INEVITABLY Tory suffered an intense reaction after the excitement of the Christmas holidays and her visit to New York.

School appeared insufferably dull; life at home was rather worse than better. After learning to bear with each other more amiably, again Tory and her aunt, Miss Victoria Fenton, felt their personalities jarring at nearly every point of contact.

Without hesitation Miss Victoria expressed her state of mind toward her niece. In the past year she had agreed that Tory showed marked improvement in character and personal habits. She had revealed a deeper interest in her school work and the acquiring of friends in Westhaven. She had lost her critical attitude toward what she considered the conservative and old-fashioned views of the little New England village. Her enthusiasm over becoming a Girl Scout and desire to maintain a good standing had stimulated her to a greater degree of acquiescence in Miss Fenton’s earnest effort to teach her the first principles of good housekeeping.

Best of all, Tory had ceased to talk everlastingly of painting and her life abroad with her father! She seemed really to intend to become an American girl in the best sense of the word. This had been her father’s wish in sending her to live in the United States. Since for once, and the only time she could recall, her opinion had coincided with her brother-in-law’s, Miss Victoria Fenton had spared neither advice nor reproach.

Now when Tory had given her every right to feel encouraged, Miss Fenton declared that the younger Victoria was returning to her former waywardness and a measure of her original discontent.

The call upon the New York artist had been against Miss Victoria’s better judgment. Now and then, Tory, without saying anything aloud, felt herself agreeing with her aunt.

The daily routine of school did appear more trying than at any time since her arrival in Westhaven after the first discouraging and friendless weeks were gone. Later the Girl Scouts and her new friendships had stimulated and helped her. She had learned to love Memory Frean and her House in the Woods. She had become devoted to Katherine Moore, who was then living at the orphan asylum known in Westhaven as the Gray House on the Hill.

The weekly meetings of the Girl Scouts were a continuous joy. All through the seven days she had gone at her tasks with the singing thought that whatever was worth while would bring her nearer to the honors she desired to attain in the Girl Scout organization.

Since the close of the holidays occasionally Tory appreciated that she was asking herself if even the Girl Scouts filled the place in her life they formerly had?

She would not reply even to herself, ashamed of her disloyalty and lack of perseverance.

The visit in New York City in a way had altered her intimacy with Dorothy McClain, and she had depended upon Dorothy, now that Kara must be indefinitely in a hospital.

Of course there was no question that she and Kara cherished a deeper affection for each other and that Dorothy and Louise Miller were older and closer friends. This had not affected her own and Dorothy’s relation. She was more of a family friend than Louise Miller was ever apt to be. Dr. McClain insisted that he cared for her next to his own daughter. Don was always her admirer and champion, and did not particularly understand or like Louise. She and Lance quarreled now and then, but appreciated that this was partly because they had so many traits in common they could never thoroughly approve of each other. They enjoyed being together and arguing oftentimes more than a friendly calm. Besides, Dorothy’s four other brothers, from the oldest to the youngest, had in a measure adopted Tory as one of themselves. They appreciated the fact that she was a stranger in Westhaven until the year before and being brought up in the somewhat difficult home atmosphere of an old maid aunt and bachelor uncle. She needed the warmth and happy-go-lucky comradeship that they could offer.

But of late Tory believed Dorothy cared to be with her less frequently. She was not disagreeable, Dorothy’s sweet nature and straightforwardness never permitted her to be really unkind to any human being. She was listless, however, and indifferent, and Tory received the impression that she was not interested in anything she might wish to discuss.

Oddly, the other Girl Scouts were less attractive than usual. One by one Tory paid them visits during the afternoons following the Christmas holidays, and found them unsatisfying.

She went out into the House in the Woods upon an especially disagreeable January afternoon of thaw and cold winds. Memory Frean listened to her protests, but was more critical than sympathetic.

Moreover, Tory had not to the same degree the refuge of her uncle’s companionship. He was busier than in the early months after her arrival to live in his home. He still spent the greater portion of his time in the library, but he was then reading. Now he was engaged in writing a book. Naturally, under the circumstances Tory felt herself less free to interrupt him, although he was always cordial and interested in whatever she might want to talk about.

Nevertheless, Tory herself became aware that the renewal of his former friendship with Memory Frean had influenced Mr. Fenton. He was more interested in outside things and people. He was even attending the meetings in the Town Hall to discuss questions of village improvement and being constantly called upon for his opinion and advice.

Since his rescue of Miss Frean he had fallen into the habit of paying weekly visits to the little House in the Woods.

So Tory concluded she must bear her difficulties alone. She would not talk to Sheila Mason. Above all other persons, she did not wish the Troop Captain to dream that she was not feeling the same degree of pleasure and interest in the Girl Scouts.

One consolation she did have. She wrote a letter to her new artist acquaintance, Mr. Philip Winslow, and received a delightful one in return, although even this letter was not wholly satisfactory.

In it he expressed the desire that she forget the half of their talk together; apologized for not having appreciated her youth, and hoped she would not consider the idea of becoming an artist for the next three years at least. A good education, he insisted, was the best foundation for any career she might pursue. He agreed to come to see her some day in Westhaven, and with this Tory endeavored to be content.

Added to everything else, Kara explained that Mr. Jeremy Hammond had answered the eccentric advertisement he had read in the newspaper. Apparently he must have considered it of no importance, for he had gone away from town on business without coming to see her. Lucy and Mrs. Hammond had called, and Lucy was prettier than ever.

A postscript in Kara’s letter added that she was finding it more difficult to be brave, now she no longer had the anticipation of Tory’s and Dorothy’s visit to New York in prospect. The two girls had seen her every day during their stay in town. She begged Tory to write her everything that was said and done at the Scout meetings, since nothing else afforded her the same pleasure and encouragement.

