The Beloved Stranger - By Grace Livingston Hill Page 0,61
“Well, come on. I suppose you’ve got to have it your way and go down to dinner even if it wrecks everything! It was bad enough before, but now that the situation is further complicated by the appearance of that country bumpkin from home, I don’t see how we can possibly get by without trouble. How in the world are you going to explain him to people if he chooses to barge in on us?”
“I don’t expect to explain him or anybody else we may happen to meet. This is not a private boat, and anybody has a right on board who pays his fare. Please remember that I had nothing whatever to do with his being here. As far as I am concerned, I see no reason why we shouldn’t go about our business as anybody else does. If your business were on an honest basis, we could go about freely and enjoy ourselves without watching out for what people think.”
“Women know nothing about business!” glowered Carter. “Well, come on, let’s get this over.”
So Arla in Sherrill’s costly lace gown from an exclusive Paris house walked regally beside her husband and never showed by the flicker of an eyelash that she had recognized across the saloon another two people from home, a young man and his wife who had been in the same class in high school with Carter and Arla. It would be time enough for Carter to know they were on board when he had to meet them. They would be another element in this problem she was trying to solve.
Chapter 14
There was a sense of peace in Sherrill’s room the next morning. The fragrance of the pansies pervaded the place. The delicate perfume spoke to her at once even before she opened her eyes. It brought the memory of the pleasant stranger, as if his presence were still lingering not far away to help.
Then she opened her eyes to see the pansies on the low bedside table where she had placed them. She reveled in their soft brightness and was glad they were just pansies, not any of the more conventional flowers. They seemed to emphasize the simple frank friendship that had begun on the street, just plain honest friends helping one another. Pansies might grow in anybody’s garden, only these of course were sort of glorified pansies. But it was a comfort that they did not recall the bridal bouquet nor any of the flowers in the church. Just simple pansies that she might love and lay her face against.
She reached out for the card that lay beside them on the table. Somehow that hastily penned line seemed to have a deeper meaning than just a wish that she was rested physically. It seemed to carry a desire that she might be healed in spirit from the deep hurt to her life that he could not help knowing that wedding must have been to her.
Little memories of the kindness in his eyes, merry eyes that yet held tenderness, came back to her; the turn of a sentence that made her laugh when he must have seen the tears were very near to coming; his pleasant grin. They all filled her with a warmth and comfort that were restful and almost happy.
She lay there thinking about him. How kind he had been! She was rejoicing in the presence of the pansies in their lovely fern setting when Gemmie tapped at the door and entered with a breakfast tray.
“Miss Patricia said you better eat before you get up,” she announced, setting her tray down on a low table and drawing back the silk curtains.
Gemmie brought her negligee and put it about her, adjusting her pillows. Then she bustled over to the hearth and lighted a fire that was ready, though it was scarcely needed that bright spring morning. Sherrill began to perceive that Gemmie had something on her mind. She never bustled unless she was ill at ease. But Sherrill was too comfortable just at that moment to try to find out what it was, so she let Gemmie go on setting things straight on the dressing table and then setting them crooked again. At last she spoke.
“It’s right awful about that necklace being gone, Miss Sherrill!”
Boom! A great burden of stone seemed suddenly to land back again in Sherrill’s heart, just where it had been the day before, only a trifle heavier if possible.
“Yes,” quavered Sherrill, pausing in her first comforting swallow of coffee.