of the self pity than she anticipated.
“You are very brave, braver than I could possibly be in your place,” Mrs. Graham murmured. “If there was only something I could do, some possible way to make up to you I should not feel so unhappy. Yet for the loss of creative work there is no recompense.”
“Oh, but my work was not so valuable as all that, Mrs. Graham, you are mistaken. Most of my poetry was the veriest trash. Editors and friends were of the same opinion. Good-by, I will come in again in a day or so, if you will allow me.”
The following instant the young man was gone.
Startled and troubled by his swift departure, making an unexpected movement behind her screen, Gill beheld the screen pitch forward and stood facing Mrs. Graham, who had swung around at the unexpected sound.
“You have been in hiding and listening to what Mr. Drain and I were saying to each other, one of the Sunrise Camp Fire girls! I am afraid I do not understand. There was nothing in our conversation you might not have heard openly, had you cared to join us.”
There was more surprise than reproach in Mrs. Graham’s manner and voice.
Blushing hotly, Mary Gilchrist felt unable to offer a defense. What defense had she to offer?