Part 11

The two girls were on their way home from school. As they reached the Marshall’s cottage, Peggy turned in as a matter of course, and Priscilla followed, feeling highly virtuous. She was not a girl who did things by halves, and her manner as she tendered her invitation was unusually sweet and winning.

"Peggy and I are going to the Conservatory concert Friday afternoon, and we want to take you with us. Powell will play, and it’ll be a treat."

"Why, it’s ever so kind of you. Of course I’d love to go." A glimmer of suspicion flashed out beneath Elaine’s gratitude. She had learned to accept Peggy’s kindnesses at their face value, without looking for an ulterior motive. But with Priscilla it was different. Out of Peggy’s especial friends Priscilla was the one, Elaine felt sure, who liked her least, and her pleasure in the invitation was lessened by her wonder as to what had called it forth.

Peggy was chattering on gaily. "We’ll go early, so as to watch the people come in. I think that’s half the fun. We sit so high up that I am afraid to lean forward for fear of falling down, I don’t know how many stories, but I hold on tight, and crane my neck so as not to miss anybody."

"You sit high up?" repeated Mrs. Marshall, breaking in on her animated if not literal description. "Is it possible that the management does not furnish orchestra seats to the students?"

"We sit in the second balcony," Priscilla replied, with a flash of resentment which was not allayed by Mrs. Marshall’s manner of receiving the announcement.

"And is there really any danger of falling?" Mrs. Marshall was appealing to Peggy. "I have always been accustomed to a box. Dear papa was fond of music, but he invariably secured a box, and he was exceedingly particular about my gowns because we were so conspicuous. But the second balcony! Really I don’t know."

Peggy hastened to allay the fears occasioned by her incautious figure of speech, and Elaine said hurriedly and with apparent sincerity, that she shouldn’t enjoy a minute if she sat in a box. It was perhaps due to an effort, conscious or unconscious, to atone for her mother’s implication, that Elaine blossomed into unusual enthusiasm over the proposed pleasure. When Friday came she was still in a particularly appreciative mood, and Priscilla mentally acknowledged that she had never liked the girl so well. She wondered if there was any truth in the theory that Peggy was always advancing, that you were sure to like people if you tried to be nice to them.

The concert justified the girls’ anticipations. The great hall was crowded with an audience of music lovers, and the artist of the occasion was called back again and again, to bow her acknowledgement of the enthusiastic applause. Elaine’s sorrowful expression when the last number on the program was reached, was more convincing than even her lament, "O, dear! It can’t be over already."

"It’s almost five o’clock. But cheer up! There’ll be another." Priscilla’s smile was thoroughly friendly. Hitherto she had always thought of Elaine as Peggy’s especial property, and as an illustration of Peggy’s recognized propensity for liking all sorts of people. Now as her thoughts ran ahead to the concert two weeks away, she wondered if by any chance she could secure a ticket for Elaine.

The great throng moved out slowly. Bits of musical criticism came to the girls’ ears. The woman afraid of fire made her voice heard as usual, and impressively asked what chance they would have if the building were burning. Someone else called her attention to the emergency exits, and then Peggy lost the thread of the argument in her interest in a new voice which declared, "I know it’s the girl. I couldn’t be mistaken."

The voice was low but curiously intense. Something in its breathless emotion gripped the attention. Peggy turned her head, and found that Priscilla had done the same. The woman who had spoken was just behind them. She and her companion were leaning toward each other with an air of suppressed excitement which impressed Peggy unpleasantly, and it did not relieve her inexplicable sense of apprehension to discover that the eyes of the two were fixed upon Elaine’s slender figure, a little in advance.

"Just wait till she turns," said the woman who had spoken before, and at that moment Elaine glanced back, as if to locate her companions in the slow-moving crowd. The smile on her face died away, as she met the fixed stare of two pairs of observant eyes.

"There!" Triumph was evident in the woman’s tone. "It is the girl, just as I said. I should know her among a thousand."

