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Authors: Grace Livingston Hill
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with a sharp tinge to her voice, “How is it you’re off up here? The last I heard of you, you were going to be married. We got your cards. Wasn’t it this week?”
The color suddenly drained out of Gloria’s sweet face and pain came into her eyes. “Yes—I was—” she began haltingly. It hadn’t occurred to her that she would meet with that tragic matter up here so far out of her world. It stabbed through her heart like a knife and twisted cruelly. What to answer, how to explain the terrible thing without making it more tragic? It seemed as if there were no words to go on. But her father had heard and answered for her.
“Gloria has been through a very sorrowful time,” he said gravely. “Her fiancé is dead. That was why I brought her up here, to get her away from everything for a little while.”
An embarrassed instant of silence fell upon the room, and Gloria’s eyes were down, but bravely she lifted them and set a little wan, wistful smile out toward her unknown relatives.
“Oh!” said the aunt obviously curious. “I wondered. We saw a notice in a New York paper. Joan brought it home from Portland. It was the same name as that on the invitation, but I thought it might be just a coincidence.”
“No,” said Gloria quietly, “it wasn’t just a coincidence.” There was infinite sadness in her tone, but it did not invite further questioning.
Her aunt looked at her avidly for a moment, obviously expecting more details, but Gloria remained silent. “Well, that certainly was too bad!” she said at last, half grudgingly. “There’s many a slip, of course, but we aren’t always looking for it to happen to folks we know. Did you know the girl he was with when it happened?”
Suddenly Gloria’s father arose and stepped forward, his hat in his hand, his voice clear and a bit haughty. “Well, I guess we must be going,” he said, offering his hand to his sister-in-law and then to his niece. “It’s quite a drive back to Afton, and Mrs. Weatherby is expecting us both to tea. Also, I’m rather expecting a business telegram, which may call me back home suddenly. I’m glad to have seen you. It’s nice to know you’re so pleasantly located. The view certainly is lovely from here. You must enjoy it a lot.”
He talked incessantly, keeping between Gloria and her aunt and giving her no opportunity to reply to the question that had been asked her. Gloria managed to keep a semblance of a smile on her face until they were in the car and started off again. She even had the grace—or the courage—to say graciously as they drove away, “Can’t you drive over to Afton and see us while we are there? We’re going to stay a few days yet I think.”
Joan thanked her ungraciously and said, “I don’t think it’ll be possible. I go back to Portland in the morning, and Mother doesn’t go out much anymore.”
Gloria, once out of their sight, settled back in the car with a stricken look.
Her father gave her a troubled glance. Finally, he said, “I wouldn’t mind so much what she said. I don’t think they really meant to be unkind. They’re just curious and perhaps a little hurt that we didn’t write and explain, as they are relatives. I think that has been their grievance all along. They think we feel ourselves above them.”
“No, I don’t mind so much about them,” said Gloria with a sorrowful little sigh. “I was just thinking, all the world knows my disgrace. I didn’t realize anybody would know it outside of Roselands.”
“Why do you call it
your
disgrace? You had nothing to do with shooting Stan.”
“No,” sighed Gloria again, “but it is a disgrace to have been connected with a man who died in that way. You know that, Dad.”
“I always knew he wasn’t worthy of you,” said her father vehemently.
“After all, Dad, what have I done that should make me worth so much? I’ve been just a good-for-nothing parasite!” said the girl. “When I hear about Grandmother Sutherland and
The color suddenly drained out of Gloria’s sweet face and pain came into her eyes. “Yes—I was—” she began haltingly. It hadn’t occurred to her that she would meet with that tragic matter up here so far out of her world. It stabbed through her heart like a knife and twisted cruelly. What to answer, how to explain the terrible thing without making it more tragic? It seemed as if there were no words to go on. But her father had heard and answered for her.
“Gloria has been through a very sorrowful time,” he said gravely. “Her fiancé is dead. That was why I brought her up here, to get her away from everything for a little while.”
An embarrassed instant of silence fell upon the room, and Gloria’s eyes were down, but bravely she lifted them and set a little wan, wistful smile out toward her unknown relatives.
“Oh!” said the aunt obviously curious. “I wondered. We saw a notice in a New York paper. Joan brought it home from Portland. It was the same name as that on the invitation, but I thought it might be just a coincidence.”
“No,” said Gloria quietly, “it wasn’t just a coincidence.” There was infinite sadness in her tone, but it did not invite further questioning.
Her aunt looked at her avidly for a moment, obviously expecting more details, but Gloria remained silent. “Well, that certainly was too bad!” she said at last, half grudgingly. “There’s many a slip, of course, but we aren’t always looking for it to happen to folks we know. Did you know the girl he was with when it happened?”
Suddenly Gloria’s father arose and stepped forward, his hat in his hand, his voice clear and a bit haughty. “Well, I guess we must be going,” he said, offering his hand to his sister-in-law and then to his niece. “It’s quite a drive back to Afton, and Mrs. Weatherby is expecting us both to tea. Also, I’m rather expecting a business telegram, which may call me back home suddenly. I’m glad to have seen you. It’s nice to know you’re so pleasantly located. The view certainly is lovely from here. You must enjoy it a lot.”
He talked incessantly, keeping between Gloria and her aunt and giving her no opportunity to reply to the question that had been asked her. Gloria managed to keep a semblance of a smile on her face until they were in the car and started off again. She even had the grace—or the courage—to say graciously as they drove away, “Can’t you drive over to Afton and see us while we are there? We’re going to stay a few days yet I think.”
Joan thanked her ungraciously and said, “I don’t think it’ll be possible. I go back to Portland in the morning, and Mother doesn’t go out much anymore.”
Gloria, once out of their sight, settled back in the car with a stricken look.
Her father gave her a troubled glance. Finally, he said, “I wouldn’t mind so much what she said. I don’t think they really meant to be unkind. They’re just curious and perhaps a little hurt that we didn’t write and explain, as they are relatives. I think that has been their grievance all along. They think we feel ourselves above them.”
“No, I don’t mind so much about them,” said Gloria with a sorrowful little sigh. “I was just thinking, all the world knows my disgrace. I didn’t realize anybody would know it outside of Roselands.”
“Why do you call it
your
disgrace? You had nothing to do with shooting Stan.”
“No,” sighed Gloria again, “but it is a disgrace to have been connected with a man who died in that way. You know that, Dad.”
“I always knew he wasn’t worthy of you,” said her father vehemently.
“After all, Dad, what have I done that should make me worth so much? I’ve been just a good-for-nothing parasite!” said the girl. “When I hear about Grandmother Sutherland and
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