gh time you let that Kathleen West meander along to
suit her own tricky little self. She hasn't an iota of Overton spirit
nor a shred of conscience, and instead of appreciating your kind offices
she is far more likely to repay you by dragging you into something
unpleasant. I could see by Miriam's expression when you told us about
the capture of that man that she thought you had trusted Kathleen too
far, too."

"I confess I was thinking that very thing," laughed Miriam, "but how
Elfreda guessed it is more than I can see."

"But the man has been captured, the story has appeared in the Overton
paper and Kathleen has kept her word about not mentioning me in
connection with the affair," protested Grace. "Nothing unpleasant can
possibly happen now."

But Grace was destined to realize before many hours passed that she had
been over-confident.

CHAPTER XII

TREACHERY

The morning after the party in Miriam's room Grace lingered in the
living room at Wayne Hall long enough to dash off her letter of
acceptance of Mabel Ashe's invitation for Thanksgiving. She was on the
point of slipping it into the envelope when the loud ringing of the door
bell caused her to start. A moment later she heard the maid say: "Miss
Harlowe? I'll see if she's in her room."

"Here I am," called Grace, stepping into the hall. "Oh, I see. A special
delivery letter for me from Mabel." Grace signed the postman's book,
then, closing the hall door, hurried into the living room to read her
letter. Opening it, she drew out not only the letter but a folded
newspaper clipping as well. The clipping fluttered to the floor. Grace
stooped mechanically to pick it up, her eyes on the open letter. A
mystified expression crept into her face as she read that gradually
changed to one of consternation. With a sharp cry of dismay, she let the
letter fall from her hands, while she fumbled with the clipping in a
nervous effort to unfold it.

One glance at the headline that confronted her and Grace's gray eyes
grew black with anger. "How dared she do it! How could she be so
contemptible!" Snatching the letter from the table Grace dashed up the
stairs to her room. Tears of rage glistened in her eyes. She stood in
the middle of the floor with set teeth, closing and unclosing her
fingers in an effort to regain her self-control. "I won't cry over it. I
won't. I won't," she kept repeating to herself. "She isn't worth my
tears. But Father and Mother will be so hurt