CHAPTER XII
TREACHERY
The morning after the party in Miriam's room Grace lingered in theliving room at Wayne Hall long enough to dash off her letter ofacceptance of Mabel Ashe's invitation for Thanksgiving. She was on thepoint of slipping it into the envelope when the loud ringing of the doorbell caused her to start. A moment later she heard the maid say: "MissHarlowe? I'll see if she's in her room."
"Here I am," called Grace, stepping into the hall. "Oh, I see. A specialdelivery letter for me from Mabel." Grace signed the postman's book,then, closing the hall door, hurried into the living room to read herletter. Opening it, she drew out not only the letter but a foldednewspaper clipping as well. The clipping fluttered to the floor. Gracestooped mechanically to pick it up, her eyes on the open letter. Amystified expression crept into her face as she read that graduallychanged to one of consternation. With a sharp cry of dismay, she let theletter fall from her hands, while she fumbled with the clipping in anervous effort to unfold it.
One glance at the headline that confronted her and Grace's gray eyesgrew black with anger. "How dared she do it! How could she be socontemptible!" Snatching the letter from the table Grace dashed up thestairs to her room. Tears of rage glistened in her eyes. She stood inthe middle of the floor with set teeth, closing and unclosing herfingers in an effort to regain her self-control. "I won't cry over it. Iwon't. I won't," she kept repeating to herself. "She isn't worth mytears. But Father and Mother will be so hurt and displeased. I oughtnever to have tried to help her. I might have known she wouldn't playfairly."
Grace flung herself into a chair and again began a perusal of thedisturbing clipping. "Pretty Senior Plays Sleuth," she read. "Larry, theLocksmith, Captured." A tide of crimson swept over her face as she readfurther. "Overton College Girl Tracks Dangerous Criminal to His Lair. IfMiss Grace Harlowe, a senior at Overton College, had not been possessedof a remarkably good memory for faces, Lawrence Baines, known to theunderworld as 'Larry, the Locksmith,' would undoubtedly be at largeto-day. Miss Harlowe, whose home is in Oakdale----"
With a despairing groan, Grace dashed the clipping to the floor, andspringing to her feet began walking nervously up and down the room. Shehad not dreamed that Kathleen could find it in her heart to behave sodespicably. She had shamefully abused the confidence that Grace hadreposed in her for what seemed in Grace's eyes to be an infinitesimallysmall gain. Her cheeks burned as she thought of the thousands of peoplewho had seen her name blazoned at the head of a column of police courtnews. Her father always bought the very paper in which it stood on hisway to the office in the morning. He had, of course, seen it. He nowknew that she had broken her word.
A sob rose to her lips, then she threw back her head with an air ofresolution and, hastily drawing her chair in front of the table, seizedher fountain pen, and opening it with an energy that left several inkspots on her white silk blouse, began a letter to her father. For anhour she continued to write steadily, covering sheet after sheet ofpaper. At last she signed her name, and with a mournful sigh folded herletter, slipping it into the envelope without reading it. Putting on herwraps, she left the house and hurried to the post office, where she senther letter by special delivery.
But another task still lay before her. Grace's fine face hardened. Itwas not a pleasant task, but it would have to be done. She hoped thenewspaper girl would be in her room, and she hoped Patience had not yetreturned from Westbrook. Grace rang the bell at Wayne Hall with morezeal than was strictly necessary, thereby exciting a scowl from the maidwho answered the door. She peeped into the living room, but Kathleen wasnot among the girls there.
At the head of the stairs she halted. The door of Kathleen's room wasclosed. "Is she at home, or not?" Grace paused before the door andrapped sharply. There was a moment of silence, then a quick, light stepsounded inside and the door was opened by Kathleen herself. Her usuallypale face became flooded with color as she met the steady light ofGrace's scornful eyes. Rallying all her forces, she returned thedisconcerting gaze with one of defiant bravado. "Oh, good afternoon,"she said, setting her lips in a straight line, a veritable dangersignal.
Without stopping to choose her words, Grace cried out: "How could you doit? You knew I wished no mention to be made of my name. You promised notto use it."
