Crimson Mountain (Musaicum Romance Classics). Grace Livingston Hill

deciding on stuffed roast lamb for the meat course. "I never came here before, but it isn’t hard to take, is it? Or to look at either."

      "I should say not," said Laurel. "My, I’m glad I came here. And in such delightful company, too! A real soldier. I am honored."

      Their warm looks met and lingered, and a pleasant joy throbbed across the table.

      "We’re having fun!" twinkled Laurel with another little-girl smile.

      And the light from a lost childhood he had never had answered from the young man’s eyes.

      When the meal was concluded, they recalled pleasant memories of a high school both had shared, till the long yellow afternoon sunshine warned them that the evening was on its way. Phil Pilgrim sat back in his chair and grew serious.

      "Now," said he, "what are we going to do next? In half an hour, it will be time for that train to arrive at the station, and then we shall know whether you can have your car in the morning or not. Are we ready to spring into action as soon as we have that knowledge, or are there things we ought to be doing? Suppose you go and interview that woman at the desk about a possible room for yourself in case you decide to stay. And then on the way back to the garage, I’ve thought of a couple of alternatives we might consider."

      So Laurel went to the desk and Phil stood by the door looking out, a gravely pleasant expression in his eyes. He was well aware that there were days coming when he would have to pay for these few hours of unexpected happiness by deadly loneliness. Loneliness that would perhaps wear into his heart and life forever. Yet he was glad to have had this day in spite of all possibilities.

      CHAPTER IV

       Table of Contents

      Adrian Faber was good-looking and wealthy. He had a fortune in his own right and not too many relatives to meddle with his affairs. he was brilliant and accomplished and owned a townhouse; a country house; a great, wide, long mansion up in the woods where he could house the whole hunting club on occasion; a yacht; a seashore cottage, sometimes called a "mansion"; and a car that was the envy of all his friends. He was young enough to be most interesting, pleasant, and full of delightful plans for having a good time.

      On that particular Friday evening, he had planned an elaborate party to be held up in the woods at his hunt club, fifty miles away from the city, and in the opposite direction from Carrollton where Laurel, with a stalled car, was waiting. Laurel knew these bare facts, but she did not know as yet that Adrian had been planning to make her guest of honor, and that if his plans for driving her up to the hunt club worked out, there might be an announcement to make during the evening.

      Therefore Adrian Faber was much put out at Laurel’s message.

      Of course Laurel had not been aware that she was to be driving up to the party alone with Adrian. She had supposed there would be a crowd, and therefore just one guest would not be missed. Anyway, he had plenty of time now to supply her place with a substitute before they started.

      But Adrian Faber set his handsome mouth haughtily. He didn’t at all like it that Laurel had let him down and spoiled his plans. Of course there was always Genevieve, but he was above fed up with her. Though—if there was no one else. It was true she might have other plans, but he was reasonably sure she would cancel anything to go to the hunt club with him. She adored the hunt club, and he really hadn’t been seeing much of her lately.

      There was another young man, Royal Turner, who would be at that party that Laurel was missing. He was good-looking, too, in a merry kind of a way; reckless, black eyes and a little sharp black mustache. Laurel didn’t admire the mustache but could probably persuade him to give it up if she wanted to. He had been very attentive and had taken her places whenever she would go, plays and dances and wild rides. He was a reckless driver, and Laurel was sometimes a little afraid when she went with him. And he was always insisting that she should have a drink. Laurel didn’t drink. She had been brought up with an aversion to it. Her father and mother had been against it, and they had inculcated strong reasons into her mind why it was never the right thing to do. Laurel knew and realized dangers in drink that other young people seemed to ignore. And if she had not been taught these things, she had seen enough of the effect that drinking had on the young people she met in their crowd to make her hate it. Not even Adrian, with his quiet, reasonable persuasiveness that a little temperate drinking was necessary in company in order to be polite, had been able to move her to yield. Sometimes she felt that none of these young people were true friends, and it was in a reaction from all her social life that she had suddenly driven away to Carrollton to see about the school vacancy she had heard of through an old Carrollton schoolmate who was teaching in the city.

      There were half a dozen other young men who had been attentive to Laurel while she had been staying with her cousins in the city trying to think her way through and plan a future for herself. They were not all of this high-class, wealthy type. There were a couple of young writers, newspaper men, really bright and interesting, Tom Rainey and Bruce Winter. Tom had recently returned from abroad, where he had been a special correspondent in the war zone, and he had a mysterious air that was most intriguing. He had dark hair and a way of seeming awfully important while still quite casual. Laurel was never sure whether she liked him a lot or whether she felt he was not quite sincere. Bruce Winter, on the other hand, had red hair, intense gray eyes, an almost rugged face, and a mouth that seemed inexorable when it was set in a firm, thin line under eyes that took on a stormy look. These two men were always in the same company, though not particularly friendly. Sometimes Laurel had an idea that one of them was shadowing the other, although she couldn’t be sure which was the shadowed. But they were both friends of hers, and both seemed to enjoy her company. They would likely be at that party this evening, and Tom at least would be drinking a great many cocktails. It seemed such a pity, for in many ways he was very attractive.

      Then there was a young theological student who had often come to her cousins’ house. He had several times asked her to go with him to hear some fine music. Chatham Brower was his name. He was brilliant, but she wasn’t at all convinced that he was a Christian in spite of his ministerial intentions. She had a fancy that his recent interest in things theological might have been to escape the draft. But of course that was an unworthy thought. She had no real reason to doubt him. And he was good company. He had invited her to attend a lecture that evening, but she had declined on account of this previous engagement. He wasn’t so good-looking, but he was supposed to be intellectual, and he had told her she was a good conversationalist.

      Laurel, as she stood at the desk waiting for the attention of the proprietress of the tearoom, remembered all those possibilities for the evening and wondered at herself for being so content to have them wiped out of the picture and to be stalled here with a comparative stranger whom she dimly remembered as a boy in the past. With the vision of all these city friends of hers in her mind, she turned and glanced back to where Phil Pilgrim stood near their table with such a strong, dependable, fine, yet wistful look on his nice face. Handsome? Yes, but those other fellows were, too, yet not one of them looked better to her than the young man who had that afternoon saved her life. And she acknowledged to herself that she was reluctant to cut short this new companionship of the day that might never come her way again.

      Then the woman who had been telephoning hung up the receiver and turned toward her.

      "Rooms? Yes, we ordinarily have rooms. But it just happens there is a wedding in town to-night and our rooms are all taken for the night. to-morrow I think we shall have rooms. Could you wait until to-morrow?"

      Laurel shook her head.

      "I’m sorry. I need a room to-night. You don’t know of any place nearby that I could get?"

      "No, I’m afraid I don’t," said the woman. "We hired every room in the neighborhood to accommodate the people from the wedding."

      Laurel went back to Phil.

      "Nothing to-night on account of a wedding."

      "Well, that’s that!" said Pilgrim thoughtfully. "But I guess