behind, they might have thought she had been over to call on Mrs. MacRae.
But there was no alternative now but to walk up, racket and all. They had seen her. She could not well cast it in the road. And anyway, why should Gloria Sutherland cringe before a disagreeable pair of relatives? It really didn’t matter whether they thought that tennis was a waste of time or not.
So she walked coolly up to the porch and greeted her relatives as if they were welcome, laying her racket aside on a table as calmly as if she had not seen two pairs of eyes fasten upon it just as her intuition had foreseen they would do.
“We heard that you were still here,” said Aunt Miranda, fixing her cold eyes upon Gloria, “and Joan seemed to think we ought to come and call, since you asked us.”
“That was nice of you,” said Gloria, trying to smile into the hostile eyes of her cousin.
“We thought perhaps you were lonesome,” said Joan, her eyes giving a significant glance at the racket, “but it seems you have found other friends.”
“People have been very kind,” said Gloria, looking her cousin in the eye and trying not to change color. “I’ve just been having a little much-needed exercise. Since Father had to go back home, I just stayed around the house and read, and I really needed to get some good hard exercise.”
“Don’t they have any extra housework here they could let you do?” asked her aunt, looking about on the immaculate porch with its neatly painted chairs in a row, each chair back covered whitely with a clean linen cover. In her glance, Gloria read for the first time that even a row of porch rockers wearing white linen covers required labor to make and keep them that way. It was a revelation, but Gloria did not let her callers know it. She suddenly realized that there must have been other ways she might have helped besides just making her bed and drying the dishes now and then. She tucked that away in her mind for future reference.
“Oh, they let me do a little now and then.” She smiled pleasantly. “Are you home every Saturday, Joan? How nice that must be!”
“Yes,” said her mother grimly, “she manages to get a good deal done Saturdays. She’s always been one to help at home. My Joan never was one to shy away from work.”
“I suppose you play games a good deal, don’t you?” remarked Joan with another glance at the tennis racket.
“Oh, I do almost anything that’s going,” laughed Gloria.
“I shouldn’t suppose you’d feel much like games, now, though, not under the circumstances,” remarked her aunt grimly with a thin, disapproving set of her lips.
Gloria’s eyes suddenly grew dark with surprise and pain, and her color went white. “One doesn’t always do just what one feels like,” she said slowly, with down-drooping eyes.
“Well, I should suppose almost anybody would excuse you now from engaging in frivolity,” said Aunt Miranda. “I shouldn’t suppose they’d
expect
you to go playing around
now!”
“I think perhaps,” said Gloria, feeling around for words, “that it’s just as easy to go ahead and do things. It sometimes helps you to forget the hard things.”
“I’ve always thought good hard work was the best panacea for trouble,” said her aunt severely. “I’m sure I’ve found it so in my own case. When my little boy was killed by a tree falling on him, I just went downstairs and cleaned the cellar. That was the only way I could stand it. Get at something hard that has to be done and do it! That’s my way!”
“We don’t all have cellars to clean.” Gloria smiled faintly. “And I don’t suppose everybody bears trouble in the same way.”
“But wasn’t this to have been your wedding day?” asked the cousin sharply with another hostile glance at the tennis racket.
Gloria felt as if she should scream. She wondered if she did what effect it would have. Would Emily come and help her out? Would her callers take their leave? But she answered
But there was no alternative now but to walk up, racket and all. They had seen her. She could not well cast it in the road. And anyway, why should Gloria Sutherland cringe before a disagreeable pair of relatives? It really didn’t matter whether they thought that tennis was a waste of time or not.
So she walked coolly up to the porch and greeted her relatives as if they were welcome, laying her racket aside on a table as calmly as if she had not seen two pairs of eyes fasten upon it just as her intuition had foreseen they would do.
“We heard that you were still here,” said Aunt Miranda, fixing her cold eyes upon Gloria, “and Joan seemed to think we ought to come and call, since you asked us.”
“That was nice of you,” said Gloria, trying to smile into the hostile eyes of her cousin.
“We thought perhaps you were lonesome,” said Joan, her eyes giving a significant glance at the racket, “but it seems you have found other friends.”
“People have been very kind,” said Gloria, looking her cousin in the eye and trying not to change color. “I’ve just been having a little much-needed exercise. Since Father had to go back home, I just stayed around the house and read, and I really needed to get some good hard exercise.”
“Don’t they have any extra housework here they could let you do?” asked her aunt, looking about on the immaculate porch with its neatly painted chairs in a row, each chair back covered whitely with a clean linen cover. In her glance, Gloria read for the first time that even a row of porch rockers wearing white linen covers required labor to make and keep them that way. It was a revelation, but Gloria did not let her callers know it. She suddenly realized that there must have been other ways she might have helped besides just making her bed and drying the dishes now and then. She tucked that away in her mind for future reference.
“Oh, they let me do a little now and then.” She smiled pleasantly. “Are you home every Saturday, Joan? How nice that must be!”
“Yes,” said her mother grimly, “she manages to get a good deal done Saturdays. She’s always been one to help at home. My Joan never was one to shy away from work.”
“I suppose you play games a good deal, don’t you?” remarked Joan with another glance at the tennis racket.
“Oh, I do almost anything that’s going,” laughed Gloria.
“I shouldn’t suppose you’d feel much like games, now, though, not under the circumstances,” remarked her aunt grimly with a thin, disapproving set of her lips.
Gloria’s eyes suddenly grew dark with surprise and pain, and her color went white. “One doesn’t always do just what one feels like,” she said slowly, with down-drooping eyes.
“Well, I should suppose almost anybody would excuse you now from engaging in frivolity,” said Aunt Miranda. “I shouldn’t suppose they’d
expect
you to go playing around
now!”
“I think perhaps,” said Gloria, feeling around for words, “that it’s just as easy to go ahead and do things. It sometimes helps you to forget the hard things.”
“I’ve always thought good hard work was the best panacea for trouble,” said her aunt severely. “I’m sure I’ve found it so in my own case. When my little boy was killed by a tree falling on him, I just went downstairs and cleaned the cellar. That was the only way I could stand it. Get at something hard that has to be done and do it! That’s my way!”
“We don’t all have cellars to clean.” Gloria smiled faintly. “And I don’t suppose everybody bears trouble in the same way.”
“But wasn’t this to have been your wedding day?” asked the cousin sharply with another hostile glance at the tennis racket.
Gloria felt as if she should scream. She wondered if she did what effect it would have. Would Emily come and help her out? Would her callers take their leave? But she answered
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