CHAPTER XII

WHEN Mrs. Sheldon had turned from speaking with Mrs. Oliver and her two charming daughters, she looked around the office in dismay.

"Why, where is Marguerite?" she asked with instant worry in her eyes. "She hasn't gone away?" and there was in her voice that quality of desperation which had made Mrs. Dunlap fear for her health more than once in the hours they had spent together.

She hastened to assure her.

"It's all right, Mrs. Sheldon. She's with Nelson Whitney. They've gone off together to do some sight seeing I think."

"But they don't know where we are that is they won't know how to find us. Nelson didn't—that is Marguerite won't—" She stopped in confusion, realizing that this would seem very strange talk to the onlooking Olivers about people who were supposed to be of the same party.

But Mrs. Dunlap was equal to the occasion.

"It's all right, my dear. I told them where we were going, wrote it down for them so they wouldn't make a mistake."

With relief, the weary mother relaxed the drawn look of her face and turned to the Olivers graciously.

"I'm so glad to have met you," she said, and smiled sincerely.

When they were gone Gloria turned to her mother.

"I didn't like the way she spoke to you, Mums dear!" she said. "It was almost as if she felt sorry for you somehow."

"What a queer idea!" laughed her mother. "I think she is a very charming woman. In fact anybody Mrs. Dunlap sponsors usually is."

"Yourself included, Mums!" laughed Gloria. "Come on Muth, lets rout out Dad and get started. We're two hours behind schedule now. Kath, you ought to have run things better than this!" And laughing they went off to find the beloved husband and father.

They found him standing by the window with the sash thrown up, wiping beads of perspiration from his forehead, though the day was keen and clear.

"What's the matter, dear? Is there any trouble about your business?" asked Mrs. Oliver solicitously.

"I wasn't feeling very well there for a minute!" said the valiant husband, mopping his cold brow once more. "I felt a little dizzy! I guess I've been going it a little too hard lately. I suppose I'm getting old."

He paused for his loving family to refute this statement, but they only laughed as if it were a good joke.

"I think I'll have to cut out some of this traveling," he said slowly, taking deep breaths between his words. He still wore a sort of whipped look except to his family's eyes.

But at that they all shouted a joyous assent, "Yes, Dad, that would be great! Then you'd be all ours and not belong to the world at large any more," added Gloria as the hurrah subsided.

"Come on, let's go!" said Oliver turning away from them quickly to hide a look of something like shame that stole over his scared white face.

"But we haven't given Muth her presents yet," reminded Gloria who never by any chance forgot anything.

It was with relief that Oliver took the little white box containing the watch from his pocket. The attention all focused upon it, instead of himself, he was able even to make a pleasant little flowery speech in presentation.

Nevertheless the occasion had ceased to be the joyous celebration that he had anticipated. Half of his mind was necessarily occupied with wondering what on earth that Dunlap woman meant to do next? Did she intend to keep that miserable affair of Daisy hanging over his head like a Damoclean sword the rest of his natural life? If so, there would be no peace anywhere.

He would never know when they might walk in and bring him to shame among his friends. Well, he had been a fool of course. It was hard to admit it. Perhaps he had merely bungled things. But—yes, he felt a good deal of a fool. After all, what was that girl but a pretty pink and white thing—just a passing fancy. Home was best. He would stay at home—unless that obnoxious Mrs. Dunlap was going to haunt his steps.

Perhaps it would be as well to go abroad for a year. The business was in pretty good shape now, and the girls would love it. Yes, they would go abroad. He would broach the subject that very day and hurry up arrangements to get away as soon as possible. He couldn't stand any more shocks like this one!

Thus reasoning, he grew calm, and the family went down to the new car and their interrupted holiday.

Down on the street Mrs. Sheldon looked about her in a dazed way and put her hand to her head. Her companion caught the gesture and slipped an arm around her.

"My dear, you are going straight back to the hotel and take a good long sleep," she said, and raised her other hand to summon a passing taxi.

"Oh, I'm all right," murmured the little white-faced mother, "Everything is all right now at least I hope it is, for a while. Only—what shall I do with Daisy? Her life is broken! My poor little flower of a girl!"

"Don't you believe it!" said the strong woman who knew life. "God doesn't let even a flower get broken as easily as that. Here, let's get in this taxi, and then we can talk."

