Sisters

  CHAPTER XX. INGRATITUDE PERSONIFIED

  "What do you suppose is the matter with Gwyn? Ever since Jenny Warnerdelivered a note from her mother Saturday afternoon, she has been as glumas a--well, what is glum, anyway?" Patricia looked up from the book shewas studying to make this comment.

  Beulah mumbled some reply which was unintelligible, nor did she ceasetrying to solve the problem she was intent upon. Pat continued: "I haveit figured out that Gwyn's mother wrote something which greatly upset ournever-too-amiable friend. She kept shut in her room yesterday, tight as aclam in its shell. I rapped several times and asked if she had a headacheand if she wished me to bring tea or anything, but she did not reply."

  "Take it from me, Pat, you waste your good Samaritan impulses on a personlike Gwyn. She is simply superlatively selfish."

  Pat leaped up and put a hand over her friend's mouth. "I heard the knobturn. I think we are about to be honored with a visit. Don't besarcastic, Beulah. Maybe Gwyn has a real trouble."

  This whispered remark had just been concluded when there came animperative rapping on the inner door. Pat skipped to open it. Gwynette,dressed for the street, entered. "What's the grand idea of locking thedoor between our rooms?" she inquired.

  "Didn't know it was locked," Pat replied honestly. Beulah was againsolving the intricate problem, or attempting to, and acted as though shehad not heard.

  Patricia, always the more tender-hearted, offered their visitor a chair.Then solicitously: "What is the matter, Gwyn. You look as though you hadcried for hours. Bad news in the note Jenny Warner brought you?"

  There was a hard expression in the brown eyes that were turned coldlytoward the sympathetic inquirer. Slowly she said, "I sometimes think thatI hate my mother and that she hates me."

  There was a quick protest from Pat. "Don't say that, Gwyn, just becauseyou are angry! You have told me, yourself, that your mother has grantedyour every wish until recently."

  Gwynette shrugged her proudly-held shoulders. "Even so! Why am I nowtreated like a child and told what I must do, or be punished?" Noting asurprised expression in Patricia's pleasant face, Gwyn repeated withemphasis: "Just exactly that! If I do not take the tests, or if I fail inthem when they are taken, I cannot have my coming-out party next year,but must remain in this or some other school until I obtain a diploma asa graduate with honors. So Ma Mere informed me in the note brought bythat despicable Jenny Warner."

  Beulah could not help hearing and she looked up, her eyes flashing."Gwynette, if you wish to slander a friend of Pat's and mine, you willhave to choose another audience."

  The eyebrows of the visitor were lifted. "Indeed? Since when have youbecome the champion of the granddaughter of my mother's servants?"

  Beulah's answer was defiant. "Pat and I both consider Jenny Warner one ofthe most beautiful and lovable girls we have ever met. We went for a ridewith her on Saturday, and this afternoon, if we aren't too exhaustedafter the tests, we are going to walk down to her farm home and call onher and upon little Lenora Gale, who has been moved there from theinfirmary."

  Gwynette rose, flinging over her shoulder contemptuously, "Well, I seethat you have made your choice of friends. Of course you cannot expect toassociate with me, if you are hobnobbing at the same time with ourservants. What is more, that Lenora Gale's father is a wheat rancher inDakota. I, at least, shall select my friends from exclusive families. Iwill bid you good-bye. From now on our intimacy is at end." The doorclosed behind Gwyn with an emphatic bang. Beulah leaped up and danced ajig. Pat caught her and pushed her back into her chair. "Don't. She'llhear and her feelings will be hurt."

  "Well, she's none too tender with other people's feelings," Beulahretorted.

  A carriage bearing the Poindexter-Jones coat-of-arms and drawn by twowhite horses was waiting under the wide portico in front of the seminarywhen Gwynette emerged. The liveried footman was standing near the opendoor to assist her within, then he took his place by the coachman and theangry girl was driven from the Granger Place grounds.

  She did not notice the golden glory of the day; she did not glance out asshe was driven down the beautiful Live Oak Canyon road, nor did sheobserve when the wife of the lodgekeeper opened the wide iron gates andcurtsied to her. She was staring straight ahead with hard, unseeing eyes.

  When the coach stopped and the footman had opened the door, the girlmounted the many marble steps leading to the pillared front porch.Instantly, and before she could ring, a white-caped maid admitted her. Itwas one who had been with them for years in their palatial San Franciscohome, as had, also, the other servants. "Where is my mother, Cecile?" thegirl inquired with no word of greeting, though she had not seen the trimFrench maid for many months. The maid's eyes narrowed and her glance wasnot friendly. She liked to be treated, at least, as though she werehuman. She volunteered a bit of advice: "Madame is veer tired, Mees Gwyn.What you call, not yet strong. Doctor, he say, speak quiet where Madameis."

  Gwyn glared at the servant who dared to advise her. "Kindly tell me wheremy mother is at this moment. Since she sent the carriage for me, it isquite evident that she wishes to see me."

  "Madame is in lily-pond garden. I tell her Mees Gwyn has come." But thegirl, brushing past the maid, walked down the long, wide hall whichextended from the front to the double back door and opened out on a mostbeautiful garden, where, on the blue mirror of an artificial pond manyfragrant white lilies floated. There, sheltered from the sea breeze bytall, flowering bushes, Mrs. Poindexter-Jones reclined on a softlycushioned chair. Near her was a nurse in blue and white uniform who hadevidently been reading aloud.

