An Unwilling Guest (Romance Classic). Grace Livingston Hill
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with dread the six stupid weeks before she could hope for his return and her release from exile. She pouted her lips in annoyance as she thought of a certain young man who was to be in New York during the winter. She was to have met him at a dinner this very night. She wondered for the hundredth time if it could possibly be that papa had heard of her friendship with this young fellow and because of it had hustled her off to Hillcroft so unceremoniously. Her cheeks burned at the thought and she bit her lips angrily. Papa was so particular! Men did not know how to bring up a girl, anyway. If only her mother had lived she felt sure she would not have had such old-fashioned notions, for her mother had been quite a woman of fashion, from what people in society said of her. There was nothing the matter with this Mr. Worthington either—a little fast, but it had not hurt him. He was delightful company. Fathers ought to know that their daughters enjoyed men with some spirit and not namby-pamby milk-and-water creatures. Probably papa had been a bit wild in his youth also; she had heard it said that all men were, in which case he ought to be lenient toward other young men and not expect them to be grave and solemn before their time. Mr. Worthington dressed perfectly, and that was a good deal. She liked to see a man well dressed. Papa was certainly very foolish about her. With this filial reflection the young woman arose as the train came to a halt and followed the porter from the car.
Several passengers alighted, but the girl on the platform knew instinctively that the young woman in the elegant gray broadcloth skirt and dainty shirt waist, carrying on her arm her gray coat, which showed more than a gleam of the turquoise blue silk lining, and unconcernedly trailing her long skirt on the dirty platform, was the one with whom she had to do.
Allison Grey waited just the least perceptible second before she stepped forward. She told herself afterward that it made it so much worse to have that porter standing smiling and bowing to listen. She felt that her duty was fully as disagreeable as she had feared, yet she was one who usually faced duty cheerfully. She could not help glancing down at her own blue serge skirt and plain white shirt waist, and remembering that her hands were guiltless of gloves, as she walked forward to where the other girl stood.
"Is this Miss Rutherford?" she asked, trying to keep her voice from trembling, and hoping her mental perturbation was not visible.
The traveler wheeled with a graceful turn of her tall figure that left the tailor-made skirt in lovely curved lines which Allison with her artist's eye noted at once, and stared. Evelyn Rutherford's eyes were black and had an expression which in a less refined type of girl would have been called saucy. In her it was modified into haughtiness. She looked Allison Grey over and it seemed to Allison that she took account of every discrepancy in her plain little outfit before she answered.
"It is." There was that in the tone of the answer that said: "And what business of yours may that be, pray?"
Allison's cheek flushed and there came a sparkle in her eye that spoke of other feelings than her quiet answer betokened:
"Then will you come this way, please? The carriage is on the other side of the station. Your aunt, Miss Rutherford, was unable to meet you and I have come in her place. If you will give me your check I will see that your baggage is attended to at once."
"Indeed!" said the bewildered traveler, and she followed the other girl with an air of injured dignity. Was this some kind of a superior servant her aunt had sent to take her place? Her maid, perhaps? She certainly did not speak nor act like a servant, and yet ——— Then her indignation waxed great. To think that her father's sister should treat her in this way, not even come to the station to meet her when she was an entire stranger, and had never even seen her since she was three years old! In New York, of course, she would not have expected it. Things were different. But she had always understood that country people made a great deal of meeting their friends at the station. Her aunt had spoken of this in her letters. A fine welcome, to be sure! She could not be ill or this person would have mentioned it at once.
She entirely forgot that a few moments before one of the greatest grievances had been that she feared her aunt would bore her with a show of affection, for she remembered the many caresses of her babyhood indistinctly, and her nature was not one that cared for feminine affection overmuch.
Allison showed the porter where to deposit the bags and umbrellas on the station platform, and taking the checks given her she left the elegant stranger standing amid her belongings, looking with disdain at the pony phaeton across the road and wondering where the carriage could be. She was growing angry at being left standing so long when she became aware that the girl across the road untying the pony was the same one who had gone away with her checks, and it began to dawn upon her that she was expected to get into that small conveyance with this other girl.
She submitted with what grace she could, as there seemed to be nothing else to be done, but the expression on her face was anything but pleasant, and she demanded an explanation of the state of things in no sweet manner.
"What is the meaning of all this? Is this my aunt's carriage? Where is her driver?" she asked imperiously. Having made up her mind that this girl was a servant she concluded to treat her accordingly.
It was characteristic of Allison that she waited until she had carefully spread the clean linen robe over the gray broadcloth skirt, gathered her reins deliberately, and given the pony word to go before she answered. Even then she did not speak until the phaeton was turned about and they were fairly started spinning over the smooth road under the arching trees. By that time her voice was sweet and steady, and her temper was well under her control.
"I am very sorry, Miss Rutherford, that you should suffer any inconvenience," she said. "It certainly is not so pleasant for you as if your aunt had been able to meet you as she planned. No, this is not her carriage. It belongs to us, and we are her neighbors and dear friends." She forced herself to say this with a pleasant smile, although she felt somehow as if the girl beside her would resent it.
"Really!" interpolated Miss Rutherford, as one who awaits a much-needed explanation.
"Yes, your aunt was expecting you, looking forward with great pleasure to your coming,' she bade me say," went on Allison, reciting her lesson a trifle stiffly, "and only two hours ago she discovered serious illness among her household which they are afraid may be contagious. They cannot tell for some hours yet. She does not wish you to come to the house until they are sure. She hopes that it will be all right for you to come home by tomorrow, or the next day at most, and in the meantime we will try to make you as comfortable as possible. Your aunt sent us word by the doctor this morning asking me to meet you and explain why it would not be safe for her to meet you. I am Allison Grey. We live quite at the other end of town from Miss Rutherford, so you will be entirely safe from any infection should it prove to be serious. Miss Rutherford was kind enough to think my mother could make you a little more comfortable than anyone else."
Allison was almost in her usual spirits as she finished speaking. It would not be so bad after the stranger understood, surely. She did not add what Miss Rutherford had said about having her niece with herself, Allison, as she hoped another girl's company would make her feel less lonely and strange, for Allison saw at once that this was not a girl who cared for other girls' company a straw, at least not such as she.
Evelyn Rutherford's face was a study. Chagrin and astonishment struggled for the mastery.
"I do not understand," she said. "Who is ill in the family that could prevent my aunt meeting me? I thought she lived alone."
"She does," said Allison quickly, "except for her two servants. It is one of them, the cook. She has been with Miss Rutherford for fifteen years, you know, and is almost like her own flesh and blood to her.
Besides, she has taken care of her all night herself, before she knew there was any need for caution, and if it is smallpox, as they fear, she has been fully exposed to it already, so it would not be safe for her to come to you until they are sure."
"Horrors!" exclaimed the stranger, and Allison saw that her face turned a deadly white. "Stop! Turn around! I will go right back to New York!"
"You need not feel afraid," said Allison gently. 'There is none of it in town and this case is entirely isolated. The woman has been away on a visit to her brother and probably took the disease there.