14

under a shower for a minute or two, and as she dried herself, wondered if Phyllis was as glad to see Dick as she had expected to be. Then she got into fresh clothes, came down the front stairs and joined them at tea.

so
Her mother smiled restively at her that she knew no new difficulty had been caused by her tardiness. She greeted the young people she knew with unusual vivacity, and was presented to the rest without shyness. Then she took her tea over to where her father was standing, to tell him of the casual events of her walk.

He was talking to Susan - his favorite amongst all his daughters' friends - and as soon as Gillian joined them he suggested to Susan that she sing them a song. It was a private joke between Gillian and her father, this singing of Susan's. They agreed that to anticipate the exact note at which she would go off the pitch in the few songs she knew was a pleasure of a very special kind. But Susan, in a flutter of eagerness for her first great party, could not be persuaded, and flew off to inspect the Prophet's Chamber where she was to sleep. Gillian and her father, defeated, drank their tea together.

When she went back to the table for a second cup, she found her mother momentarily free to talk to her, and ready to hear her news of the day. "I went for a long walk, you know - not hunting for mushrooms or leaves, mother darling - just walking," she began, and then proceeded to give a particularly enlivening account of her simple experiences. She made every effort to keep her mother diverted, and accepted with perfect equanimity the fact that she was to dine alone upstairs. She watched the room contentedly while it thinned out as the household separated to dress.

Mrs. Bradley felt more and more tranquil about this - her youngest child - and more and more convinced that in due time this

15

daughter would develop into a manageable and appealing person and not at all difficult really - just of a different character from the rest, and wise - *very* wise.

Little did she realize that her youngest daughter was in a state of excitement which excluded all thoughts but one, and that this very excitement lent her an added facility and amiability in dealing with people and events outside it. To Gillian, the time spent since she had first come down to tea, the greetings and meetings and laughter, the new faces and the known ones - even the familiar room - were all fused into a distant haze on the furthest edge of her attention. She begged to be allowed to stay down stairs until the company appeared for dinner in their gala clothes, and Mrs. Bradley, finding this a most reasonable request, left her there alone.

She walked over to the fireplace and stood very still before it. She did not know how long she had been standing there before she heard doors opening and shutting upstairs, and again the curiously agreeable sound of human voices talking and laughing together; but she knew when she heard it that it would not be long now before they would have dined and gone, and she would be free to begin.

She moved away from her lone stand before the fireplace as they came down the wide staircase in twos and threes. She answered their occasional remarks to her politely, and watched them happily as they milled about the room. It was certainly clever of Brenda to have worn that enormous cluster of scarlet velvet cherries on the shoulder of her white satin dress. And how lovely Phyllis looked in her pink frock! It was obvious that she was even gladder to see Dick than she had expected to be.

Gillian liked Dick, though Brenda and Kate had long ago decided that he was awkward, unmannered and a bore. Gillian thought he

16

was surviving the banter and solidarity of the Bradley family very creditably, and that he would marry Phyllis no matter how many times he was refused. Aunt Elizabeth was the only other one of the Household who really liked him, and she was talking to him now in her elaborate brilliant phrases.

Aunt Elizabeth, though nearly sixty, had the figure of a young girl, and the gaiety of the world in her voice and gestures. At unpredictable moments her face would be brushed by a fleeting expression of tragedy, and Gillian longed to know why. Her life before she came to live with them - as long ago as Gillian could remember - was neither spoken of nor avoided. It just did not seem to have existed; yet she had unfailing sympathy for youth.

Gillian listened to her conversation with Dick until dinner was announced, and then went up to her mother to say good night. Mrs. Bradley kissed her and said, "You don't look tired any more, my child. I think your walk must have done you good." Gillian smiled, bade the rest of them good night and wished them an enchanting evening. Her father came up to her as the little group ahead of him began to make their way into the dining-room, and with a very ceremonious bow, said,

"I wish I were having the first dance with you tonight, Miss. Bradley."

"I wish you were, Sir ... And perhaps if I wish it enough, you may!" Gillian answered, making an equally ceremonious curtesy.

