By the Way of the Silverthorns (Musaicum Romance Classics). Grace Livingston Hill

in the bright light. Link put forward his ward and introduced her, pleasantly enough, but with a look on his nice firm lips that meant business.

      “This is Miss Lazarelle, Mrs. Fremont. Mr. Hollis asked me to bring her over to be sure she found the way. He said to tell you it was very kind of you to take care of her tonight and they will be telling you so themselves later.”

      “Why, we’re delighted,” said Mrs. Fremont, possessing herself of the reluctant hand of the unwilling guest, and smiling warmly upon her and the young man, including them both in that smile, as if Link and the girl were friends. That inclusive smile did something soothing to the overwrought nerves of the girl, and Minnie looked up almost gratefully.

      “Now,” said Mrs. Fremont with welcome in her eyes, “you’ll come in, Link, and have dinner with us, won’t you? We’re just about to sit down and I’m sure it will make Miss Lazarelle feel a lot more at home if you stay.”

      “That’s very kind of you,” said Link warmly, “but I’m being waited for, and I can’t possibly stay tonight.”

      Minnie lifted wistful eyes toward the young man as he backed away toward the door. Would a young man like that ever bring her to a place and stay there because he wanted to be with her, she wondered?

      And then she suddenly roused to the moment. Something was due him from her, some thanks. Could he drag the words from her bitter lips after the drubbing he had given her?

      “Thanks awfully for showing me the way,” she murmured, lifting her miserable eyes to his face with a swift glance, hoping he didn’t know how deep he had gone into her soul with his scathing words.

      “So sorry you can’t stay, Link,” murmured Mrs. Fremont with a kindly hand on the girl’s arm. “We’ll try to take good care of this young woman.”

      If that detaining hand had not been possessively on her arm when the door opened to let Link out, she felt she would have bolted straight out too and vanished into the night. Only, she reflected as she was ushered upstairs to a pleasant guest room to take off her wrap, that it wouldn’t be so easy to disappear into the night from a young man like that. He was capable of handling any girl who tried to get away from him, and of course under the present circumstances he wouldn’t hesitate to call in the police if it became necessary. Then she winced as she remembered his tone while he was berating her, his keen sarcasm, his strong frank words that left no room for doubt of what he meant. The unbidden tears sprang into evidence again as she turned to the mirror and pretended to arrange her hair and powder her nose. Of course she didn’t care what this plain elderly woman thought of her. Or did she, perhaps, after all? If what had just been said to her was true, and she was as unprepossessing as that young man had said, was there a sense in which she ought to care for what anyone thought?

      But what was the word “ought”? Why ought she to be anything unless she wanted to be? Why indeed, except perhaps it was the only way to win the admiration she so much desired.

      Her poor selfish blinded mind could not follow her argument further. Mrs. Fremont was waiting for her. The most delicious savory smells were coming up the stairs to tantalize an appetite already whetted by the fragrance of the festive dinner over at the Hollis house. And now the Hollis dinner was definitely out of the picture. So she turned and meekly walked downstairs after her hostess.

      If they hadn’t sent that Silverthorn man over with her, if they had just sent her over with the chauffeur, or with a taxi man again, she might have played a trick and somehow forced her way back to the Hollis house and the privileges of the evening. But after that dressing down that Link had given her she could never go back and face them—face him again, and brazen off some new form of excuse. She shivered as she remembered Link’s eyes that had looked at her with scorn. Even in the darkness of the car she had felt it piercing her soul, and she had never felt scorn before. She had always laughed at it. What power did the young man have, that he could do this to her?

      So she went down to dinner, and met half a dozen other young people, though whether they were boarders or just friends of Mrs. Fremont she was not able to tell. They were very fond of her, that was evident, and they were having a very good time, and ordinarily she would have entered in loudly and boldly and had a royal time making them all as uncomfortable as she could.

      But somehow tonight she couldn’t get away from the feeling that Link Silverthorn was there looking at her. She could not feel the release from his eyes. If wasn’t in the least likely that he was casting another thought in her direction, but her soul so shrank from the memory of his words that it was just as if he were sitting across from her watching her every move, and condemning her.

      If Link had been there he might have been surprised at her quiet attitude. It wasn’t at all that she was trying to be what he had suggested. It was just that his words had deflated her lifetime habit of regarding herself as a smart person who always gave back a little better, or rather worse, than she got. She had always prided herself on being able to match wits and humiliate anybody, no matter how dignified or clever or proud they were! And she had always supposed that such triumphs would bring her into the limelight and win her admiration. She had learned tonight that it did not; that the limelight and admiration were not synonymous. She had learned that there were young men who despised a girl who would do a thing such as she had done, and she was utterly dumbfounded. She couldn’t even hold her own and speak up proudly to this quiet old woman. She didn’t understand it. She felt awkward and out of place. She felt numbed in her mind, shaken, shocked, like one who had been running hard to attain a certain goal and had suddenly stubbed her toe and gone flat, striking her head and stunning every sense. She couldn’t even rouse herself when others spoke to her. She felt when she tried to smile that the muscles of her face were stiff, and she wasn’t quite sure when she thought she made the motion of a smile, whether it really appeared on her face or was merely a contortion.

      Constantly before her eyes was the thought of the young man who had scolded her and scorned her. She had had older people lecture her before, but never a young person like that. Oh, the girls had often said scathing sarcastic things, but she had put that down to the fact that girls were always jealous. She hadn’t thought much of that. The boys never scolded her. The nice ones evaded her—and the others she never sought. But a good looking young man, lecturing her in all seriousness like a grandfather! Telling her frankly that no one could like her, and most astonishing of all, telling her she could be different if she chose! It was astounding. That after all was the crux of the matter! That she could be different if she chose.

      It was just as if a great couturier had told her her clothes were all wrong, and she should go to his establishment and be outfitted anew!

      Minnie had always thought more of clothes than any other subject, unless it was young men, and it was suddenly through clothing that she began to see her way beyond what had happened. She could be different if she wanted to! It all amounted to that. Did she want to?

      After dinner the young people adjourned to the piano, and all began to sing. Minnie pleaded a headache, excused herself and went to lie down. She had meant to get over to the church rehearsal and watch the fun, but now all that had faded from her desire. She definitely did not want to appear before any of that crowd. Not after what that handsome Silverthorn man had said. She was experiencing a vision of her real self, perhaps for the first time in her life, and she didn’t enjoy it.

      She decided she would lie down a few minutes and sort of get over the shock of all that had happened, and perhaps by half past eight or so she would come back to normal and feel like running over to the church to watch them.

      But as she lay there and reviewed the afternoon and evening she was more and more averse to appearing before any of the wedding crowd that night. And while she was thinking about it, planning how she could go early to the wedding tomorrow and get away up in the gallery somewhere out of sight behind a pillar where she could just peek out and get a glimpse of the procession and the ceremony, she fell asleep.

      CHAPTER IV

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