With loyalty as intuitive as her breathing Peggy pushed forward, intending to place herself at Elaine’s side. Though the woman who had professed to recognize her had said nothing to her discredit there was something beneath her triumphant tone which suggested an unpleasant reason for satisfaction in the discovery. But to overtake Elaine seemed impossible. Her departure suggested a panic-stricken flight. Before her companions had reached the top of the long flight of stairs she had disappeared.

"Where do you suppose she’s gone?" Priscilla, pushing after Peggy, asked the question with an intonation whose meaning was unmistakable. Peggy, looking up, saw her own questioning exaggerated into suspicion on the face of the other.

"I don’t know."

"She must have fairly trampled people underfoot. Say, Peggy, I suppose you heard?"

"Ye-es." It was a most reluctant affirmative, but Priscilla was too absorbed in her own thoughts to notice.

"It wouldn’t mean anything by itself. But when she sees she’s recognized, and runs away, it looks funny. I wonder if she’ll wait for us?"

In the throng at the door of the concert hall, the girls could discover no trace of Elaine. Automobiles glided to the curb as their numbers were called through a megaphone, and the people who block the sidewalks on such occasions, stood in chattering groups, unmindful of the desperate attempts others were making to pass them. But at length the crowd thinned sufficiently for the two girls to assure themselves on the point in question. They looked at each other, and for a moment did not speak.

"Well!" Priscilla’s tone was dry. "She isn’t here."

"No," Peggy was driven to confess, "she’s not here."

"We might as well go home. I don’t know what you think about it, Peggy Raymond, but it looks pretty queer to me."

Peggy was not communicative. In silence they walked to the cars two blocks away, and on the corner they found Elaine. It was not the enthusiastic Elaine of the concert, not the self-sufficient Elaine, familiar ever since her arrival on the Terrace. She looked pale and wan and harassed.

For her extraordinary flight Elaine offered no explanation. "I thought I’d wait for you here," she said faintly.

"We didn’t know that. We’ve been waiting for you there." Priscilla’s tone indicated that she expected something more, but apparently Elaine did not realize the need either of explanation or apology. But as they climbed up into the car, she looked so faint and frail that without thinking, Peggy took her arm to steady her. At the touch Elaine lifted her eyes with a grateful look which had the effect of sweeping away all Peggy’s suspicions, like a spring freshet. Peggy made no pretence to being logical. All she asserted was that sometimes she "just knew things."

The ride to Friendly Terrace was silent and constrained. At Priscilla’s door Elaine faltered her thanks for a pleasant afternoon and Priscilla replied stiffly. As she went up the walk, Elaine turned to Peggy with unmistakable relief.

"Is it too late for me to go home with you? There’s something I want to tell you where nobody’ll hear."

"There’s all kinds of time. Father doesn’t get home to-night till quarter of seven." Peggy led the way into the house, evaded a categorical reply to her mother’s smiling inquiries if they had had a pleasant time, and conducted Elaine to her room, where she pulled forward the wicker rocker.

"That’s the most easy-going chair in the whole room. Sit down and be comfortable. But, first, take off your coat. It’s so warm."

Elaine obeyed automatically. "Peggy," she said as she took her seat, "you saw that woman looking at me so hard to-day?"

"Yes," Peggy acknowledged, "I saw her."

"And she said something, didn’t she, to the woman with her?"

"She said she’d know you among a thousand, that’s all. And see here, Elaine. Don’t tell me anything you don’t want to, just because of that."

Elaine put her hands to her head, with a gesture which wrung Peggy’s heart. "But I do want to tell. I’ve got to tell somebody. Sometimes--" her voice rose in a little cry--"Sometimes I’ve thought I’d go crazy, keeping it to myself."

Peggy pulled up a chair and sat down. She was used to confidences. People of the stamp of Peggy Raymond must expect to be receptacles for the various woes of all sorts and conditions of people. But she realized that what Elaine had to tell was something out of the ordinary, and lost a fraction of her usual bright color.

"I knew those women," Elaine explained, twisting her interlaced fingers. "But they didn’t know me. They thought I was my sister."

"I didn’t know you had a sister!" Surprise was responsible for Peggy’s exclamation.

"I’m several years younger than Grace, but there’s a strong resemblance. It was her picture you found that day, Peggy."

