Gwen, Jan, and she made their way homeward with difficulty, for Gladys had to be told the whole story, and it was impossible to get her to grasp it when Gwen and Jan were talking together, and all three were dodging the carriages spinning down Fifth Avenue.
The entire day was spent in ceaseless talking over the affair. Mrs. Graham was captured, and the history of her daughter’s wrongs was poured into her indignant ears. Sydney had to learn the story on his return in the afternoon, and Jack grew so angry, and quiet Viva so excited hearing it discussed that only Jerry preserved anything like her ordinary state of mind. Jan was a heroine. Mrs. Graham could hardly express her admiration for the silent determination with which she had set to work to clear Gladys. Mr. Graham was told at night what had been going on at school, and after first declaring wrathfully that he would take Gladys away from the Misses Larneds’, he ended in hearty laughter over what he termed Jan’s pluck, and compromised on a luncheon and a theater-party to be given in her honor. This was the way in which Mr. Graham’s interference in family matters often ended.
“May I come in, Jan?” called Gladys’s voice at Jan’s door at bedtime.
“Of course,” said Jan, hastily opening to the slender figure in the blue eider-down robe which solemnly entered, and would have seated itself on Tommy Traddles in the rocking-chair but that Jan rescued him.
“I can’t say what I want to,” Gladys began, almost timidly. “But I came to thank you for what you’ve done for me. It isn’t clearing up the row—though that’s a good deal,” Gladys continued quickly as Jan started to speak. “Of course it is simply fine to get back my part, and have every one understand that the Superior Ladies [this was Gwen’s name for the Misses Larned, by a transposition of “lady superior”] were wrong about me. But it’s the way you stood by me. And I know I’ve been mean to you, Janet. I hated to have you come here, and I snubbed you, and I made fun of you, and I neglected you——”
“Oh, stop, for goodness’ sake, Gladys! That’s all right!” cried Jan, not relishing this outburst of self-abasement.
“And I called you Miss Lochinvar,” continued Gladys without heeding.
“No, it was Syd dubbed me that, and I’m proud of the name. I like it better than my own—now,” said Jan.
“Yes, it suits you,” said Gladys in the same monotonously melancholy tone. “I read over the poem to-day, and you’re very much like him. Brave and straight, and everything you try goes through. But I didn’t mean it like that. I meant it nastily. But I have learned a great deal, Janet. I shall never be such a foolish girl again. It is an awful thing to find out your friends are perfectly horrid.”
Jan tried not to laugh, but did not succeed very well. Gladys could not be quite simple even under sincere feeling, such as Jan felt sure was moving her now.