Chapter 16

AN UNEXPECTED SHELTER

It was after the hour for their midday dinner when Sally finally arrived at the farmhouse; however, she was able to reach her own room without any questions being asked concerning her delay.

Undressing slowly with the idea of lying down for a little while before facing her friends, Sally was interrupted for the second time that day by the unexpected appearance of her sister. On this occasion Alice's expression made any further discussion not only unnecessary but impossible.

"Will you come with me, please, to Aunt Patricia's room?" she began at once. "I have been talking to Aunt Patricia and she says it is only fair that we should hear your explanation before passing judgment. I have spoken to no one else, although I suppose it will be impossible to hide the facts from the other girls. In reality, I believe they already have guessed a great deal and have been trying to keep the truth from me."

At the moment of her sister's entrance Sally had been slipping into a little blue dressing gown which had been her mother's final gift the day before their parting. The dressing gown did not have a utilitarian appearance, since it was made of a soft blue, light woolen material with little clusters of yellow roses scattered over the design and with blue ribbons and lace about the throat and sleeves.

In response to her sister's speech Sally gathered about her the dressing gown, which she had not yet fastened, and immediately started to leave the room.

"I shall be very glad indeed to talk to Aunt Patricia, but not to you, Alice, nor do I ever intend to forgive you. I suppose you followed old Jean and me to the château and have drawn your own inference from what you observed. Do you know, Alice, I have often wondered why the puritanical conscience is always so suspicious of other people?" And in this last speech of Sally's there was more of truth that she could fully appreciate.

But if in this final analysis she were speaking the truth, the first part of her remark had been a complete falsehood. At the present time there was nothing she desired so little as being forced into making her confession to Miss Patricia Lord, a severe spinster with no consideration for human folly. Would any one else on earth be more difficult or more unrelenting?

In the past hour or more, following her conversation at the château, Sally had been facing one of the hardest experiences of life.

Her weeks of self-sacrifice and devotion had been not only unnecessary, they had been absurd. If only she could have enjoyed the inward satisfaction of considering herself a heroine or a martyr! But she had risked her own reputation and the young French officer's life to what end?

As the two girls entered Miss Patricia's room, Sally, accompanied by her sister, whose existence on earth she refused to recognize, considered that Miss Patricia appeared as implacable as a stone image. Yet one could scarcely compare her to the Sphinx. That ancient stone figure with the head of a woman and the body of a lioness looks as if she had devoted the many centuries since her creation to solving the riddles of human life.

Miss Patricia would consider anything but plain speaking a sheer waste of energy and truth. There were no riddles in Miss Patricia's mental category.

Nevertheless, Miss Patricia's voice did not sound unkind when she suggested that Sally occupy the solitary chair in her bedroom, although undoubtedly this would leave the elderly woman standing as well as Alice. But then Sally did not realize how appealing her appearance was at this moment even to so harsh a critic of human nature.

Sally indolent, Sally dreaming her own small and rather selfish dreams, or a Sally self-assured and self-content were not unfamiliar figures to her world. But Sally confused and tired, hurt and bewildered, not by her own actions or any one's else, but by a web of circumstance, was a new study.

"No, I would prefer not to sit down, Miss Patricia, and in any case I would not have you stand," Sally answered, still with an innate sense of her own dignity and value which at no time in her life was she ever wholly to lose. "Alice seems to have told you some disagreeable story about me. So I think it just as well for me to tell you the exact truth. I hope I can make you understand. I suppose I should have confided in some one before, but until a few hours ago I did not feel that I had the privilege."

Sally's golden brown eyes with the heavy upcurling lashes, which gave to her face the expression of unusual softness, were now gazing upward into Miss Patricia's. The latter's eyes were gallant also and steadfast, nor did Sally find them so distrustful as she had anticipated.

"Very well, my dear, go on with your story. I thought Alice was too much excited," Miss Patricia returned, seating herself in her upright chair, as Sally seemed to prefer her to be seated.

Then with her little dressing gown wrapped about her as if it had been a Roman toga, Sally told the history of the past weeks, her unexpected discovery of the wounded soldier amid the ruins of the old French château, her belief that he was a runaway prisoner and notwithstanding this, her effort, with Jean's assistance, to restore him to health.

Sally's explanation was less confused than her conversation with the French soldier a short time before. However, since that hour many things had become clearer in her own mind. She did not break down until her story was completed and only then when she turned toward her sister.

"I don't know, Alice, what you and the other Camp Fire girls have been thinking of me, and I don't believe I care to guess. I know you have not been generous. But since I don't wish to discuss the subject with any one save Aunt Patricia, and with Tante of course when she returns, I wish you would offer the other girls any interpretation of my behavior you care to give."

At this Sally's voice broke in spite of her efforts at self-control. When Alice made a step toward her with her arms outstretched to ask forgiveness, Sally stepped back only to find herself enfolded by Miss Patricia and to hear Miss Patricia declare:

"I think it would be wiser, Alice, for you to leave Sally and me alone for a little time; she is tired and unstrung. If you and the other girls have been unfair, you will have an opportunity to apologize later. Then Sally herself will feel more inclined to be reasonable."

Afterwards, when Alice had reluctantly disappeared, unexpectedly Sally found herself seated as if she were a child in Aunt Patricia's lap and listening to a very wise and tender conversation, one she was never to forget, from a woman of deep and broad experience.

When she grew less disturbed Aunt Patricia made no effort not to scold Sally for her unwisdom and her lack of reliance upon older judgment than her own. But the great fact was that Aunt Patricia was never unfair, that she had no sentimental suspicions and made no accusations with which Sally could not fairly agree.

In their half hour together Sally Ashton learned to appreciate for the rest of her life Aunt Patricia's value, learned to understand why Mrs. Burton cared for her so devotedly and considered her a tower of strength in adversity. In this uncertain world in which we live there are fair weather and foul weather friends. Miss Patricia belonged to the number who not only fail to strike other people when they are down, but who spend all their energy and strength in the effort to lift them up again.

Later on the other Camp Fire girls were also to form a new estimate of Miss Patricia's character, but simply by force of circumstance Sally was the first one of them to be admitted inside the stern citadel with which the elderly spinster surrounded her great heart.

"In the morning, Sally, when you have rested, and if I were you, child, I would spend this afternoon in bed, why I intend to walk over with you to your château and make the acquaintance of your soldier. If he is a gentleman my dear, or even if he is a real man, I mean to bring him here to the farm house to remain as our guest until he has completely recovered. Now, don't argue with me, Sally. Mrs. Burton will tell you that I am a hopeless old woman with whom to have an argument. I simply never do any one's way except my own. I do not wish to discuss this side of the situation with you to any extent, but don't you see, my dear, that it is better for you that we have your soldier here? No one shall think your friends have not understood and approved of your care of this young Frenchman."

Sally murmured her acquiescence and her gratitude. Yet suddenly she felt that she wished never again to see the young officer who for the past few weeks had been her constant thought and care.

He had recovered sufficiently no longer to need her services and although he was not wilfully responsible, nevertheless he had given her a great deal of care and trouble.

"Of course you must do what you think best, Aunt Patricia," Sally added a moment later, as she was preparing to start to her own room. "But don't you think we had best wait until Tante's return?"

Aunt Patricia shook her head.

"What Polly Burton may think or desire in the matter will not have the slightest influence with me. She cheerfully surrendered you girls into my charge in order to make this trip, of which she knew I thoroughly disapproved. However, in spite of the fact that I am very angry with her, I do not wish any one else to feel uneasy, although I shall not have a happy moment until she returns."