"And she died. How dreadful it must have been--" Peggy’s sympathetic voice ceased suddenly, as Elaine’s look of agitation told her that she had guessed wrong. "She’s not dead," Elaine said breathlessly. "She’s living, and what’s more, she’s living here, Peggy."

"Here?"

"On Friendly Terrace."

Peggy had been prepared for unusual disclosures, but this was more than she had bargained for. It was a good half minute before she could answer except by an incredulous stare.

"On Friendly Terrace? In the next house?"

"Yes."

"You don’t mean that she’s been living there ever since you came?"

"Yes."

"I don’t see--why, I never heard of such a thing." But light was pouring in on Peggy. A number of matters that had puzzled her and even aroused her suspicion, suddenly became intelligible in view of the fact that the next-door cottage housed two girls instead of one. "But why--" she began breathlessly, and then checked herself.

"That’s what I wanted to tell you, Peggy. It wasn’t a year ago that it all happened, and it seems the bigger half of my life. Grace was a Junior in college. It was hard to keep on with her course, after father died, but she wanted to finish. She was engaged to a young lawyer, Carlton Ross his name was, and everybody thought he was such a nice fellow and that Grace was so fortunate."

Elaine’s hands were clasping and unclasping convulsively, as she told her story. Peggy laid her warm brown hand over the trembling fingers, and there was a world of friendly comfort in its clasp.

"One Saturday Grace went down town to do a little shopping, and she stopped at a jeweller’s and asked to look at some diamond brooches. Some people could never understand why she did it, for, of course, she couldn’t have bought diamonds any more than she could have bought the moon. I suppose it was rather silly, but surely it isn’t unheard of, Peggy, for people to examine things they can’t afford to buy. Anyway that was what Grace did. And when she said she didn’t care to buy, and started to go out, the clerk stopped her and said he begged her pardon but there was a brooch missing."

Peggy uttered a horrified exclamation.

"Yes, but that was only the beginning. Grace went back, and they looked all over the counter, and the floor-walker came up, and things began to be dreadful. And then they said that she would have to be searched. Only think! Grace was almost ready to faint, she was so frightened. It was like a terrible dream, she said. It didn’t seem as if it could be such things were really happening to her. And then she thought of Carlton, and begged them to telephone for him, and he came."

Peggy heaved a sigh of relief.

"O, but that was the worst of all. For when he heard about it, he asked if he might speak to her alone, and then he begged her to confess. Yes, Peggy, he thought she stole it. You see he knew that she hadn’t any money for buying diamonds, and the only way he could explain what she had done was to take it for granted that she was a thief. And then Grace lost her courage. If Carlton didn’t believe in her, nobody would. She screamed out that she wished she were dead, and they heard it and thought it proved that she was guilty."

Sympathetic Peggy was in tears by now, but Elaine’s eyes were bright and dry. The recital of her sister’s wrongs had brought them before her vividly, and her voice was bitter as she continued.

"You can’t have any idea of what we went through for nearly two days. They couldn’t find the brooch and Grace was arrested. She wouldn’t let Carlton do anything for her, and an old friend of papa’s went her bail. There were columns about it in the papers, and Grace’s picture and all about papa, and then all at once it proved to be a mistake. The brooch had been sent to some customer, along with several others for inspection, and there was some blunder about returning it. They sent it back finally, and Grace was cleared of all suspicion, but her life was ruined."

Peggy protested. "Ruined! Why, she was innocent."

"O, you don’t know, Peggy. First there was Carlton, and, of course, Grace broke her engagement the instant she found he didn’t believe in her. But he wasn’t the only one. Our friends were so sorry for us, but we didn’t want them to be sorry. We wanted them to be angry and say it was an outrage, as if they meant it. They made excuses for Grace. Said she’d been used to having so much and that since papa’s death things had been so different, and they pitied mamma and me because of our disgrace. When I came here to Friendly Terrace I hated everybody in the world. I thought I never would make a friend again as long as I lived. And I’d have kept my word, I guess, if it hadn’t been for you, Peggy."