"Well, I must say you are **damned** good-natured about it, Gillian. I think it's all nonsense - this not going **out** until you are eighteen - particularly if you are the youngest, I've always thought you should all go to dances as soon as you can walk, and all dine downstairs with us as soon as you can eat. However, your

17

mother would give me the devil if she heard me talking to you like
this! I must go in" ... and he hurried down the hall,

Gillian went upstairs.

She waited until she heard the front door slammed shut for the
last time, the snort of impatient horses and the crunch of wheels
over the pebbled driveway grow indistinct, and then left her room.
The house was violently silent. She went immediately to Brenda's
room, and crossed it to the closet where the evening-clothes were
hung. She made a quick inspection, and then chose a heavily spangled
black dress from among them, and flew back to her own room.
Things move very quickly once you begin them, Gillian reflected. She
got out of her clothes and into the black splendour as soon as the
unfamiliar folds and fastenings would alloe, and standing before the
mirror, pulled the dress into shape. She found it very becoming! She
slipped the loop on the train over her little finger, and tried a
step or two of a waltz to see if she could manage the new length, Indeed
she could!

Her hair was the next thing to consider. She combed it up from
it's usual flatness into a light concealing cloud about her face,
and pinned the ends up firmly in a manner to hold it there. With a
burnt cork she gave herself heavy eyebrows, which made a great
change in the proportions of her face. She returned to Brenda's
room and found some rouge for her pale lips and cheeks, which increased
the change still more. Then she invaded her mother's room,
where she took a large black ostrich-feather fan from a drawer.

Holding the train up very competently, waving the fan very
gracefully, she moved langorously out of her mother's room and down
the stairs. Her Aunt Elizabeth was reading intently in a chair on
the far side of the room opposite the staircase, and did not look

18

up until Gillian stood on the last step. Then she gasped and said nothing, but peered out through her powerful glasses. She took them off - peered again.

Gillian made an elaborate courtesy, and spoke. "Good evening, Miss. Williams! Are you going to the ball? I am."

"Gillian, my child! What have you done to yourself?" her aunt finally managed to exclaim. "What are you thinking of?"

"I'm not thinking of anything anymore, Aunt Elizabeth, though I've been at it prettily steadily all day. I'm just going to the ball ... I'm going as an out-of-town guest" - (not until she heard the words issuing from her own mouth did she realize that this was her plan) "and - and - Oh! dear ... You must help me!" she cried.

"But Gillian, it's impossible! Your mother would be outraged."

"Nothing is impossible, Aunt Elizabeth - and you must help. I hear a carriage coming up the drive now - if it's Whitcomb, do stop him before he gets to the stable, and tell him to take me down. I'll put my heavy coat over all this" - she made a showman's gesture around herself - "and when I get there I'll wait in the dressing-room until I can get hold of Gladys and Albert Reynolds, or Marian and Tim, or - or - Oh! anyone'll do as long as they will be darlings and introduce me as their guest. I will be ... I will be Miss. Daritt from Detroit. You know it can be done. No one will recognize me, and if they do ... Well, I'll think then of what to do next. Please!"

Elizabeth looked at Gillian for a full second, a tragic little flutter just shadowing her face, though her eyes were deep with gaiety, and said,

"Your mother will never forgive me, my dear - never! But still ... I must say you look ravishing. Your father'll be as proud as ... Oh! I daren't - No, no, - I daren't! I'll be murdered for it -

19

murdered!! ... But why not? " She jumped up from her chair and rushed to the door just as a carriage was being pulled slowly past the house by tired horses. "Whitecomb!" she cried out sharply, "Is that you?"

"Yes, Miss. Williams."

"Turn the carriage about, and drive Miss. Gillian down to the ball. She - she wasn't ready before,"

"Yes, Miss. Williams." Nothing that happened in the Bradley family could surprise Whitecomb. He turned the horses and drove them up to the front door.

