The Beloved Stranger - By Grace Livingston Hill Page 0,62
ought to do something about it right away,” went on Gemmie. “Seems like we oughtn’t to let the time get away with us.”
“Yes, Gemmie,” said Sherrill distressedly, “but Aunt Pat wants to work it out in her own way. I think she had some idea about it, though she doesn’t want to tell it yet. We are not to tell anybody about it, you know.”
“Yes, I know,” said Gemmie severely as if she disapproved greatly. “But Miss Sherrill, it doesn’t seem reasonable, does it? That necklace didn’t have legs. It couldn’t run away of itself, could it?”
“Not very well, Gemmie.” Sherrill lay back against her pillows with distress in her eyes.
“There was only one stranger there, wasn’t there, Miss Sherrill? I was wondering if you knew him real well. Was you right sure about him?”
“Stranger?” said Sherrill coldly. “Did you mean the clerk who came in to witness the license papers signed?”
“Oh, laws! No! Not him. I’ve known him for years. He used to live next door to my best friend, and he wouldn’t steal a pin. He’s too honest, if you know what I mean. But wasn’t there a stranger there, Miss Sherrill? I came across him in the back hall just after I got back from the church. I went up to leave my hat and coat, and I found him wandering around trying doors all along the hall.”
“Oh, you mean my friend Mr. Copeland,” said Sherrill with elaborate coolness. “No, I brought him there, Gemmie. He’d just come from the train and brought his suitcase to change here. I met him at the church. He’s from out near my old home in the West, you know, Gemmie. I put him in that little end room where we afterward signed the papers. He’s quite all right!”
Sherrill explained it all out slowly, her voice growing more assured as she went on, and ending with a ripple of laughter, though she felt that awful haunting doubt creeping into her mind again with the accompanying heaviness of heart.
“You know him right well, do you? You’re sure he wouldn’t yield to temptation, are you? You know those stones are wonderful costly, Miss Sherrill!”
“Oh, for pity’s sake, Gemmie! What an awful suggestion to make about a friend and guest of ours! You’d better not say that to Aunt Pat. She certainly would not be pleased. Of course he is entirely above suspicion. Why, he is a friend, Gemmie!”
“Well! I didn’t know how well you knew him,” said Gemmie offendedly. “I never heard you speak of him before, and I didn’t know but what he might be somebody you hadn’t seen in a long time, and didn’t know how he’d turned out now he’s growed up.”
Sherrill managed a real laugh now and answered, “No, Gemmie, nothing like that! Now, if you’ll take this tray, I’ll get up. I want to get at those presents again. We got a lot done yesterday, didn’t we?”
“Yes, Miss Sherrill, but you’ve not eaten your breakfast, and Miss Patricia will be all upset.”
“All right, Gemmie, I’ll eat a little more if you’ll run and see if the morning mail has come yet. I’m expecting a letter. Aren’t my flowers lovely, Gemmie? Mr. Copeland’s the one that sent them to me.”
Then Gemmie, leaving a mist of insidious doubt in her wake, swept firmly out of the room, and Sherrill had a silly feeling that she wanted to throw the whole breakfast after her and burst into tears. How outrageous of the stupid old thing to get such a notion and try to rub it in! Of course her kind stranger friend was all right! She would not let such sickening doubts creep into her mind. Aunt Pat didn’t think any such thing. She didn’t herself. As she remembered the fine merry countenance and wide frank eyes, she felt that it was utterly ridiculous to suspect such a man even though he was a stranger. Yet there was that heaviness planted for the day again, planted in the very pit of her stomach just like yesterday.
Then she suddenly put her face down into her pillows and cried a few hot, tempestuous, worried tears till she remembered Gemmie would soon return with the mail and she mustn’t have red eyes. So she stopped the tears, and before Gemmie could come into the room again, she sprang up and buried her face in the dewy sweetness of