"You poor darling!" Peggy’s arm slipped around Elaine’s shoulder, and tightened in a comforting hug. But her thoughts were busy still with the account of the tragedy to which she had just listened. "How long is your sister going to stay hidden away?" she demanded abruptly.

Elaine sighed. "As long as she lives, I guess. She doesn’t feel as if she could face people."

"I don’t know why. It’s the ones who made the mistake who ought to hang their heads. Grace hasn’t done anything to be ashamed of."

"I suppose we could have sued the firm," Elaine said wearily. "Mamma’s lawyer urged it. But Grace, and all of us, for that matter, felt that we’d gone through all we could bear, and that any more publicity would only make things worse. Of course Grace never left the house in daylight, but whenever mamma and I went out we were stared at as if we’d been curiosities, and we could see people talking about us, and telling the whole story over again. It was such a comfort to come here where nobody knows. At least mamma and I felt so, but poor Grace couldn’t get her courage up to let herself be seen even here."

Peggy frowned reflectively. "I don’t see how she manages to keep hidden that way."

"It isn’t as hard as you might suppose. You notice that we always keep both doors locked, and the shades are drawn a good deal. Grace helps in the housework, and comes down to her meals, just as we do. The afternoon she generally spends upstairs, especially since you girls have got in the way of dropping in after school. And she likes you, Peggy. She sits in a little room at the head of the stairs, and she can hear nearly everything that is said. It’s funny, when you didn’t even know there was such a person, but she feels real well acquainted with you."

"O!" cried Peggy, another mystery becoming luminous, by virtue of this explanation. "I wonder if it wasn’t Grace who telephoned me--"

"On Christmas night? Yes. We’d been talking about you all day, and saying what a dear you were, and admiring the little tree, along about bed-time, Grace said all at once, ’I never expected to wish anybody a happy new year again, but I’m going to wish one to Peggy Raymond.’ And she marched over to the telephone, while mamma and I sat there too surprised to say a word."

Peggy pressed her friend’s hand, too touched for the moment to speak. This innocent girl, hiding from view like a criminal, held prisoner by her own morbid shrinking, would have impressed a less sympathetic imagination than Peggy’s, as a pathetic figure. "And she never goes out of doors," she said, following out her line of thought.

"Sometimes she slips out on the porch when it is very late. Amy saw her there last Halloween."

"To be sure. I think Amy always flattered herself that she really saw a ghost that night." It occurred to Peggy as the words left her lips, that out of all of Amy’s superstitious fancies, this was nearest the truth. "I wish," she went on slowly, "that she’d begin to show herself, and see people. It’s a dreadful way to live, dreadful! Don’t you think she’d be willing to see me? You said that she liked me."

Elaine’s alarm at the mere suggestion impressed Peggy, more than anything yet said, with the seriousness of the situation. "If she knew I’d told you all this, she’d never forgive me in the wide world," declared Elaine paling at the thought. "And as for seeing you! No, Peggy! But you can’t think what a comfort it is that you know."

"I’m glad," said Peggy, kissing her. But, as a matter of fact, she was far from being satisfied. Anybody could listen to another’s troubles. Peggy wanted to be something more than a sympathetic confidante, but it seemed that for the present she must content herself with this passive form of helpfulness.

*CHAPTER XVI*

*A BELATED INVITATION*

Priscilla’s curiosity grew over night. When she waked Saturday morning, she found herself unable to think of anything but the singular episode of the preceding afternoon. She recalled the absorbed faces of the women who had watched Elaine, the suppressed eagerness of their triumph, when she turned about, and lastly Elaine’s incomprehensible panic over finding herself observed. Priscilla racked her brains for a possible explanation, but her imagination was unequal to suggesting any that was creditable to Peggy’s next-door neighbor.

It was not long after breakfast when she presented herself at Peggy’s door in the hopes that Peggy might be able to throw light on the situation. Peggy was doing the chamber work on the second floor, and Priscilla was glad to assist in the ceremony of bed-making, because of the opportunity this afforded for an uninterrupted discussion of the mystery.

"I want to talk with you about yesterday," she said in the carefully lowered voice which seemed appropriate to the situation, though, as a matter of fact, she might have shouted without attracting anybody’s attention. "I’ve thought about it all night."