Gillian, in her heavy coat, flew down the steps and into the carriage. Once inside, she shouted out in feverish gratitude,

"Thank you, darling Aunt Elizabeth. Thank you - thank you forever!"

"Murdered I shall be, Miss. Daritt from Detroit - - MURDERED!" She stood for a moment in the lighted doorway, and then with a slight shiver stepped back into the house and shut the door, while Miss. Daritt from Detroit drove off to her first ball.

* * * * *

As the carriage moved down the hill and turned into the road around the lake, Gillian felt that the earth under the horses' feet might sink down sickeningly and swallow them - carriage, horses, Whitecomb and herself: or that the hill would come chasing after them and tumble them all into the lake. She felt a blessed degree of relief when they drove through the gate and out into the town street. The ordinary sounds of street-cars and other desultory traffic gave her confidence, and banished from her mind the black accusing strain of privacy. By the time the carriage had stopped in front of the copy that offered Safe transport across the sidewalk to the entrance

20

of the hall where the great party was taking place, Gillian was quite
herself - or was she Miss. Daritt ?

She breathed a "Good night" to Whitcomb, ran under the canopy
into the hall, looked about her for an anxious moment, and then darted
into a small room filled with racks, on which evening-cloaks were
hanging side by side with big numbered tickets pinned to each. A
maid who had been in the service of Mary's mother for years, and who
had seen and spoken to her countless times, took the heavy coat
which Gillian flung off, and though surprised by the contrast of
Gillian's costume underneath, did not recognize her. Gillian was en-
couraged, and turning quickly away to the mirror, said, "Please tell
Mrs. and Mr. Reynolds that their guest, Miss. Daritt, has arrived,
and is waiting for them in the dressing-room. I can't go up alone -
I don't know my hostess."

The maid looked puzzled, but left the room. Another one, whom
Gillian was gratefully aware of never having seen before, appeared
from behind a coat-rack and helped Gillian with certain escaping
strands of hair. Gillian knew Gladys or Albert would come. Hadn't
Aunt Elizabeth been? ... hadn't Whitcomb done just? ... wasn't she
HERE? - but she wished they would hurry.

She stood where she could not be seen from the door, and wait-
ed. The sound of voices was far away but more exciting in volume and
gaiety than she had ever heard it. Suddenly the human sound was bro-
ken up into myriad thin little splinters of shattered and meaning-
less noise by what was to Gillian at that moment the most radiantly
solid vibration in the world - a fine orchestra playing a great
waltz! She was maddened at being kept from it, and was ready to try
her fate as Miss. Daritt alone, when she heard Mrs. Reynolds' voice
saying "I can't imagine who it is." Are you sure she asked for me?"

21

Then she stepped out into full view and flinging her arms around Gladys as she came into the dressing-room, said,

"You don't have to imagine, darling - It's Gillian!"

Gladys moved quickly back and looked at her with amazement.
"Why, Gillian! What are you doing here?"

"What am I doing here? Why, I'm being your guest here - Miss Daritt from Detroit - and you must take me up and introduce me, darling. No one will ever find out, and it will be such fun! No - no - no! Don't let's stop to talk about it - Just let's do it. Come on!" She dragged Gladys out of the room and halfway up the stairs before she could protest. But when they had reached the top, and Gillian started off in the direction of the music, Gladys pulled her back and said breathlessly,

"No, Gillian dear, this is really too far. I know it's fun, and you certainly fooled me in the first second I saw you - I was never so startled in my life - but your parents will know you at once. They are receiving with Mary's mothet. It simply can't be done! They would hold me forever responsible, and feel that I had been unfriendly, to say the least ... Oh, no! I won't offend them like this. They have always been such angels to me ... Do go home," she pleaded helplessly.

"No one's responsible but myself, Gladys darling, but of course if you feel that way about it, I'll find Albert. He'll take me up." She started toward the door of the ball-room, which was only a few feet away from them. Her last remark settled the matter for Mrs. Reynolds. She knew only too well that her husband would enter into this plot with the most exaggerated sense of conspiracy, which would make matters much worse. She clutched at Gillian, made a despairing face and said in rather a frightened voice,

22

"Come on then - here we go! ... Who did you say you are? - Miss Daritt, from Detroit? Good Lord - what a name'. What *will* your mother say!"

