Sisters

  CHAPTER XXIX. THE HAUGHTY GWYNETTE

  True to his promise, Harold took Charles to the "big house" just beforefive, the hour of his mother's appointing.

  "You have a beautiful home," the visiting lad remarked as he was ledalong box-edged paths and paused to gaze into the mirror-clear,sun-sparkled water in the pond lily garden. Lotus flowers were lying onthe still blue surface, waxen lovely and sweetly fragrant.

  They went up the marble steps, crossed the portico and entered a longwide hall which led directly to the front door through the windows ofwhich the late afternoon sun was streaming.

  "The library is my favorite room," Harold said. "I will leave you therewhile I go up and see if mother is ready to meet my new friend."

  They were nearing a wide door where rich, crimson velvet portiers hung,when Harold heard his name spoken back of him. Turning, he saw Miss Danebeckoning to him. After speaking with her he said: "Charles, wait in thelibrary for me. I won't be gone long. Mother wishes to speak to me alonefor just a few moments."

  Charles stopped to look at a very beautiful painting before he steppedbetween the velvet portiers. At once he saw that the room was occupied."Pardon me!" he exclaimed. A girl had risen and was staring at him withamazement, but her momentary indignation was changed to interest when shesaw how good-looking and well-dressed he was. With a graciousness shecould always assume when she wished, Gwynette assured him: "Indeed youare not intruding. I heard my brother tell you to wait here until hecame. Won't you be seated? I am Gwynette, Harold's sister. He may havetold you about me?" The lad was amazed. Even while he was assuring thegirl that he had indeed heard of her his thought was inquiring, "Howcould Harold find it hard to care for such a graceful, beautiful sister,even though she was adopted."

  Gwynette had resumed the seat she had occupied formerly, a deep softlyupholstered leather chair drawn close to the wide hearth on which a driftlog was burning with flames of many colors.

  "And I," the lad sat in the chair on the opposite side of the hearth towhich she motioned him, "since Harold is not here to introduce me, willtell you who I am and how I happen to be here." Then he hesitated, gazinginquiringly at the girl whose every pose was one of grace. "You probablyknow my sister, Lenora Gale, since she was at the Granger Place Seminaryfor a time."

  If there was a stiffening on the part of the girl, it was notperceptible. If her thought was rather disdainfully "another farmer", shedid not lessen her apparent interest. Her reply, though not enthusiastic,was in the affirmative, modified with, "I really cannot say that I knewyour sister well, however. She was not in my classes and our rooms werefar apart."

  Then, with just the right amount of seeming solicitude, "She is quitewell now, I hope. I understand that she went to stay at my mother's farmwith our overseer's family."

  Charles glanced up at her quickly. Gwyn could not long play a partwithout revealing her true self. "Very wonderful people, the Warners,"was what the young man said. "It has been a privilege to meet them.Lenora, I am glad to say, is daily becoming stronger and within afortnight we will be able to travel to our far-away home."

  He paused and the girl said, now with less interest, "A ranch, Iunderstand."

  "Yes, a ranch." Silence fell between them. Gwynette gazed into the fire,torn between her scorn for her companion's station in life and heradmiration of his magnetic personality. Suddenly she smiled at him andCharles felt that he had never seen any girl more beautiful. "Do youknow," she said with apparent naivete, "it is hard for me to believe thatyou are a farmer; you impress me as being a gentleman to the mannerborn."

  The lad, who was her senior by several years, smiled. "Miss Gwynette," heretorted, "I am far more proud of being a rancher than I would be ofinheriting a title."

  Harold returned just then to say that his mother was ready to receivetheir guest. The younger lad was amazed at the graciousness with whichhis usually fretful sister assured Charles Gale that she was indeed gladhe was to be with them for dinner.

  When the two boys were quite out of hearing, Harold gave a low whistle.Clapping his friend on the shoulder, he said softly: "Charles, you're amiracle worker. I haven't seen such a radiant smile from Gwyn in moredays than I can remember." The other lad replied in a low voice, "I'mglad you took me into your confidence. I may be able to help you solveyour problem."

  Harold asked with sincere eagerness, "You think that perhaps Gwyn can bechanged without taking the extreme measure of telling her that she isJenny Warner's own sister?"

