Part 28 (1/2)
Bab had not the faintest idea who could be waiting for her. In all the excitement, she had entirely forgotten that she had told Gladys Le Baron to come to see her this morning without fail. As soon as she opened the library door, she remembered. ”Good morning,” she said, coldly.
But Gladys flung her arms about her neck and burst into a torrent of tears. ”I know it all, all!” she said. ”Mrs. Post and Mrs. Erwin called me into their rooms last night, and told me everything. I had expected Harry Townsend to take me home from the ball, and, when he didn't put in his appearance, I was so angry and behaved so badly Mrs. Post said I had to be told at once. Mrs. Erwin wanted to wait until morning. O Bab, I didn't sleep a wink last night!”
”I am sorry,” said Bab, but she didn't really show a great deal of feeling.
”Bab,” Gladys went on, ”I simply can't believe it! And to think you knew it almost all the time! Mrs. Post says I have to believe it, now, because the whole story is out. She says she was completely deceived, too, and can understand why I thought Townsend was a gentleman. Father seemed to think he was all right. He told us all about his being an orphan, and who his rich relations were. Mrs. Erwin is so good. She just says she is sorry for me, and hasn't uttered a word of blame. Only think, I brought that dreadful wretch to her house, and I am responsible for all the trouble! O Barbara, I can never face it!” Gladys wiped her eyes again with her handkerchief, which was already wet with her tears.
”I want to go home to mother to-day, but Mrs. Erwin says I have to stay with her a little while longer. She says that, if I rush right off now, if I disappear the very same day Harry Townsend and that woman leave, people will believe there is more between us than there really is. There wasn't anything exactly serious, though I did like him. I am sure I shall never hold up my head again.”
”I wanted to warn you sooner, Gladys; believe me, I did,” answered Barbara; ”but I knew you wouldn't listen to me, and would not believe a word I said.”
”I know, Barbara,” said Gladys, humbly. ”I have been a horrid stuck-up goose. I know, now, if you hadn't seen him steal the necklace at Mrs.
Erwin's, we might never have found out who the thief was. Then I don't know what dreadful thing might have happened to me, if I had gone on seeing him and never understood his true nature. Do you think he could have stolen my bracelet?”
”I know he did,” Bab answered.
”The horrid, hateful thing!” cried Gladys, with a fresh burst of tears.
”Barbara, I want to ask you a favor. Will you beg Ruth to let me go back to Kingsbridge in the automobile with you? I suppose I ask you because I have been more hateful to you than to anyone else. I know if you will forgive me the other girls will. Ruth will do anything you ask her.”
”But I can't ask Ruth such a favor as that, Gladys,” argued Barbara.
”There wouldn't be room in the car, for one thing.”
”Oh, I could sit on the little seat and I would be as nice and give as little trouble as I possibly could, if you will only ask her. I somehow feel that if you girls will stick by me, now, other people will not think so badly of me. They will know I have been a goose, and have been dreadfully deceived by Harry Townsend, but they'll understand that I never meant any wrong, and am not really bad. You see, Bab, you and Mollie are my cousins. Everyone is sure to find out you helped to expose the awful villain; so, if I am seen with you now, it will show that you take my part, and that you knew I had only been deceived.”
”Don't you think it is a good deal to ask of me, Gladys?” said Barbara, speaking very slowly. She was thinking of every snub, every cruel thrust Gladys had given her since they were children.
Gladys did not answer at first. Then she shook her head, and rose to go.
”Yes, Barbara,” she said; ”I know I don't deserve a bit of kindness at your hands. I have been perfectly hateful to you, always. Good-bye.”
”Oh, stay, Gladys,” begged Bab, penitent in an instant. ”I didn't mean that. Of course we will all stand by you. Indeed, I shall ask Ruth if you may go back in the automobile with us, and I am sure, if Miss Stuart thinks there is room enough, Ruth will be delighted to have you. She is always the dearest, most generous girl in the world,” said Bab, her face glowing with the enthusiasm she always felt in speaking of Ruth.
”Now,” she continued, ”do come on upstairs and take off your hat. You must stay to lunch with us. Oh, no; you needn't be afraid of Miss Stuart. She won't be unkind to you; she's a perfect dear! She'll just be awfully sorry for you, when you tell her how badly you feel. Come on, Gladys.” Bab took hold of her hand.
”Won't you call Ruth down first?” urged Gladys. ”I feel too much ashamed to go right on up there among all of you.”
Ruth and Bab, between them, persuaded Gladys to go to their rooms. To their surprise, Mistress Mollie was the one to be appeased. She was not so ready to kiss and make up as Bab had been, yet even Mollie's ”hard”
little heart softened when she saw what a changed and chastened Gladys the girls brought upstairs with them.
”You'll see I am going to be different,” Gladys said to Bab, ”and if ever there's a chance for me to prove how I appreciate your being so kind to me now, I shall do it. Of course, I don't expect you to have much faith in me yet.”
”Miss Barbara Thurston is requested to spend her last day in Newport as the guest of honor of Governor and Mrs. Post on board their yacht, the 'Penguin,' which is at this instant awaiting her answer outside in Narragansett Bay,” said Ruth, with a flourish of a letter she held in her hand and a low bow to Barbara.
”Goose!” shot Barbara at Ruth. ”But are we all invited for a sail? How jolly!”
”I am no goose, madam,” retorted Ruth. ”I mean what I say. Read this.”
She handed Barbara a letter which Miss Stuart had received from Mrs.
Post only a few minutes before, and which read: