Grace Harlowe's Problem

  CHAPTER XVI

  THE LAST WORD

  While Anne Pierson's wedding day had dawned with a light snow on theground, the weather underwent a considerable change during the night,and the next morning broke, gray and threatening. Heavy, sullen cloudsdropped low in the sky, and by four o'clock that afternoon a raw,dispiriting winter rain had set in, accompanied by a moaning wind thatmade the day seem doubly dreary. Promptly at four o'clock Grace saw Tomswing up the walk without an umbrella. His black raincoat, buttoned upto his chin, was infinitely becoming to his fair Saxon type of goodlooks, and Grace could not repress a tiny thrill of satisfaction thatthis strong, handsome man cared for her. The next second she dismissedthe thought as unworthy. She welcomed Tom, however, with a gentlefriendliness, partly due to his good looks, that caused his eyes toflash with new hope. Perhaps Grace cared a little after all. He hadrarely seen her so kind since their carefree days of boy and girlfriendship, when there had been no barrier of unrequited love betweenthem.

  "Come and sit by the fire, Tom," invited Grace. "I love an open fire ona dark, rainy day like this." She motioned him to a chair opposite herown at the other side of the fireplace. Tom seated himself, and the twobegan to talk of the wedding, Oakdale, their friends, everything in factthat led away from the thoughts that lay nearest the young man's heart.Grace skilfully kept the conversation on impersonal topics. By doing soshe hoped to make Tom understand that she did not wish to discuss whathad long been a sore subject between them. So the two young peopletalked on and on, while outside the rain fell in torrents, and the darkday began to merge into an early twilight.

  With the coming of the dusk Grace began to feel the strain. Tom's paleface had taken on a set look in the fitful glow of the fire. Suddenly heleaned far forward in his chair. "It's no use, Grace. I know you'vetried to keep me from saying what I came here to-day to say, but I'mgoing to tell you again. I love you, Grace, and I need you in my life.Why can't you love me as I love you?"

  Grace's clean-cut profile was turned directly toward Tom. She reachedforward for the poker and began nervously prodding the fire. Tom caughtthe hand that held the poker. Unclasping her limp fingers from aboutit, he set it impatiently in place. "Look at me, Grace, not at thefire," he commanded.

  Grace raised sorrowful eyes to him. Then she made a little gesture ofappeal. "Why must we talk of this again, Tom? Why can't we be friendsjust as we used to be, back in our high-school days?"

  "Because it's not in the nature of things," returned Tom, his eyes fullof pain. "I am a man now, with a man's devoted love for you. The wholetrouble lies in the sad fact that you are just a dreaming child, withoutthe faintest idea of what life really means."

  "You are mistaken, Tom." There was a hint of offended dignity in Grace'stones. "I _do_ understand the meaning of life, only it doesn't mean_love_ to me. It means _work_. The highest pleasure I have in life is mywork."

  "You think so now, but you won't always think so. There will come a timein your life when you'll realize how great a power for happiness loveis. All our dearest friends have looked forward to seeing you my wife.Your parents wish it. Aunt Rose loves you already as a dear niece. EvenAnne, your chum, thinks you are making a mistake in choosing workinstead of love. Of course I know that what your friends think can makeno difference in what _you_ think. Still I believe if you would onceput the idea away of being self-supporting you'd see matters in adifferent light. You aren't obliged to work for your living. Why notgive Harlowe House into the care of some one who is, and marry me?"

  "But you don't understand me in the least, Tom." A petulant note creptinto Grace's voice. "It's just because I'm not obliged to support myselfthat I'm happy in doing so. I feel so free and independent. It's myfreedom I love. I don't love you. There are times when I'm sorry that Idon't, and then again there are times when I'm glad. I shall always befond of you, but my feeling toward you is just the same as it is forHippy or David or Reddy. There! I've hurt you. Forgive me. Must we sayanything more about it? Please, please don't look so hurt, Tom."

  Grace's eyes were fastened on Tom with the sorrowing air of one who hasinadvertently hurt a child. Usually so delicate in her respect for thefeelings of others, she seemed fated continually to wound this loyalfriend, whose only fault lay in the fact that his boyish affection forher had ripened into a man's love. Saddest of all, an unrequited love.

  "Look at Me, Grace."]

  "Of course I forgive you, Grace." Tom rose. He looked long andsearchingly into the face of the girl who had just hurt him so cruelly."I--I think I'd better go now. I hope you'll find all the happiness inyour work that you expect to find. I'm only sorry it had to come first.I don't know when I'll see you again. Not until next summer, I suppose.I can't come to Oakdale for Easter this year. I wish you'd write tome--that is, if you feel you'd like to. Remember, I am always your oldfriend Tom."

  "I _will_ write to you, Tom." Grace's gray eyes were heavy with unshedtears. She winked desperately to keep them back. She would not cry.Luckily the dim light of the room prevented Tom from seeing how near shewas to breaking down. It was all so sad. She had never before realizedhow much it hurt her to hurt Tom. She followed him into the hall and tothe door in silence.

  "Good-bye, Grace," he said again, holding out his hand.

  "Good-bye, Tom," she faltered. He turned abruptly and hurried down thesteps into the winter darkness. He did not look back.

  Grace stood in the open door until the echo of his footsteps died out.Then she rushed into the living room and, throwing herself down on thebig leather sofa, burst into bitter tears.