  Charles nodded. "The ideal thing would be to so change Gwynette that shewould be glad to learn that she had a sister all her very own." Haroldshook his head. "Can't be done, old man, unless that sister proved to bean heiress or an earl's daughter." The boy laughed at a suddenrecollection. "Poor Gwyn had a most unfortunate experience and sort ofmade herself the laughing stock of her crowd over at the seminary," heconfided. "She heard that there was a girl in the school whose father wasa younger son of English nobility who might some day be LadySomething-or-other. Gwyn decided that _that_ girl should be cultivated,but, unfortunately, the young lady had requested that her identity bekept a secret. No one but Miss Granger knew it. The principal had beenproud, evidently, of the fact that a member of a noble English familyattended her school, and had let that much be known." Charles smiled. "Ithought America was democratic and cared nothing for class," he said.

  They had stopped on the circling, softly-carpeted stairway while theytalked. Being far from the library, they had no fear of being overheardby Gwyn. Harold replied: "Well, there are some of us who care nothing atall for class, but every country has its snobs and Gwyn is one,unfortunately."

  Charles appeared interested. "Did she manage to identify the girl whomight some day have a title?"

  Again Harold laughed. "Poor Gwyn, it really was very funny. She selecteda big, handsome blonde who ordered the maids about in an imperious mannerand, more than that, she gave a dance at The Palms, inviting her to bethe guest of honor. I brought down a bunch of cadets from the big townand it happened one of them hailed from Chicago, and so did the handsomeblonde. He told us that she was a Swede and that her father had made afortune raising pigs!"

  Charles could not refrain from smiling. "That was hard on your sister,wasn't it?" he said.

  The other lad nodded. "I wouldn't dare refer to it in Gwyn's hearing, butcome on! Mother will wonder where we are all this time."

  Mrs. Poindexter-Jones was as much pleased with Harold's new friend asGwynette had been, and, in the brief ten moments that the boys stayedwith the invalid, she became convinced that he was just the lad she wouldlike to have in the cliff cabin with her son. When the nurse appearedwith a warning nod at Harold, the boys at once arose, and the woman,reclining among her pillows, smiled as she held out a frail hand."Charles Gale," she said kindly, "we are glad indeed to have you with us.Remain as long as you can, and, when your sister is stronger, I wouldlike to have that dear little Warner girl bring her to call upon me."

  On the way down the wide circling flight of stairs Charles said softly,"Your mother seems to like Jenny Warner." The other nodded. "Yes, shedoes. She wonders if, had she chosen Jeanette, as she calls her, and theWarners had taken Gwynette, the girls would have been different. SusanWarner declares that if her Jenny had been brought up as a princess shewould still have been simple and loving, going about doing good as shedoes now. She is the bright angel to a family of Italians living inSycamore Canyon."

  Soft chimes from the dining-room told them that the dinner hour hadarrived, and so Harold went to the library to escort his sister, Charlesfollowing. Again the bright smile greeted them. Rising, the girl said,"Brother, Ma Mere told me, when I arrived from the seminary thisafternoon, that I need not remain here this summer unless I so desire."

  To Charles she explained, "I did feel so neglected when Mother sent me tothis out-of-the-way country school. I wanted to be with her in France.The resort where she was staying is simply charming, and one
meets peoplethere from the very best English families. For some reason, however, Ihad to be buried out here." Then, after an expressive shrug, she addedwith renewed interest: "Ma Mere has heard of a select party sailing fromSan Francisco next week, and if I wish, I may join it."

  While Gwyn had been talking, they had sauntered to the dining-room andwere seated in a group at one end of the long, highly-polished table.Charles, listening attentively, now realized how truly selfish the girlwas. He was recalling another girl in a far-distant scene. When theirmother had been ill, Lenora could hardly be persuaded to leave herbedside long enough to obtain the rest she needed, and that illness hadlasted many months. Indeed, it was not until after the mother had diedthat the girl could be persuaded to think of herself, and then it wasfound, as Charles and his father had feared, that she had used up farmore vitality than she could spare and she had not been strong since. Hetried not to feel critically toward the beautiful girl at his side.Purposely he did not glance at Harold. That boy had flusheduncomfortably, and, at, last, he spoke his thoughts, which he evidentlyhad tried to refrain from doing. "Gwyn, don't you suppose, if you stayedat home, you might make our mother's long hours in bed pleasanter forher?"