They walked into the ball-room. The orchestra was still play-
ing the great waltz. All this had been accomplished in a few moments
but to Gillian it had seemed on eternity. She was fourteen - she was
not eighteen - and she was at the ball! ... Or perhaps she was in
Heaven, and they played waltzes there forever? ... No, because be-
fore they had reached the group of elderly people waiting to receive
them, the waltz stopped.

She stepped a little behind Mrs. Reynolds in a flash of form-
less luminous fright, and then heard herself saying in an extremely
affected voice, "How do you do? ... How do you do? ... How do you
do?" to each person in turn as she was presented by Gladys - now
desperately calm.

They were approaching her mother. She heard Gladys say, "Mrs. Bradley, here is another guest of mine - Miss. Daritt." (Gillian wished she had thought of another name: this one was beginning to sound very unlikely, and relentlessly monotonous.) "She's just arrived from Detroit," Gladys concluded, Then Gillian heard her own voice speaking from behind clouds of hair, in accents so affected as to sound foreign. "How do you do?" ... and it was over.

Her mother had smiled, greeted her with impersonal cordiality,
given fer a fleeting look just tinged wita disapproval, and had
turned her head from Miss. Daritt to speak to someone standing be-
hind her. Gillian passed on to greet her hostess. She was now tran-
sformed into another person, and felt that she had been going to
balls for years. Her excitement mounting and her fears allayed, she
spoke in an almost natural voice. She told Mary's mother what a love-
ly party it was, how kind she was to have ... , and was ans-

24

led dress to the music of an orchestra - all at the age of fourteen -
was worth the determination she had given to it and the punishment
she would receive from it. This she realized as she danced.

The news of her arrival had spread through the room. Gladys
had told a few close friends the truth, and the rest were wondering
as to whom she was and where she came from. Gillian realized that
she was being watched and discussed by many people. This added to
her enjoyment. When the music stopped again, her father guided her
to a corner of the ball-room where the Reynoldses were the center of
a laughing listening group of men and women, and said,

"I'll leave you here with Gladys and go see how the land lies.
Your mother must have heard by this time ... Make it last as long
as you can, Gill, Bill, and I'll keep you informed. Good bye - take
care of her Gladys." He walked slowly away, pausing to greet friends
as often and as gaily as possible, hoping to postpone the moment
which he knew would bring Gillian's pleasure to a close.

The music began once more, and Gillian was swept up in a vortex of dancing. Those who knew that the youngest Bradley girl had come to ball as Miss. Daritt from Detroit without her parents' knowledge or permission were highly entertained or enviously disapproving, but all of them were interested. She danced with friends and strangers, good dancers and bad, - sometimes not taking more than a few steps with one before she was snatched away by another.

Brenda passed her without a smile, in a pretense of righteous
anger but in reality petulant and jealous because of the unforeseen
rivalry that had sprung up in an hour. Phyllis and Dick were so ab-
sorbed in each other that they felt nothing but happy tolerance for
the rest of mankind, including Gillian, and paid her small attention.
Her brothers ran from her, delighted by the breach of discipline but
anxious to keep free of the consequences.

25

She was tasting her triumph from minute to minute, knowing
that it could not endure. That she was at the ball, that what she
had determined had come to pass, that she was dancing, was enough.
It was real. The rest was an iridescent dream.

She saw her father standing at the side of the room, watching
for her to appear in the dancing throng of couples. She knew from
his gaze that her evening was at an end. When the dance was finished
she waited for him to find her. He came up to her with a distressed
smile and said,

"It's all over, Gill-Bill. Your mother knows. You and she and I
are going home. You better run down and get into the carriage as soon
as you can find Whitcomb. I will delay your mother as long as possible ... It will give you a breathing-space. Have you had a good time?"

