Four days, spent in the society of those one loves best, pass almost with the rapidity of lightning. Unlike most of her visits to New York City, Grace gave little of her time to attending the theatres and seeing the metropolis. By common consent the members of the house party spent the greater share of their holiday together in the large, luxurious living room. Only one evening found them away from this temporary home. That was on Thanksgiving night, when Miriam gave a theatre party in honor of her guests to see Everett Southard and Anne in “King Lear,” and after the play Mr. and Miss Southard entertained their friends at supper in one of New York’s most exclusive restaurants. Thanksgiving morning they spent in the church of which Eric Burroughs the actor-minister was pastor, and in the afternoon they motored through Central Park and far out Riverside Drive. Aside from this, the rest of their stay found the thoroughly congenial household gathered about their borrowed fireside, treasuring the precious moments that flitted by all too fast.

There was but one drawback to Grace’s pleasure. The thought that she had brought even a breath of sadness to her old friend, Mrs. Gray. There were moments, too, when she experienced a faint resentment against Tom. Must her reunions with her friends be forever haunted by the knowledge that she had made one of the Eight Originals unhappy? The approaching marriage of Anne to David meant, that of the four girls she, only, had chosen to walk alone. She knew that Anne, Nora and Jessica would hail joyfully the news of her engagement to Tom. Living in the tender atmosphere of requited love, their sympathies went out to the lover.

It was not until Sunday morning, after she had accompanied her father, mother and Mrs. Gray to the railway station and was driving back to the Nesbits’ in David’s car, that Anne ventured to broach the subject of Tom to Grace. Elfreda, Hippy, Miriam and Nora were in the automobile just ahead. Mr. and Mrs. Harlowe and Mrs. Gray had driven to the station in David’s car, so, on the return, Grace and Anne had the tonneau of the automobile quite to themselves.

Both girls were unusually quiet, and David, fully occupied in driving his car through the crowded streets, said little.

“Anne,” it was Grace who broke the silence, “if David insisted upon your giving up the stage entirely, would you marry him?”

“Yes,” came Anne’s unhesitating answer. “I love him so much that I could do even that. Only he hasn’t asked me to make the sacrifice. He understands what my art means to me, and is willing to compromise. I am not going on any more road tours. I may play an occasional engagement in the large cities, but I have promised, so far as is possible, to remain in New York.”

“But when you were at Overton he was opposed to your stage career,” reminded Grace. “What made him change his mind?”

“Living in New York and being influenced by Mr. Southard, I think. You see the Southards knew all about me and my affairs. Long ago Mr. Southard began educating David to his point of view in regard to the stage. David is neither narrow-minded nor obstinate, so it has all come right for me,” she ended happily. Then she added, as her hand found Grace’s. “I wish you loved Tom, Grace.”

“And you, too, Anne!” Grace’s tones quivered with vexation. “Am I never to be free from that shadow?”

“Why, Grace!” Anne looked hurt. “I didn’t dream you felt so strongly about poor Tom. I’m sorry I said anything to you of him.”

“Forgive me, dear, for being so cross.” Grace was instantly penitent. “But it seems as though the whole world, my world, I mean, was determined to marry me to Tom. You are all on his side—every one of you. It’s the old case of all the world loving a lover. I know you think I’m hard-hearted. None of you stop to consider my side of it. Oh, yes; there is one person who does. Mother understands. She doesn’t think I ought to marry Tom, just to please him. She realizes that my work means more to me than marriage.” Grace’s tone had again become unconsciously petulant.

Anne regarded her in silence. Hitherto she had not realized how remote were Tom’s chances of winning Grace’s love. It was quite evident, too, that she had made a mistake in broaching the subject to Grace. It appeared as though too much had already been said on that score. Anne resolved to trespass no further. “Please forget what I said, Grace. I’m sure I understand. I’ll never mention the subject to you again.”

Grace eyed Anne quizzically. “I ought to be grateful to my friends for having my welfare at heart,” she admitted, “and I do appreciate their solicitude. Don’t think I’ve turned against Tom because they have tried to plead his cause. So far, it hasn’t made any difference. I can’t help the way I feel toward him. Still, I’d rather not talk about him. It doesn’t help matters, and I am beginning to get cross over it.”

“You couldn’t be cross if you tried,” laughed Anne.

“Oh, yes I could,” contradicted Grace. “I could be quite formidable.”

At this juncture their talk ended. Their automobile had drawn up before the Nesbits’ home and David stood at the open door of the car to help them out. During the few short hours that remained to Grace before time for her train to Overton she and Anne had no further opportunity for confidences.

