Part 10 (1/2)

”There is such a fine atmosphere in a college town, I think,” pursued the lady. ”Especially in a co-educational town--don't you think so?”

Vivian was a little surprised. She had had an idea that her admired friend did not approve of co-education. She must have been mistaken.

”Such a world of old memories as you call up, Dr. Bellair,” their visitor pursued. ”Those quiet, fruitful days! You remember Dr. Black's lectures? Of course you do, better than I. What a fine man he was! And the beautiful music club we had one Winter--and my little private dancing cla.s.s--do you remember that? Such nice boys, Miss Elder! I used to call them my acolytes.”

Susie gave a little gulp, and coughed to cover it.

”I guess you'll have to excuse me, ladies,” said Dr. Bellair.

”Good-night.” And she walked upstairs.

Vivian's face flushed and paled and flushed again. A cold pain was trying to enter her heart, and she was trying to keep it out. Her grandmother glanced sharply from one face to the other.

”Glad to've met you, Mrs. St. Cloud,” she said, bobbing up with decision. ”Good-night, Rella--and Susie. Come on child. It's a wonder your mother hasn't sent after us.”

For once Vivian was glad to go.

”That's a good scheme of Jane Bellair's, don't you think so?” asked the old lady as they shut the gate behind them.

”I--why yes--I don't see why not.”

Vivian was still dizzy with the blow to her heart's idol. All the soft, still dream-world she had so labored to keep pure and beautiful seemed to shake and waver swimmingly. She could not return to it. The flat white face of her home loomed before her, square, hard, hideously unsympathetic--

”Grandma,” said she, stopping that lady suddenly and laying a pleading hand on her arm, ”Grandma, I believe I'll go.”

Mrs. Pettigrew nodded decisively.

”I thought you would,” she said.

”Do you blame me, Grandma?”

”Not a mite, child. Not a mite. But I'd sleep on it, if I were you.”

And Vivian slept on it--so far as she slept at all.

CHAPTER IV

TRANSPLANTED

Sometimes a plant in its own habitat Is overcrowded, starved, oppressed and daunted; A palely feeble thing; yet rises quickly, Growing in height and vigor, blooming thickly, When far transplanted.

The days between Vivian's decision and her departure were harder than she had foreseen. It took some courage to make the choice. Had she been alone, independent, quite free to change, the move would have been difficult enough; but to make her plan and hold to it in the face of a disapproving town, and the definite opposition of her parents, was a heavy undertaking.

By habit she would have turned to Mrs. St. Cloud for advice; but between her and that lady now rose the vague image of a young boy, dead,--she could never feel the same to her again.

Dr. Bellair proved a tower of strength. ”My dear girl,” she would say to her, patiently, but with repressed intensity, ”do remember that you are _not_ a child! You are twenty-five years old. You are a grown woman, and have as much right to decide for yourself as a grown man. This isn't wicked--it is a wise move; a practical one. Do you want to grow up like the rest of the useless single women in this little social cemetery?”

Her mother took it very hard. ”I don't see how you can think of leaving us. We're getting old now--and here's Grandma to take care of----”