Brentwood (Romance Classic). Grace Livingston Hill

a shock of red hair and big gray eyes that had green lights in them. Under the mahogany brows and lashes they looked enormous; and they were weary, haunted eyes that seemed to have been perpetually puzzling out some anxious problem. There were shadows under them, too, and he looked too utterly worn for one of his age.

      He stared at her first with a bewildered gaze like one who had come in out of the sun and could not rightly see in the dimmer light. He put up his hand and passed it over his eyes, and then his gaze grew puzzled, and then frightened, almost as if he were afraid his sight had played him a trick. Marjorie began to sense what he was feeling, and spoke quickly.

      "You are Ted, aren't you?" She did not know how much her voice was like Betty's, only for that rich silken note that a luxurious surrounding had given her, and the boy was still more startled. He stiffened visibly, realizing that he was in the presence of a stranger.

      The light of the pantry window was behind Marjorie's head which made the likeness to Betty still more illusive.

      "Yes?" he said coldly, lifting his head a trifle, with a gesture that in a man would have been called haughty. He was alert, ready to resent the intrusion of a stranger into their private misery.

      Then he saw the cup in her hand, and putting down the bucket of coal he had picked from the dump he stepped over and took the cup possessively.

      "That wouldn't interest you," he said coldly, reprovingly.

      "Ted!" said Marjorie impulsively, "I'm your sister! Don't speak to me that way!"

      "My sister!" said Ted scornfully. "Well, I can't help it if you are, that doesn't give you a right to pry into our private affairs, does it?"

      An angry flush had stolen over the boy's lean cheeks and his eyes were hard as steel.

      "Oh, please don't!" said Marjorie covering her face with her hands, "I wasn't prying. I was trying to help!"

      "Well, we don't need your help!" said the boy with young scorn in his eyes, "and it would be much better if you were to go back wherever you came from. This wasn't a very good time to select to visit us. We've got sickness in the house, and we've—been unfortunate—!"

      "Oh, I know—!" moaned Marjorie, "but you see I didn't know anything about you till three or four days ago. I didn't even know I had a brother! But now I've come and I want to help."

      "Well, I don't think there is anything you can do," he said icily. "We'll manage somehow by ourselves. You might leave your address and we can let you know when things are more prosperous, and then you could come and see Mother. Just at present it wouldn't be possible for us to have visitors."

      "But you see, Ted, I'm not a visitor. I'm one of the family, and Betty and I are working together."

      "Betty! Does my sister Betty know you are here? Where is she?"

      "She's upstairs now with the doctor."

      "The doctor! Is my mother worse?"

      "I don't know. I haven't seen her yet, but as soon as I heard she was so sick I begged Betty to get the doctor. You know pneumonia is a very treacherous disease."

      "Yes, and who did you think would pay the doctor?" asked Ted in that hard cold young voice so full of anxiety and belligerence.

      "Oh, Ted! I'll pay it, of course!"

      "Yes, and what do you think Mrs. Wetherill will say to that?"

      "She won't say anything, Ted. She's dead!" There was a bit of a sob in Marjorie's voice in spite of her best efforts. She was tired, and this strange manly boy's repulsion hurt her terribly.

      "Dead?" said Ted. "Well, that's just too bad for you, but I guess somehow we'll get along here without having outside help!"

      "Oh, please, Ted, I'm not outside! I'm family!" she said, and now there were tears on her cheeks.

      The boy looked at her speculatively and frowned.

      "If you are family why didn't you ever turn up before when Mother was fretting for you?"

      "Because I didn't know anything about her or any of you except that you had let me be adopted! I thought my mother didn't want me. I only found out three days ago who she was. Mrs. Wetherill left a letter for me in her desk. I found it after she died. It was there I discovered my mother's address. I didn't even know whether my father was living, and I didn't know there were the rest of you. But I came as quick as I could, and now I'm here I'm going to do my best to make you love me a little."

      The hardness in the boy's face relaxed.

      Then they heard the doctor coming downstairs, with Betty just behind him, and by common consent they froze into silence, Marjorie with a hand at her throat to still the wild throbbing of her pulses. Then they heard the doctor's voice:

      "No, I don't expect her fever to go higher tonight. Oh, perhaps a little more. All she needs is rest and nourishment and good care. Be careful about the temperature of the room. Of course don't let her get chilled. That is the greatest danger. No, I don't think her lungs are involved yet. Good care and rest and the right food will work wonders. But I do think, as I said, that you should have a trained nurse for a week at least. If you want me to look one up for you I'll do it."

      "Oh!" said Betty in a frightened voice, "I don't believe Mother would like that. I'm sure I can take care of her. I have before."

      "Well, all right if you think so, but you look to me as if you needed a little nursing yourself."

      "Oh, I'm all right!" said Betty summoning a cheerful voice. "I've just been worried about Mother."

      "Well, don't worry any more. Just be cheerful. That's what your mother needs above all else, cheerful surroundings and no anxiety. Don't let her worry about a thing!"

      "Doctor, my sister—has been away some time. She has just come back. Do you think it will hurt Mother to know she has come? She has been grieving to have her at home."

      "What kind is she? Will she worry your mother, or will she be a help?"

      "Oh, she'll be a help. She's rather wonderful!"

      Ted stole a sudden shamed glance at Marjorie, with the flicker of a grin of apology in his young face.

      "Well, then, tell her about it by all means. Joy never kills. Perhaps you'd better wait till she wakes up. Give her a sleeping tablet after her egg and milk and she'll settle down to sleep, I think. And don't you worry about your father. He's just worn out. Told me he had had reverses in business. A lot like that today. But he'll be all right after a few days' rest and feeding up. Give him plenty of fruit and vegetables. I suggested his getting away but he didn't seem to think it possible. However, if you just lift the worry from his heart he'll be all right, I think. No, I don't think there's any organic trouble with the heart, not yet. But you know hearts can't stand everything, especially when they are beginning to get older. Well, I'll step in again in the morning just to see if all is well, and don't hesitate to call me if you need me, or if there is any change. It's better to come unnecessarily than to wait too long, you know."

      When the door closed behind the doctor Marjorie had a sudden feeling of let down as if she wanted to sit down and cry with relief.

      Betty's face was eager as she came out into the kitchen. She looked straight at Marjorie. Perhaps she didn't see Ted at first.

      "He thinks maybe she won't have pneumonia after all," she said with relief. "And he says she must be fed every two hours. He wants her to have an egg and milk right away."

      "I'll fix it," said Marjorie. "I know how to make wonderful ones. Have we got an egg beater? A fork will do if we haven't."

      "Sure we've got an egg beater!" volunteered Ted.

      Then Betty whirled upon her brother.

      "Oh, Ted, you've got back. I've been so worried! You went off without any breakfast, and you had no dinner last night!"

      "Aw, whaddaya think I am? A softie?" said Ted.

      "I've been keeping the soup hot for