The weekly meeting that would occur the last week in January Tory arranged to have at her own home. The weather would not allow them to have the regulation drill, but if they wished they could go through exercises in the old drawing-room and have their Round Table in the dining-room later. Sheila Mason was suffering from a cold, so it was possible that she might not be able to be present. In that case the Patrol Leader would take charge.

During the early hours of Friday afternoon Tory was glad to make the necessary preparations. She had undergone a disagreeable morning at school. Her mathematics teacher, whom she never had been able to like, reprimanded her publicly, protesting that she pay more attention to what was going on around her and less to her own dreams.

At luncheon Miss Victoria added to her annoyance. She argued that if Tory wished to entertain her Patrol at tea after their regular meeting, she should have made the cake and sandwiches herself and not asked Sarah, their maid. Sarah had proposed it and knew herself to be the better cook. Tory considered her aunt’s criticism altogether uncalled for, and said so. She had not intended to be impolite, but Mr. Fenton had frowned and Tory had not enjoyed his reproving look.

She was moving the furniture about in the drawing-room immediately after lunch with a degree of energy that was a relief to the spirit. The heavy chairs had to be pushed back against the walls, the cherished ornaments put in safe places. The Girl Scouts had agreed to practice flag signaling from the different ends of the long room. They were growing rusty in this feature of their Scout training.

Occasionally Tory stopped to get her breath or to change the arrangement of some detail of the room. Instead of disliking the old drawing-room as she had upon her arrival at her mother’s girlhood home, Tory had become deeply attached to it. She admired the rich brown and gold of the paper, the dark wood panelings, even the stately, stiff portraits of her Fenton ancestors.

Several of the Girl Scouts had promised to come in early and help her make ready the room for their Scout meeting. In her present state of mind Tory did not regret their delay.

She had nearly finished when Dorothy McClain opened the door and entered.

“Sorry not to have been able to get here sooner,” Dorothy began, “but I am in such a bad humor. I know you cannot fail to be glad you have not had to endure my society. I was waiting for Louise Miller and at the last moment Louise called up to say she would be late. Her mother had detained her for some reason.

“I wonder, Tory, if you have noticed a change in Louise since the Christmas holidays? I have sometimes thought perhaps she believed you and I were becoming too intimate and that she was left out. It would be foolish of her; nothing could alter my feeling for Louise, no matter how much I might care for you. But Louise is so absorbed in study and growing more silent and self-contained. I know she does not approve of me or love me as she used to, and it makes me very unhappy. She insists I am wrong to continue worrying over Lance when he is doing what he wishes. How can I help it when father still refuses to talk about him except to ask if he is well? Lance writes me nothing more of his affairs than we found out from him in town. He is at work and has a friend named Moore who is helping him with his music.”

In one of the chairs stored away in a dark recess of the room, Dorothy dropped down, resting her bright chestnut hair against the dark leather. She looked so dispirited and so unlike the gallant, cheerful Dorothy that Tory went to her.

“Dorothy, don’t tell me you are suffering from the blues! You must not; you will depress all your family. You may not realize it, but they are dependent upon you as the only girl in the family, and more so than ever now that Lance is away. Lance was spoiled and sometimes selfish, but you know he has a delightful sense of humor and imagination. “As for Louise, she adores you. I wonder if she is not troubled about something she does not think she ought to confide to you or any one of the Girl Scouts? I confess I have noticed that Louise has been quieter since the night of our Christmas Eve party.”

There was no chance for a further confidence, as Tory flew to answer a timid knock on the door left half ajar.

Immediately she opened it wider, Louise Miller came into the room.

Her face was flushed and there were circles about her light gray eyes with their curiously dark lashes. She was panting as if out of breath.

She almost ignored Tory.

“Dorothy, I found I could get here sooner than I thought, and I want to apologize to you for having kept you waiting and then failing to explain over the telephone. Mother and I were talking over something and she suddenly announced she did not wish me to come to the Scout meeting. I was to stay at home and help with some sewing for the younger children. Finally I induced her to let me bring the work here. Mother seems to feel I have no right to be a Girl Scout these days! I am growing so much more stupid and self-centered and uninterested in my household duties. If only I were more like you and Tory, Dorothy! I never see you in this old room, Tory, without thinking what a picture you make, especially in your Girl Scout costume. Forgive my not speaking to you when I came in, I was thinking only of Dorothy.”

Tory laughed good naturedly.

“You nearly always are thinking of Dorothy, aren’t you, Ouida?—so I forgive you. Yet Dorothy believes you do not care for her as you once did, now when she specially needs you because of Lance.”

In one of her rare outbursts of affection Louise clasped her arms about her friend.

“Dorothy, if you only knew how much I do care! Still I realize I have behaved strangely of late, ever since the holidays. There is something I must tell you, only I cannot just now.”

Through the open door the three girls beheld Teresa Peterson approaching. Teresa’s cheeks were a deeper rose, her dusky hair less neat than she ordinarily arranged it. Her lips and eyes were mutinous.

She dropped down on a stool.

“Well, I am glad we are to have a Scout meeting this afternoon. Certainly I need something to reform my disposition! Ever since Christmas things have been so dull and horrid.”

The outburst of laughter from her companions annoyed but did not surprise Teresa. She was accustomed to their behaving in an incomprehensible fashion on many occasions, and seldom troubled to understand.

At present she had no opportunity.

Through the window she could observe Margaret Hale, Joan Peters and the English Girl Guide, Martha Greaves, who was boarding with Joan’s mother, coming toward the house. Even to Teresa’s not overactive imagination it was evident that they had been disagreeing. They were not speaking and each girl held herself erect with her chin slightly elevated.

Afterwards Edith Linder appeared, a little aggrieved because Evan Philips had promised to call for her and had forgotten the engagement.