The Tryst (Musaicum Romance Classics). Grace Livingston Hill

him her trouble and expose her mother to his criticism. Father would not like that. Father would expect her to keep the honor of the family. Only so could she explain her action to him on his return.

      She fell asleep in the midst of her troubled thoughts at last, but drifted into a dream of that summer long ago and a long sweet day's walk with John Treeves and his mother, through a wood where they had often gone together. It was a vivid dream, in which even the leaves on the beaches were picked out in clear relief against the sky, and the rocks were as real as life with the pretty lichens and moss. She seemed in her sleep to notice every lovely detail of the woods. Even the smell of the pines was there, though perhaps the pines outside her window might have had something to do with that. They spread their lunch on a giant rock that jutted among the pine needles and she remembered the little cakes and the tiny pies in round tin pans -blackberry and cherry- how good they tasted again! And then the day was over, and Mrs. Treeves put a loving hand on her arm and said: "Don't worry, dear. You are doing right, and your father will soon understand it all perfectly, and so will your mother. Don't be afraid. Just go straight ahead.'' Then she kissed her lovingly on the forehead and the dream melted into the wonderful morning with the warm rays of the sun shining on her face like a caress, and a wonderful piney smell blowing in at the window. There were cheerful sounds everywhere, a distant tinkle of china and silver, voices on the piazza below, the honk of a Klaxon, the plunk of a tennis ball on a taut racket, all the sounds of a well-ordered establishment of luxury and ease. Somehow the morning looked good to Patty in spite of her perplexities, and the new day held a quiver of all sorts of beautiful possibilities. The gentle face and voice of Mrs. Treeves, her kiss and her words lingered like a benediction in her heart as she arose and went about her dressing with alacrity, and a song in her heart; although she checked it on her lips lest she waken her employer. She need not have worried, however, for Miss Cole had been wideawake for some time, and full of ideas. Now she suddenly voiced one of them; in a question:

      “Have you got any evening dresses?”

      Patty stopped in the act of putting in a hairpin and whirled around to the door of Miss Cole's bedroom:

      “Oh, good morning! I didn't know you were awake! I hope I didn't disturb you.”

      “Have you got any evening dresses?” asked the alert voice once more. Patty laughed amusedly. This woman was always asking such odd questions:

      “Why, I believe so. I'll look. I hardly know what was in my suitcase. I didn't pay much attention to my packing.”

      Patty emerged in a moment from her room with a billow of rose-colored chiffon over one arm, a soft shining turquoise silk and a puff of cream-colored embroidered tulle over the other.

      “There seem to be three!” she giggled. “I'm sure I don't know what use they will be to me.”

      “It is a rather odd collection for a girl to bring along when she runs away to be a lady's companion," said Miss Cole grimly, her eye kindling with interest. “And only one suitcase to carry everything, too!”

      "Well, you see, I was going to a weekend house party when I decided to leave, and my suitcase was half-packed. I didn't really stop to consider what I was bringing along."

      “H'm!” said Miss Cole eying her sharply. “That doesn't sound very hopeful for my comfort this winter. You're not very likely to stay here if you come from things like that——! You'll get another impulse and run back again, I suppose, just as I begin to get used to you!”

      “No!” said Patty decidedly. “You needn't worry about that. I'm not a quitter, and I haven't got a yellow streak in me. My father always told me that. Besides, there are reasons why I couldn't possibly go back, not for some time anyway."

      “Oh!” said Miss Cole. “You've got a father, have you? What will he think of your escapade?”

      Patty suddenly sobered:

      “My father is – in South America at present. I couldn't consult him of course because I had to act quickly, but I think he will feel I did right.”

      “H'm! Well, I hope so. Now spread out those dresses. They're very pretty. I guess you may wear the blue one to-night. We're going down to dinner to-night and stay awhile in the evening.”

      “Oh —But!” said Patty aghast. “These will be far too giddy for a – a lady's companion to wear. I have a little dark silk – a dinner dress, you know. I'll wear that!”

      “You'll wear the blue!” said Miss Cole decisively.

      “Didn't I tell you I wasn't to be crossed? I guess I know what will be suitable. And you're not a 'companion,' remember! Don't mention that again! We're near relatives – through the Adamses, you know——!”

      There was a grim humor in her tone, and Patty, eying her thoughtfully, broke into smiles once more and said:

      “Oh, very well, Miss Cole, just as you say ——”

      “I’ve decided you're to call me Cousin Sylvia!” said the grim voice insistently.

      Patty laughed merrily:

      “All right, Cousin Sylvia. Will you have your breakfast sent up now? And what will you have?"

      “No,” said the old lady, “I'm going down. You may pull down my window and turn on that radiator. I'll be dressed as soon as you will.”

      “Oh, but——!” pleaded Patty aghast. “Don't you think it would be better for you to rest this morning after the long journey?”

      “No, I don't! And I told you once I didn't want to be advised what to do. I feel like going down to breakfast and I'm going down.”

      And so in spite of all the girl could do they went down to the dining-room. But Patty need not have worried for John Treeves had been summoned to breakfast in his uncle's room, and was not visible to the inhabitants of the hotel until late in the afternoon.

      Patty was relieved to find that there were but few people in the dining-room at that hour, and quite enjoyed the ceremony at breakfast. After the meal was concluded the old lady insisted on having wraps brought down and sitting in one of the many rocking chairs on the wide front piazza. Patty established her with many furtive glances, and many attempts to slip away unobservedly. But the old lady had no mind to lose sight of her pretty young companion. She watched her like a cat playing with a mouse, and she kept a sharp eye out for any guests of the house who came that way, particularly any of the younger men. She sent Patty upstairs numberless times for magazines, pen and writing case, a book she was reading, and finally her knitting bag; and eyed her keenly each time on her return to see if there were signs of an encounter with her former friend. If she had known that Patty, slipping through a window into the writing room, had searched out an obscure and circuitous route to the staircase, and avoiding the elevator had run like a ray of sunlight up the stairs and down again, she certainly would have been vexed. The morning slipped quietly and uneventfully along, with Patty established in a big chair beside her charge, reading a magazine, and Miss Cole writing letters and watching the office door. Sounds of merriment drifted back from the tennis courts, “Love fifteen.” Miss Cole watched Patty out of the side of her eye, noted the soft pink color on her round cheek, the lovely lines of lip and brow, the shining brown of her hair, the dainty grace of her lithe young figure, and wondered what slip of nature had set this child for a servant's part in the play of living. She had the look of one who had always been carefully guarded, the starry trustfulness in her eyes that belongs to those who are beloved in their circle of life. Miss Cole resolved that the child should be put back in her place if it was in her power to do so. She should not sit in a corner while others whirled by in the wild joy of life. She must get into things right away and have a good time here. Her face softened as she watched the girl, and took in her charm. Something that would have been motherhood if it had ever had a chance, stirred in her crabbed old heart, and reached out to this sweet, young thing.

      “Edith, you go get your hat and coat and take my letters down to the village post office. There's no dependence to be placed on these hotel mail boys. I've been in this place before!” She spoke suddenly, looking up from addressing