  When Gwynette approached, the older woman said in a low voice: "MissDane, I prefer to be alone when I receive my daughter."

  The nurse slipped away through the shrubbery and Mrs. Poindexter-Jonesturned again toward the girl whose rapid step and carriage plainly toldher belligerence of spirit. The pale face of the patrician woman wouldhave touched almost any heart, but Gwyn's wrath had been accumulatingsince her conversation with Beulah and Pat. She considered herself themost abused person in existence.

  "Ma Mere," the girl began at once, "I don't see why you didn't let mecome to you in France. If you aren't any stronger than you seem to be, Ishould have thought you would have remained where you were and sent forHarold and me to join you there."

  "Sit down, Gwyn, if you do not care to kiss me." There was a note ofsorrow in the weary voice that did not escape the attention of theselfish girl. Stooping, she kissed her mother on the pale forehead. Thenshe took the seat vacated by the nurse. "Of course I am sorry you havebeen sick, Ma Mere," she said in a tone which implied that decencydemanded that much of her. "But it seems to me it would have been muchbetter for you to have remained where you were. I was simply wild to haveyou send for me while you were at that adorable resort in France. I can'tsee why you wanted to return _here_." The last word was spoken with anemphasis of depreciation.

  Mrs. Poindexter-Jones leaned her head back wearily on the cool pillow asshe said, more to herself than to her listener, "I just wanted to comehome. I wanted to see the trees my husband and I planted when we werefirst married. I felt that I would be nearer him someway, and I wanted tosee my boy. Harold wished me to come home. He preferred to spend thesummer here and I was glad."

  The pity, which for a moment had flickered in the girl's heart when shesaw how very weak her mother really was, did not last long enough to warminto a flame. "Ma Mere," she said petulantly, "I cannot understand whyyou never speak of your husband as my father." There was no response,only a tightening of the woman's lips as though she were making an effortto not tell the truth.

  "Moreover," Gwyn went on, not noticing the change in her mother's manner,"why should Harold's wishes be put above mine? Perhaps you do not realizethat he has become interested, to what degree I do not know, butnevertheless really interested, in the granddaughter of your servants onthe farm."

  Mrs. Poindexter-Jones turned toward the girl. T
here was not in her eyesthe flash of indignation which Gwynette had expected, only surprise andperhaps inquiry. "Is that true?" Then, after a meditative moment thewoman concluded, "Fate does strange things. What was it they called her?"

  Gwyn held herself proudly erect. At least she had been sure that hermother would have sided with her in denouncing Harold's plan to become afarmer under the direction of Silas Warner. She hurried on to impart theinformation without telling the name of the girl whom she so disliked,although without reason.

  "I recall now," was the woman's remark. "Jenny Warner. Jeanette was hername and yours was Gwynette."

  Angrily her companion put in, "Ma Mere, did you hear me say that Haroldhas decided to become a farmer, a mere laborer, when you had planned thathe should become a diplomat or something like that?"

  "Yes, I heard." The woman leaned back wearily. "My boy wrote me that waswhy he wanted to stay here, although he would give up his own wishes ifthey did not accord with mine." Then she added, with an almost pensivesmile on her thin lips, "He is more dutiful than my daughter is, onemight think."

  Gwynette flung herself about in the chair impatiently. "Harold knows youwill do everything to please him and nothing to please me."

  The woman's eyes narrowed as she looked at the hard, selfish face whichnevertheless was beautiful in a cold way.

  The woman seemed to be making an effort to speak calmly. "Gwynette," shesaid at last, "we will call this unpleasant interview at an end. Thefault probably is mine. Without doubt I do favor Harold. He is very likehis father, and I seem to feel that Harold cares more for me than youdo." She put up a protesting hand. "Don't answer me, please. I am verytired. You may go now."

  The girl rose, somewhat ashamed of herself. Petulantly, she said, "But MaMere, must I take the horrid old test? I will fail miserably and bedisgraced. I supposed I was to make my debut next winter and I did notconsider a diploma necessary to an eligible marriage."

  The woman had been watching the girl, critically, but not unkindly. Herreply was in a softer voice. "No, Gwyn, you need not take the tests.Somehow I have failed to bring you up well." Then to the listener'samazement, the invalid added: "Tell the coachman, when he returns fromthe seminary, to stop at the farm and bring Jenny Warner over to see me.I would like to know how Susan Warner succeeded in bringing up her girl."

  Gwynette was again angry. "You are a strange mother to wish to compareyour own daughter with the granddaughter of one of your servants."

  With that she walked away, and, with a sorrowful expression the womanwatched her going. How she wished the girl would relent, turn back andfling herself down by the side of the only mother she had ever known, andbeg to be forgiven and loved, but nothing was farther from Gwynette'sthought.

  Glad as she was to be freed from taking the tests, she was more than everangry because she would have to remain at the seminary until the close ofthe term, which was another week. Why would not her mother permit her tovisit some friend in San Francisco? Then came the sickening realizationthat she no longer had an intimate friend. Patricia and Beulah had bothgone over to the enemy. Why did she hate Jenny Warner, she wondered asshe was being driven back to the school. Probably because Beulah had oncesaid they looked alike with one difference, that the farmer'sgranddaughter was much the more beautiful. And then Harold actuallypreferred the companionship of that ignorant peddler of eggs and honey tohis own sister. Purposely she neglected to mention to the coachman thathe was to call at the farm and take Jenny Warner back with him. But Fatewas even then planning to carry out Mrs. Poindexter-Jones's wishes inquite another way.