  The girl's tone was just tinged with irritation. "No, Harold, I do not.Mother does not find my companionship restful and Miss Dane surely doesfor her all that is humanly possible." Gwyn was distinctly uncomfortable.She felt that the conversation was not putting her in an enviable lightand she had truly wished to impress Charles Gale, for the time being, atleast. She had no desire to have the admiration a lasting one, since hewas merely a rancher's son.

  Gwynette had one ambition and that was to make a most desirable marriagesoon after her eighteenth birthday, which was not many months away. Shewas convinced that, after her debut into San Francisco's most select"Younger Set", she would soon meet the man of her dreams. She neverdoubted but that _he_ at once would love her and desire to make her hiswife. But just now it would be gratifying to her vanity to have sohandsome a young giant as Charles Gale admire her. Poor Gwyn at thatmoment was far from having accomplished this. Charles _did_ admirebeauty, and thought how charming she would be, were she not sosuperlatively selfish.

  Harold changed the subject. "Gwyn, we boys are going to the farm afterdinner. Will you go with us? Charles naturally wishes to spend theevenings with his sister."

  Both boys waited, though not appearing to do so, for the girl's reply.Her brother well knew that she would not want to go to the farm andassociate with her mother's servants, as she called Susan and SilasWarner and their granddaughter, but, on the other hand, Harold couldeasily see that his sister was much impressed with Charles Gale and mightwish to accompany them for the sake of his companionship if for no otherreason.

  Gwyn _did_ accept, after a moment's thought. She knew that, all alone inthe big house, she would be frightfully bored. And so, half an hourlater, the three started out across the gardens, under the pines andalong the cliff, where in the early twilight a full moon, rising from thesea, was sending toward them a path of silver. Gwynette paused and lookedout across the water for a long silent moment. When she spoke, it was toher brother. "Harold, I've never before been along this cliff. In fact,"this to Charles, "all of my life has been spent either in San Franciscoor abroad. This is the first year that Mother has seemed to want to cometo Santa Barbara. I always supposed it was because it reminded her of ourfather, who died here so long ago."

  "Then you do not know the beautiful spots that are everywhere around yourown home," Charles said, and his voice was more kindly than it had been.He was sorry for the girl who had been brought up among people whothought that ascending the social ladder was the one thing to be desired.He knew, for Harold had told him, how sincerely the mother regretted allthis, but now that the girl's character was formed, they feared that onlysome extreme measure, such as revealing to her who she really was, couldchange her. Charles, who was a deep student of human nature, felt thatthe girl's sincere joy in the loveliness of the path of silver light onthe sea was a hopeful sign. Harold was thinking, "That is the firstresemblance to Jenny Warner that I have noticed. _She_ loves nature inall its moods." At their first tap on the front door, it was flung openand Jenny, in her yellow dress, greeted them joyfully, pausing, however,and hesitating when she saw by whom the boys were accompanied. Oneglimpse into the old-fashioned farm "parlor", with its haircloth-coveredfurniture, its wax wreath under a glass, its tidies on the chairs, itsframed mottoes on the walls, beside chromo pictures of Susan and SiWarner made when they were married, filled Gwynette with shudderingdread. She couldn't, she wouldn't associate with these people as equals.Had she not been an honored guest in the homes of millionaires in SanFrancisco and abroad? But, distasteful as it all was to her, she foundherself advancing over the threshold when Charles stepped aside to permither to enter ahead of him. Jenny, remembering her promise to Harold, heldout her hand, rather diffidently, but Gwynette was apparently looking inanother direction, and so it was Harold who took it, and, although hisgreeting was the customary one, his eyes expressed the gratitude that hefelt because Jenny had _tried_ to fulfill her promise to him. "Don'tbother about it any more," he said in a low voice aside, "it isn't worthit." Of course the girl did not know just what he meant, but she resolvednot to be discouraged by one failure.