"Perfect, father. Don't worry. Thank you. I'll wait in the car-
riage for the ..." She smiled, said good night to her partner and
darted away from him. As she sped across the floor she saw Brenda,
the scarlet cherries bobbing up and down on her shoulder, the sul-
len look visible under her angry smile, and heard her cry out, "Y
"You'll catch it for this, young one," but the words reached her as
a series of meaningless little sounds from nowhere. She got to the
door and was running through it when a chorus of admiring voices
shouted after her, "Good night, Miss. Daritt" This, in her necessi-
ty, she heard as a parting flattering salute to her evening, and
welcomed it by waving her black feather fan in a farewell flourish
as she flew from the room.

In the dressing-room she snatched her hat from the rack with-
out a word to the astonished maids, and ran to the door just as the
radiant vibrations of the orchestra filled her ears one last time.
She spied the familiar horses across the street, and rushing over to

27

she knew her mother's heart was hurt, and this made her cautious of her words. She must wait.

Her father nudged her knee and spoke again, his voice a shade more natural. "It's a damned cold night! I wonder if Whitcomb had the heavy blankets on the horses?"

"Oh, yes - he did - I remember now - I saw them," Gillian professed very timidly, glad of the chance to launch into an impersonal conversation. She could get no further in it. Her voice thudded against the blank wall of Mrs. Bradley's silence, and came echoing back empty into her own ears. There was another long pause before Mr. Bradley bravely ventured a further remark.

"Mary looked very handsome tonight, don't you think? ... She looked very - er - handsome!"

There was no answer to this, though Mrs. Bradley stirred uneasily. Mr. Bradley tried once more, with a genuine inflection of enthusiasm in his words this time, "The music was splendid!"

"Oh, wasn't it!" Gillian exclaimed, impervious to the situation for one spontaneous second.

"I would prefer not to discuss it," her mother answered, and then the terrible silence shut down over them once more. She had spoken very sharply, and Gillian had made a little jump forward from the security of her corner where she had hardly dared move since first crouching into it. As she did so, she felt a small but severe stab of pain under her arm, and wondered if her conscience had impelled her to imagine this, or it had actually happened. She put her hand up very stealthily to the spot which pained her, sticking straight into her. She pulled it carefully out, and the ticket which had been pinned to her coat fell into her lap. She held her breath for fear it had attracted attention, and then was dreadfully afraid she was going to laugh ...

28

They had left the town by now, and were driving fast through
the isolated darkness to the house. As they turned the narrow cor-
ner in the low road that skirted the lake and began the steep climb
up the hill, Gillian felt the carriage stop with a sudden jerk, and
saw Whitecomb jump down from his seat and run to the horses' heads.
Her father opened the door and called out to Whitecomb in a burst of
nerves
strained amaze,

"What the devil's the matter now!"

"Harness broke, Mr. Bradley. Guess you'll have to lend a hand,
sir. I can't see none too good."

Gillian felt that her last defence was gone when her father
got up from the seat in front of her, gave her a little nod, and
went out into the cold dark. She was alone with her situation, and
had to make an attempt to deal with it. She could bear the silence no longer.

"I'm sorry, mother, but I had to do what I did. I didn't want
to hurt you, but - well, I had to go to the ball, and there was no
other way." She knew this to be hopelessly inadequate, but she did
not know what to say except the truth.

"You had to flaunt yourself before me like a painted Jezebel,
Gillian?"

"Oh! Mother!" - she gasped. She was vague about Jezebel, but
certain that her mother thought her wicked. "Oh, mother! No!" ... I
just had to go - that's all."

"My own daughter - my youngest daughter - had to appear half-
naked in spangles and paint before her family and friends! You had
to do this, Gillian - at the age of fourteen? ... Then I am very
sorry too. I must find some way of helping you not to do these things
you feel you have to do." Her mother said this very calmly, and Gill-
lian was too truly alarmed to utter a word. "Where was your Aunt Bl-

29

Elizabeth?" her mother then asked.