"Me, too!" Peggy’s tone was enthusiastic. "Especially that _andante_ movement."

"O, Peggy!" Priscilla twitched a sheet with an energy that pulled it away from the foot of the mattress, and sent Peggy hurrying to repair damages. "What nonsense! As though I was thinking of _andante_ movements, or any other kind. I mean about Elaine."

"Wasn’t it nice to see how she enjoyed it? She really knows a lot about music, and the more you know, the better you appreciate it, especially classical music." Peggy was clearly talking against time, advancing her by no means original views with an earnestness which was far beyond their deserts. Priscilla was conscious of a feeling of irritation.

"She did seem to enjoy the music, I’ll admit. But apparently she doesn’t enjoy meeting old acquaintances. Quite the opposite."

"She didn’t meet any old acquaintances," said Peggy quietly.

"Those women thought they knew her, even before she turned around, and after that they were sure."

"They might have been mistaken for all that." Peggy smoothed the comforter anxiously, as if to have it lie without a wrinkle was the most important matter under consideration.

"If they were mistaken, why did Elaine run? The suspicious thing was her being frightened to death, the minute she found anybody noticing her. If she hadn’t done anything to be ashamed of--"

Peggy felt the time had come to discard the policy of evasion. She straightened herself, looking across the billowing bed-clothes, straight into her friend’s eyes. "Elaine hasn’t any reason to be ashamed of anything she has done."

"What _is_ the matter, then?"

"There’s nothing I can tell, Priscilla."

"Nothing you will tell, you mean. If you know about it, it wouldn’t be any more than friendly to explain."

"There’s nothing I can tell," repeated Peggy firmly. Priscilla found the reiteration irritating.

"I suppose she’s confided everything to you, and expects that we’ll take your word for her. Well, I won’t, for one. We don’t know anything about her, except that she can be mighty disagreeable when she tries, and yesterday capped the climax. I sha’n’t have anything more to do with her till I know what it all meant."

"That’s for you to decide." Peggy’s tone was decidedly cool. Her hands trembled as she twitched the coverlets into place. The intensity of her sympathy, kindled by Elaine’s pitiful story, perhaps rendered her incapable of doing full justice to Priscilla. Unfortunately her manner fired the jealous resentment which was Priscilla’s greatest weakness.

"Of course if you’re going to take sides with her, Peggy Raymond, against your best friends, if you’re going to throw me over just because--"

"How silly!" snapped Peggy. "O, please, Priscilla, don’t pull those bed-clothes up from the foot again."

Priscilla’s face was white. "I see I’m in the way. That girl has spoiled our friendship. You’ve never been the same, Peggy, since Elaine Marshall moved to Friendly terrace."

"How silly!" exploded Peggy, angered by the injustice of the charge and momentarily abandoning her usual tactful methods. "As if anybody but our two selves could spoil our friendship." She watched Priscilla’s dignified withdrawal without protest. She was tired of these scenes, she told herself. It was time Priscilla had a good lesson. She punched a pillow into place with a vehemence implying that she held it solely responsible for all that had occurred.

As for Priscilla she closed the door behind her with the feeling that she had burned her bridges, and that no retreat was possible. All was over. She had been very fond of Peggy, but Peggy’s fashion of losing her head over every new girl who came to the Terrace was bound to grow tiresome. Peggy had clearly indicated on which side her sympathies lay. She had chosen Elaine in preference to the friend of many years standing. By the time Priscilla was at her own door she was ready to believe that she had been most unfairly treated.

Priscilla was not the sort of girl to rest quietly under a grievance. Her first impulse was to assert herself, to prove to all observers how little she cared. Accordingly she burst in upon her mother with the request, "May I have some of the girls to luncheon next Saturday, mother? I don’t mean two or three; I’d like a dozen or so, a real party--"

"Let me see." Mrs. Combs was accustomed to these impulsive outbreaks on Priscilla’s part. "What day is Saturday?"

"The thirteenth."

"I have an invitation to luncheon myself for that day; still you could manage without me, I dare say."