The Beloved Stranger - By Grace Livingston Hill Page 0,9

her beautiful diamond engagement ring off her finger and put it on Arla’s.

“Oh,” gasped Arla, “you’re wonderful! I can’t let you do all this!”

“Hold your head still!” commanded Sherrill. “This orange wreath droops a little too much over that ear. There! Isn’t that right? Really, you look a lot like me! I doubt if even the bridegroom will know the difference at first—wedding veils make such a change in one!”

“Oh, but,” gasped Arla, “Carter will know me; I’m sure he will! And suppose, suppose he should make a scene!”

“He won’t!” said Sherrill sharply. “He hasn’t the nerve!” she added cryptically, and suddenly knew that it was true and she had never known it before.

“But if he should!”

“He won’t!” said Sherrill more surely. “And if he does we’ll all be in it, so you won’t be alone.”

“Oh! Will you be there, too?” Arla said it in a tone of wonder and relief.

“Why, of course,” said Sherrill in the tone of a mother reproving a child. “I’ll be there, perhaps before you are.”

“Oh, why don’t you go with me?”

“That would be a situation, wouldn’t it?” commented Sherrill sarcastically. “Former bride and substitute bride arrive together! For heaven’s sake, don’t weep on that satin—it’s bad luck! And don’t talk about it anymore, or you’ll have me crying, too, and that would be just too bad! Here! Take your bouquet. No, hold it on this arm, and your veil and train over the other, now! All set? I’m turning off this light, and you must go out and walk right down the steps quickly. They are all the caterer’s people out there; they won’t know the difference. You really look a lot like me. For mercy’s sake, don’t look as if you were going to your own funeral. Put on a smile and wear it all the evening. And listen! You tell Mr. McArthur as soon as you get in the car on the way back with him, that if he plays any tricks or doesn’t treat you right, or doesn’t bring you back smiling to your reception, then I’ll tell everybody here the whole truth! I’ll tell it to everybody that knows him! And I mean what I say!”

“Oh!” gasped Arla, with a dubious lifting of the trouble in her eyes, and then, “Oh! Do we have to come back for the reception? Can’t we just disappear?”

“If you disappear, the whole story will come out in the papers tomorrow morning! I’ll see to that!” threatened Sherrill ominously. “I’m not going to be made a fool of. But if you come back and act like sane people and go away in the usual manner, it will just be a good joke that we have put over for reasons of our own, see? Now go, quick! We mustn’t get them all worked up because you are so late!”

Sherrill snapped out the light and threw open the door, stepping back into the shadow herself and watching breathlessly as Arla took the first few hesitating steps. Then as she grew more confident, stepping off down the hall, disappearing down the stairs, Sherrill closed the door and went over to the window that overlooked the front door.

The front steps were a blaze of light, and she could see quite plainly the caterer’s man who was acting as footman, standing by and helping a vision in white into the car. The door slammed shut, and the car drove away with a flourish. Sherrill watched till it swept around the curve and went toward the gateway. Then she snapped on a tiny bed light and gathered in haste a few things, her black velvet evening wrap, her pearl evening bag, a small sheet of notepaper, and her gold pencil. She would have to write a note to Aunt Pat. Her mind was racing on ahead! The keys to her own little car! Where had she put them? Oh yes, in the drawer of her desk. Had she forgotten anything?

The bride’s car had barely turned into the street before Sherrill went with swift quiet steps back through those two rooms again, into the back hall, cautiously out through the window that Arla had left open, onto the fire escape, and down into the side yard.

It was but the work of a moment to unlock her door of the garage. Fortunately the chauffeur was not there. He had taken Aunt Pat, of course, and everybody who would have known her was at the church. With trembling fingers she started her car, backed