Read Online The Beloved Stranger by Grace Livingston Hill - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Grace Livingston Hill
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out and fixed her eyes on Copeland, a new fatuous smile quickly adjusted, as she passed with avidity to the inquisition of this stranger. Here was she, the first in the line, and it was obviously up to her to get accurate information concerning him and convey it as rapidly as possible to the gathering assembly. Sherrill could see out of the corner of her eye this typical Battersea attitude, even as the guest put up her lorgnette to inspect the young man. She felt a pang of pity for her new friend. Did he realize what he was letting himself in for when he promised to stand by her through this? Oh, but what a help he was! How his very presence had changed the attitude that might have been, the attitude of pity for a cast-off bride! And, too, he had brought in an element of mystery, of speculation. She could see how avidly Mrs. Battersea was drinking in the possibilities as she approached.
But Sherrill drew another breath of relief. The young man by her side would be equal to it. She need not worry.
And there, too, was Aunt Pat! She would not let the first comer linger too long with the new lion of the occasion.
Even with the thought, she heard the woman’s first question and saw Aunt Pat instantly, capably, if grimly, take over the Battersea woman. Whether Aunt Pat was going to forgive Sherrill afterward or not for making such a mess of the beautiful stately wedding which she had financed, she would be loyal now and defend her own whether right or wrong. That was Aunt Pat.
Yes, those two could be depended upon.
And then came Mrs. Reamer, fairly bursting with curiosity, and Sherrill was able to smile and greet her with a gracious merriment that surprised herself, and then interrupt the second question with, “Oh, but you haven’t met my friend Mr. Copeland of Chicago yet. Graham, this is Mrs. Reamer, one of our nearest neighbors.”
The Hayworths and Buells were mercifully pressing forward, eager to get in their questions, and Sherrill thankfully handed over Mrs. Reamer to Copeland, who dealt with her merrily. So with a lighter heart and well-turned phrases she met the next onslaught, marveling that this terrible ordeal was really going forward so happily, and presently she began to feel the thrill that always comes sooner or later to one who is accomplishing a difficult task successfully.
She was strained, of course, like one who pilots a blimp through the unchartered skies for the first time perhaps, yet she knew that when she got back to earth and her nerves were less taut, there was bound to be a reaction. Just now the main thing was to keep sailing and not let anyone suspect how frightened and sick at heart she really was, how utterly humiliated and cast out she felt, with another bride standing there beside the man who was to have been her husband. And he smiling and shaking hands, and overall conducting himself as if he were quite satisfied. She stole a glance at him now and again between handshakes and introductions, and perceived that he did not appear greatly distraught. His assurance seemed to have returned to him; the whiteness was leaving his lips, and his eyes were no longer deep, smoldering, angry fires. He really seemed to be having a good time. Of course he, too, was playing a part, and there was no telling what his real feelings were. Equally of course he was caught in the tide of the hour and had to carry out his part or bolt and bear the consequences of publicity of which she had warned him. She remembered that he had always been a good actor.
But there was another actor in the line who utterly amazed her. Arla, the bride, filled her part graciously, with a little tilt triumphant to her pretty chin, a glint of pride in her big blue eyes, an air of being to the manor born that was wholly surprising. There she stood in borrowed bridal attire, beside a reluctant bridegroom, wearing another girl’s engagement ring, and a wedding ring that was not purchased for her, bearing another girl’s roses and
But Sherrill drew another breath of relief. The young man by her side would be equal to it. She need not worry.
And there, too, was Aunt Pat! She would not let the first comer linger too long with the new lion of the occasion.
Even with the thought, she heard the woman’s first question and saw Aunt Pat instantly, capably, if grimly, take over the Battersea woman. Whether Aunt Pat was going to forgive Sherrill afterward or not for making such a mess of the beautiful stately wedding which she had financed, she would be loyal now and defend her own whether right or wrong. That was Aunt Pat.
Yes, those two could be depended upon.
And then came Mrs. Reamer, fairly bursting with curiosity, and Sherrill was able to smile and greet her with a gracious merriment that surprised herself, and then interrupt the second question with, “Oh, but you haven’t met my friend Mr. Copeland of Chicago yet. Graham, this is Mrs. Reamer, one of our nearest neighbors.”
The Hayworths and Buells were mercifully pressing forward, eager to get in their questions, and Sherrill thankfully handed over Mrs. Reamer to Copeland, who dealt with her merrily. So with a lighter heart and well-turned phrases she met the next onslaught, marveling that this terrible ordeal was really going forward so happily, and presently she began to feel the thrill that always comes sooner or later to one who is accomplishing a difficult task successfully.
She was strained, of course, like one who pilots a blimp through the unchartered skies for the first time perhaps, yet she knew that when she got back to earth and her nerves were less taut, there was bound to be a reaction. Just now the main thing was to keep sailing and not let anyone suspect how frightened and sick at heart she really was, how utterly humiliated and cast out she felt, with another bride standing there beside the man who was to have been her husband. And he smiling and shaking hands, and overall conducting himself as if he were quite satisfied. She stole a glance at him now and again between handshakes and introductions, and perceived that he did not appear greatly distraught. His assurance seemed to have returned to him; the whiteness was leaving his lips, and his eyes were no longer deep, smoldering, angry fires. He really seemed to be having a good time. Of course he, too, was playing a part, and there was no telling what his real feelings were. Equally of course he was caught in the tide of the hour and had to carry out his part or bolt and bear the consequences of publicity of which she had warned him. She remembered that he had always been a good actor.
But there was another actor in the line who utterly amazed her. Arla, the bride, filled her part graciously, with a little tilt triumphant to her pretty chin, a glint of pride in her big blue eyes, an air of being to the manor born that was wholly surprising. There she stood in borrowed bridal attire, beside a reluctant bridegroom, wearing another girl’s engagement ring, and a wedding ring that was not purchased for her, bearing another girl’s roses and
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