"Why, she - she was - er - Oh! she was just there, mother," Gillian replied. "You See, I ..." she faltered, and fell again into the awful silence. Up from the bottom of it came her mother's voice - remote, deliberate, final. It formed words. Gillian heard them. They were:

"I have decided to send you to a convent." Nothing more.

Gillian sat up very straight. It was a releif of a sort to know her threatened doom. At least the suspense was ended, and she was no longer floating painfully about in a vacuum. She looked out of the window into the unresponsive night, and saw her father like a spectre from a far off world leave the horses' heads and make his way back into the carriage. He seemed to realize as he saw Gillian's desparate little face plain and pale now in the flickering light from the carriage lanterns - in spite of rouge - that it was no use; He reached over and patted her hand, but no further word was spoken during the rest of the drive home.

The front door opened as the carriage stopped before it, and in the doorway where Gillian had last seen her stood Aunt Elizabeth. It occurred to Gillian that she might have been standing there ever since.

"Katherine, my dear!" she cried, as the three sad people made their separate ways into the house, "Katherine, forgive me. It's all my fault - It really is. I know I shouldn't have let her go, but the child was so eager, and so ... Oh, don't punish her for it - please! I alone am to blame, and you will forgive me ..." She crossed her hands over her breasts as if she were about to beat them in supplication.

Mr. Bradley shut the door with shattering energy and stamped over to the fireplace. "Damned cold night, Elizabeth - and a damned

["30", "fine ball! Gill-Bill was a great ..." The last words of his sentence\nwere lost in the noise of a great log of wood flung on the fire.", "Mrs. Bradley waited until the room was quiet and then said to\nElizabeth, to her husband, to Gillian, to the world -", "\"I am going to send Gillian to a convent.\"", "\"Mother, I -\"", "\"I prefer to wait until the morning to discuss it, Gillian.\nGood night.\"", "Gillian had a moment of uncertainty, and then looking direct-\nly into her mother's eyes anüh speaking again with the grave and cour-\nteous determination which had marked her words at breakfast, said,", "\"But mother, I would leave the convent. I would go away from it,\nI would have to. I am sorry - - but I would <u>have</u> to ... Goodnight.\"", "She started upstairs, looking over the railing at them all as\nshe went slowly up, weary at the thought of having to perfectly de-\ntermine something again so very soon - almost before she had had\ntime to thoroughly enjoy the thing she had last accomplished by it.\nHer father kicked the log in the fireplace into a blaze and sang v\nvery softly what sounded to Gillian like a note or two from the\ngreat waltz. Her Aunt Elizabeth unclasp ed her hands, and picked up\na paper which she folded and unfolded. Her mother made a gesture as\nif to push her beautifully coiffed hair back from her forehead, but\nbrought her hands down and took a few steps forward to watch Gillian\ngo up the stairs.", "They all listened as she walked across the upper hall, and then Mr. Bradley called out,", "\"Good night, Miss. Davitt from Detroit.\"", "\"Good night, Sir,\" she called back faintly.", "\"Nat, you really <u>are</u> too much. You make it impossible for me\nto - How <u>can</u> I? ... Elizabeth, don't stand there pleading with me"]

31

that way: Something must be done to make the child realize -"

"She realizes enough, Cathedra-Shine! Don't deceive yourself about that. We'll send her to a convent in the morning, if you insist, but we can't send her tonight."

Gillian heard their voices dimly, her mind trying to cope with her new problem. She reached her room, pulled off the offending black dress, washed her face carefully and got into bed. She tried to concentrate on not going to a convent, but she did not know how to begin. She knew that she was not wicked, and believed that anything she really did was somehow right to do. She could not get any further than this, however hard she tried.

And then - was it in the mercifully natural sound of their lowered laughing voices, or did it just pervade the vibrating air between herself and her enchanting parents? - she realized blissfully that she would not have to do anything more about it. It was not going to happen ... They were letting her know - they might not be letting her know, but they were letting her feel - that they were not going to send her away.

She had been to her first ball, and she was not going to a convent. She would not have to determine anything again for hour. She had only to go to sleep.

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