Kathleen eyed her with a contemptuous smile. "My dear Miss Harlowe, youmust be very obtuse to imagine even for an instant that I would spoil agood story by writing only what you gave me permission to write. What doyou know of the requirements of my paper, or of the style in which astory should be written? The story was too good to let pass. I knew,though, that you would never consent to allowing me to use your name. SoI said 'Very well,' and used it. 'Very well' can hardly be construed asa promise."
The smiling insolence of the other girl's manner was almost too much forGrace's self-control. Twice she essayed to speak, but the words wouldnot come. When she did find her voice she was dimly surprised at itstense evenness.
"Miss West, I made clear to you in the beginning my reason for notwishing you to use my name in connection with what occurred in Oakdaleor in any other story you might write. I gave you the news I hadstumbled upon willingly. Why could you not have written a clever,interesting story without betraying my confidence?"
"Don't attempt to take me to task for not living up to some ridiculousstandard of yours," returned Kathleen savagely. "If you did not wish tosee yourself in print, you were extremely silly to tell your tale to arepresentative of the press. To gather news for my paper is my business.Do you understand? I shall use whatever information comes my way, unlesssome good reason arises for not using it."
"As in the case of your Christmas story last year, which you decided atthe last moment not to send," supplemented Grace with quiet contempt.
Kathleen did not reply. Grace's remark had struck home. She had notforgotten her treacherous attempt to spoil Arline's and Grace'sChristmas plans of the year before.
"Even in the face of last year I did not believe you capable of suchtreachery," continued Grace, her youthful voice very stern. "I am in ameasure to blame for having trusted you. I should have known better."
The newspaper girl winced at this thrust, but said nothing.
"And to think," Grace went on bitterly, "that I broke my promise to myfather for a girl so devoid of loyalty and honor that she could notunderstand the first principle of fair play!"
Grace's bitter denunciation aroused fully the other girl's deep-seatedresentment against her. "Leave this room," she cried out, her voicerising, her eyes snapping with rage. "Don't ever come here again. Thisroom belongs to me----"
"And also to me," said a quiet voice from the doorway. "What seems to bethe trouble here?" Patience Eliot walked into the room, traveling bag inhand. She surveyed the two girls with considerable curiosity.
Without answering, Kathleen turned abruptly and walked to the window,her favorite method of showing her utter contempt of a situation.Patience bent an inquiring gaze on Grace, whose eyes met hersunflinchingly.
"Pardon me, Patience, if I don't answer your question," returned Grace."Perhaps Miss West will answer you after I am gone. This much I may say.She has ordered me not to come again to this room. Therefore, although Iam very fond of you, I feel that it won't be right for me to come hereto see you. Will you come into our room as often as you can and forgiveme for staying away from yours?"
Without waiting for an answer, Grace slipped from the room, leavingPatience to stare speculatively after her, then at the tense littlefigure in the window.
Before she had time to address Kathleen, the latter wheeled about,sneering and defiant. "If you are so anxious to know what the trouble isgo and ask your dear friend, Miss Harlowe. She will tell you quicklyenough behind my back. Oh, I despise a hypocrite!"
"I cannot allow you to call Grace Harlowe a hypocrite," said Patienceevenly, though her blue eyes flashed. "Whatever has happened I am quitesure is not Grace's fault."
"Then it must be mine," was Kathleen'
s contemptuous retort. "Why don'tyou speak plainly and say what you mean?"
"Very well, I will speak plainly," declared Patience. "I am sure youmust have insulted Grace deeply or she would not refuse to come to myroom again. I am not going to ask you to tell me what has happened, andI know that I shall not hear it from Grace unless I insist on knowingthe truth. The very fact that you are at fault will be sufficient to tieGrace's tongue. However, I shall ask Grace to tell me, as her refusal tocome to this room again, is my affair, too."
"Your faith in Miss Harlowe is touching," sneered the newspaper girl.
"I only wish I had the same faith in you," returned Patience gravely.And Kathleen could think of no answer to Patience's significant words.