She gave the order to the driver, and then laid her hand on the stricken woman's arm.

"My dear! You should be singing, shouting hallelujah, not mourning. Can't you trust the Father who has brought about this revelation to show your girl that life isn't all gone just because she made a mistake about one wolf in sheep's clothing? This all came to your girl perhaps to teach her, and prepare her for a fuller, wider life than she could have otherwise been prepared for."

"Oh!" moaned the little mother, "I wish I could feel that way, but it seems to me we have lost our self-respect. It seems as if Daisy has lost all the fine dignity and judgment she had, and that she can never lift up her head again."

"She has only lost her cock-suredness, my dear. She hasn't lost a bit of self-respect. She has made a mistake, yes, and a bad one, but she will learn to be more careful now, not to trust herself implicitly. She will learn to pray her way through the difficulties, perhaps, instead of insisting she knows best and demanding her own way. She will pay more heed to her mother's advice to her mother's intuition, and not consider that her own discernment of character is final. You know we all have to have sharp lessons to teach us to find our guidance in the Lord and our own utter helplessness without Him."

"But I'm so afraid Daisy won't look at it that way. She is such an intense child, so proud and excitable, and enthusiastic, and so prone to go to the depths when the heights have failed her. I am afraid—Mrs. Dunlap, forgive me, but I'm afraid she may lose her mind! You were not with her that last night before she went away. You don't realize."

"I realize that underneath are the Everlasting Arms, my dear," said Mary Dunlap solemnly, "and that the God who has just now performed the seemingly impossible for you in convincing your daughter of the unworthiness of the man whom she was determined to marry, in time and before it was forever too late to save her from the public shame of her own actions, can perform like wonders in other ways. Now, dear sister, suppose you just trust in Him. He has said, 'Commit thy way unto the Lord; trust also in Him and He shall bring it to pass.' Couldn't you just rest on that this morning and let Him give you a good rest? I'm sure everything will be made plain for you. Now, here we are at the hotel."

Mary Dunlap helped her friend up to her room for she looked as frail as a lily by this time; and had a nice little lunch sent up of which she literally forced her companion to partake.

When she found the troubled mother did not wish to talk of other matters she just went over the morning's experience with her, bringing out at every turn, the wonders that the Lord had worked. She spoke of the young man, Whitney.

"Tell me about him!" she said as she poured a second cup of coffee. "I'm wonderfully taken with that young man. He looks like true blue to me."

"Oh, he is!" said Marguerite's mother.

And she began to tell of the days the years when her girl and this fine boy were growing up together, till gradually the care lifted from the mother's face.

But the tale came to a sudden bitter end with the plaint that was almost a sob:

"She had all that devotion in a fine young man her own age, and yet she could think she cared for that old slippery beast!"

Mary Dunlap gave an almost girlish giggle.

"He is that, isn't he? I keep thinking of his poor dear wife and daughters who think he is the salt of the earth. Oh, poor dears! I do hope they don't ever have to find it out this side—or at least not till the Lord has made him over. But my dear, don't you think that perhaps your child hadn't just waked up to realities yet? Wasn't she more in love with being in love, than with the man himself? She was under a strong delusion as the Bible says, but I'm sure it has been swept away, and in full time.

"My dear, I'll tell you something. Her hand was on the boy's arm confidingly as if she trusted him, and his strong hand was over it, tenderly, comfortingly, as if she were dearer to him than life. I couldn't help seeing the look on his face as he bent to speak to her from his fine height—she is such a little girl, so sweet and small—and my dear, I suppose I ought not to have seen it, and maybe ought to keep it to myself now I have, but it seems to me you have a right to know she smiled up into his face, such a sweet trustful smile, that I couldn't help feeling that her heart will fly back to him as a refuge now in her trouble. I saw that. Yes, I saw it while you were talking to Mrs. Oliver. I'm sure you have a right to know. And the Lord has let that young man be an instrument of rescue for your girl. I'm sure."

"Oh!" said the mother with a wistful sigh, "If that could only be, I would ask nothing better of life."

"Don't set your limits, my dear! The Lord may have that and even greater blessings yet in store. Now, you are going to sleep, and I'm going to sit here at the desk and get some of my correspondence out of the way or I'll be swamped."