Sisters

  CHAPTER X. BROTHER AND SISTER

  "The Palms," architecturally a Mission Inn, was gorgeously furnished andcatered only to the ultra-rich. It was located picturesquely on a cliffwith a circling palm-edged drive leading to it.

  Santa Barbara was both a winter and summer resort and its hostelries werefamed the world over.

  Gwynette led her brother to the table of her choice in the luxuriousdining room, the windows of which, crystal clear, overlooked the ocean.She was fretful and pouting. Harold, after having drawn out her chair,seated himself and looked almost pensively at the shimmering blueexpanse, so close to them, just below the cliff.

  "You aren't paying the least bit of attention to me," Gwynettecomplained. "I just asked if you weren't pining to be over in Paris thisspring."

  The lad turned and looked directly at the girl, candor in his clear greyeyes.

  "Why no, sister, I do not wish anything of the sort," he repliedsincerely. "What I _do_ hope is that our mother will be well enough toreturn to us, and that the quiet of our country home will completelyrestore her health."

  Gwynette shrugged her shoulders, but said nothing, until their orders hadbeen given; then she remarked:

  "I don't see why our mother needs to rusticate for three months in thisstupid place. If _we_ could have a house party, of course, that wouldhelp to make it endurable for _me_, but in her last letter Ma Meredistinctly said that we were to invite no one, as her nerves were in needof absolute quiet."

  The boy, who had folded his arms looked at his sister penetratingly,almost critically. Suddenly he blurted out:

  "Do you know, Gwynette, sometimes I think you do not care, really care,deep in your heart for our mother as much as I do. In fact, I sometimeswonder if you care for anyone except yourself."

  The girl flushed angrily. "Your dinner conversation is most ungracious, Iam sure," she flung at him, but paused and looked at a young man also inuniform, who was hurrying toward their table with an undeniably pleasedexpression on his tanned face. Harold rose and held out his hand, glad ofany interruption.

  "Well, Tod, where did you drop from?" Then to the girl he said: "SisterGwynette, this is a chap from the same San Francisco prison in which I amincarcerated--Lieutenant James Creery by name."

  The girl held up a slim, white hand over which the youth bent with anardor which had won for him the heart of many a young lady in the pastand probably would in the future, but in the present he was welcomed as amuch-needed diversion from a most upsetting family quarrel. Havingaccepted their invitation to make a third at the small table, apart fromthe others, the young man seated himself, saying to the girl: "Don't letme interrupt any confidences you two were having. I know you don't seeeach other often, since we poor chaps have but one free Sunday a month."

  Gwynette smiled her prettiest and even her brother conceded that if Gwynwould only take the trouble to smile now and then she might be calledhandsome.

  "Our conversation was neither deep nor interesting to anyone but me. Iwas wishing that we were to spend the summer--well, anywhere rather thanin our country home four miles out of this stupid town."

  "Stupid?" the young man, nicknamed Tod, glanced about at the charminglygowned young women at the small tables near them. "This crowd ought tokeep things stirring."

  Gwynette shook her head. "Nothing but weekend guests motored up from LosAngeles or down from San Francisco. From Monday to Friday the place isdead."

  And so the inconsequential talk flowed on, until at last James Creeryexcused himself, as he had an engagement. Again bowing low overGwynette's hand, he departed. The smiling expression in the girl's eyeschanged at once to a hard glint.

  "Well, you said that you came down especially to talk over a letter fromour mother. You might as well tell me the worst and be done with it."

  The lad made no attempt to hide his displeasure. "There was no worst toit, Gwynette. I merely hoped that you would wish to plan with me somepleasant surprise as a welcome to our mother's homecoming. I find that Iwas mistaken. Shall we go now?"

  The girl rose with an almost imperceptible fling of defiance to hershapely head. "As you prefer," she said coldly. "I really cannot sayhonestly that I feel any great enthusiasm about we three settling down inhumdrum fashion in our country place, but, if it is my duty, as you seemto infer, to _pretend_ that I am overjoyed, you may plan whatever youwish and I will endeavor to _seem_ enthusiastic."

  They were again in the small car before the lad replied: "Do not feelthat it is incumbent on you in any way to co-operate with me in welcoming_my_ mother." There was an emphasis on the my which did not escape thenotice of the girl, and it but increased her anger. She was convincedthat her brother meant it as an implied rebuke, and she was right.

  Gwynette bit her lips and turned away to hide tears of self pity. Whenthe seminary was reached, the lad assisted the haughty girl from the carwith his never-failing courtesy, accompanied her to the door, ventured aconciliating remark at parting, but was not even rewarded with a glance.

  Harold was unusually thoughtful as he rode along the highway. He passedthe gate to the lane leading to the farm, assuring himself that he was inno mood for visiting even with friends.