Rilla of the Lighthouse

  CHAPTER XX. NEW YEAR'S EVE.

  The street lights in New York were barely distinguishable because of thestorm which raged for many miles north and south along the Atlanticcoast.

  There were few pedestrians out, although it was still early evening, andbut a scattering of closed vehicles. In one of these sat Helen Beavers,Marianne Carnot and Gene. The French girl shivered and drew her costlygrey furs closer about her.

  "So this is your winter," she said. "I would like it better in the southwhere it is always summer." She shrugged her slim shoulders and tried topeer out of the small, rain-drenched window.

  The skidding car was turning into a fashionable side street. Soon theywere gliding up the drive of a private residence. They stopped under awide, sheltering portico and when the door was flung aside Gene leaped tothe pavement to help the girls alight.

  Brights lights burned within a handsome grey stone house, and a momentlater the door was opened to admit them into a festive scene where therewas youth and music, laughter and joy.

  It was the home of Faith Morley's Aunt Louise, and this was one of theparties to attend which the girls had begged Gene to return to the bigcity.

  An hour later when he had danced, first with Faith, his hostess, and thenwith Helen and Gladys Goodsell, he went in search of Marianne, whom hefound talking with a tall, lank youth in military uniform. The proud girlpaid scant attention to the newcomer. Gene, knowing that it was his duty,if not his pleasure, to ask each of his sister's friends to dance withhim, waited until there was a pause in their conversation before makingthe request. The French girl thanked him effusively, of course, butdeclined, saying that she did not dance the old-fashioned American waltz.Then she turned back to the young cadet, who, if the truth were known,was boring her exceedingly. Gene excused himself and, seeminglyunnoticed, walked away.

  The slow, dreamy waltz music was being played by the palm-hiddenorchestra and as it was the only dance for which Gene cared, he soughthis sister, but was just in time to see her glide away with his pal,David Davison. He did not care to dance with anyone else. He felt tooweary to be entertaining and so he slipped across the hall into the dimlylighted library, where a log was burning on the wide hearth, casting itswarm glow over the low bookshelves and the statues and beautifulpaintings.

  He was glad no one was there. He wanted to be alone, to rest, he assuredhimself. But what he really wished was to remember.

  He sank down into the big, comfortable chair in front of the fire whichhad recently been deserted by Mr. Morley. An open book and a magazine laynearby.

  How good it seemed to be away from the noise, if laughter and chatter andmusic could be called by a name so plebian.

  Then he listened to the other sounds as he sank deeper into the softdepths of the chair and relaxed, stretching out before the warmth of theblaze.

  How the storm whistled and moaned about the house and down the chimney.Closing his eyes, he tried to picture what the storm would be like aboutTunkett. He glanced at the small clock over the mantle. Ten-thirty. Thehouse adjoining the tower would be in darkness, but the great lamp wouldbe swinging. Perhaps the blizzard was keeping Muriel awake, and hewondered what she might be thinking about.

  Just then he happened to recall what his sister had said to him thatmorning, and, knowing Helen, he also knew that she had meant it kindly.Putting her hands on his shoulders, she had looked into his eyes, saying:"Dear brother, you wouldn't allow yourself to care for someone of whomyour mother could not be proud. This friend of yours, Muriel Storm, is afine girl, I am sure, but she could not associate with your friends, andour mother's heart would be broken if you really cared for her."

  Of course he and Muriel did not care for each other in the way to whichHelen had referred. They were just jolly good comrades.' Why were peoplealways romancing? He was glad that Muriel did not fit into the scene thatwas being enacted in the brilliantly lighted room across the hall. Heliked her best as she was.

  At midnight his sister found him and her glance was reproachful at first,but when she saw how truly weary he looked she rebuked herself for havingkept him up late so soon after his illness.

  She remembered how solicitous Muriel had been that he should notoverwork. Was she, Helen, less considerate as a sister than this islandgirl as a friend?

  When they were again in the closed car, Marianne retired into the depthof her furs and ignored their existence, pretending that she was tooweary for conversation, but Helen understood.

  Marianne, she knew, wished all boys to think her the most charming girlthey had ever met, and though Gene was polite, he had not been devoted.

  "Poor brother," Helen thought, as she glanced at his face, pale in spiteof its recent tanning. Aloud she said: "Gene, this is the last night thatI am going to drag you around to a dance. I know that you ought to justrest, if you are to go back to college next month."

  Gene said nothing, but reached for his sister's hand and held it in aloving clasp.