It was twenty minutes past eleven o’clock that night when the train reached Overton, and Grace was not sorry to end her long ride. It had been an unusually lonely journey. For the first time in her experience she had made it alone, and without speaking to a person on the train. Then, too, the regret of parting with those she loved still weighed heavily upon her. “I do hope Emma is awake” was her first thought as she crossed the station yard and hailed the solitary taxicab that always met the late New York train, lamenting inwardly that the lateness of the hour and the weight of her luggage prevented her from walking home through the crisp, frosty night, under the stars.

The vestibule light of Harlowe House shone out like a beacon across the still white campus. Grace thrilled with an excess of love and pride at sight of her beloved college home. How much it meant to her, and how sweet it was to feel that her business of life consisted in being of help to others. If she married Tom that meant selfish happiness for they two alone, but as house mother she was of use to seventeen times two persons. “The greatest good to the greatest number,” she whispered, as she slid her latchkey into the lock.

The living room was dark. The girls had long since gone to their rooms. Grace’s feet made no sound on the soft velvet carpet as she hurried up the stairs. A gleam of yellow light from under her door showed that Emma was indeed keeping vigil for her.

“Hooray, Gracious!” greeted Emma as the door closed behind her roommate. She flung her long arms affectionately about Grace and kissed her. “Is it four days or four weeks since I saw you off to New York and returned to my humble cot to wrestle with the job of managing that worthy aggregation known as the Harlowites?”

“I should say it was four hours,” corrected Grace. “Not that I didn’t miss you, dear old comrade. We all missed you. Every last person wished you had come with me, and sent you their best wishes. It was splendid to spend Thanksgiving with Father and Mother, and to see Mrs. Gray and the others. Did you receive my postcard? I wrote you that Hippy and Nora were with us. They gave us a complete surprise.” Grace related further details of her visit, walking about the room and putting away her personal effects as she talked.

As usual Emma had made chocolate and arranged on the center table a tempting little midnight luncheon for the traveler. It was not long until Grace had donned a pretty pale blue negligee and the two friends were seated opposite each other enjoying the spread.

“Now I’ve told you all my news, what about yours?” asked Grace at last.

“I’ve only one tale to tell,” responded Emma dryly, “and that is not a pleasant one. The news of Miss Brent’s sale has traveled about the campus like wildfire. We’ve had a perfect stream of girls coming here. They have conceived the fond idea that Harlowe House is a headquarters for second-hand clothing. I have labored with them to convince them that such is not the case, but still they yearn for the Brent finery. Judging from what I hear, it must have been ‘some’ wardrobe. Pardon my lapse into slang, O, Overton. A number of the teachers have commented on the affair. I’ve been asked several pointed questions.”

“How dreadful!” broke in Grace, her face clouding. “Still I was almost sure something would come of it. That was the reason I forbade Miss Brent to hold a sale when first she proposed it to me. Do you think that Miss Wilder and—Miss Wharton know it?” Grace hesitated before pronouncing the latter’s name.

“Miss Wilder doesn’t know, because she left for California last Saturday.”

A cry of surprise and disappointment broke from Grace. “Miss Wilder gone, and I didn’t say good-bye to her! Why did she leave so suddenly, Emma? She expected to be at Overton for another week, at least.”

“Some friends of hers were going to the Pacific Coast in their private car, and knowing that she was ordered west for her health, they wrote and invited her to join them. They had arranged to leave New York City this morning, so she left Overton for New York yesterday morning. I am sure she wrote you. One of the letters that came for you while you were gone is addressed in her handwriting.”

Emma reached down, opened the drawer of the table at which they were sitting, and drew out a pile of letters. “Here’s your mail, Gracious. Go ahead and read it while I clear up the ghastly remains of the spread.”

“All right, I will.” Grace went rapidly over the pile of envelopes which bore various postmarks. The majority of the letters were from friends scattered far and wide over the country. The thick white envelope, Miss Wilder’s own particular stationery, lay almost at the bottom of the pile. Grace tore it open with eager fingers and read:

Grace laid the letter down with a sigh and sat staring moodily at it, her elbows on the table, her chin in her hands.

Emma, who had finished clearing the table, regarded her with affectionate solicitude. Stepping over to her, she slid her arm over Grace’s shoulders. Grace raised her head. Her eyes met Emma’s. Then she pushed the letter into Emma’s hand. “Read it,” she commanded.

“Do you think she understood?” was Emma’s question as she handed back the letter.

“About Miss Wharton not liking me?” counter-questioned Grace.

Emma nodded.

“I am afraid she didn’t.” Grace’s gray eyes were full of sad concern. “And the most unfortunate thing about it is that I must never trouble her with Miss Wharton’s shortcomings. It would worry her, and that would retard her recovery. If the year brings me battles to fight, I must fight them alone.”