we go gallivanting down to Vinton's for a high
tea. I'm going to telephone Kathleen and Patience. There will be just
four of us, and no more of us to the tea party. They will have to come,
engagements or no engagements."

"I don't care to see any one to-night, Emma," pleaded Grace.

"You only think you don't. Seeing the girls will do you good. If you
stay here you'll brood and grieve all evening."

"All right, I'll go; just to please you. I must see Louise and tell her
we are going."

"You stay here. I'll do all the seeing. Take off your hat and bathe your
face. You'll feel better." Emma hurried out of the room and up the next
flight of stairs to Louise Sampson's room, thinking only of Grace and
how she might best comfort her. She was more aroused than she cared to
let Grace see over Miss Wharton's harsh edict. She made a secret vow
that if Grace would not fight for her rights _she_, Emma Dean, would.
Then she remembered Grace's words, "I'd rather give it up and go quietly
away, feeling in my heart that I have done my best, than to fight and,
at last, win nothing but a blotted escutcheon." No, she could not take
upon herself Grace's wrongs, unless Grace bade her do so, and that would
never happen.

Fortunately Kathleen and Patience were both at home. Better still,
neither had an engagement for that evening, and at half-past six o'clock
the four faithful friends were seated at their favorite mission alcove
table at Vinton's, ordering their dinner, while Grace tried earnestly to
put away her sorrow and be her usual sunny self.

But while Grace had been passing through the Valley of Humiliation,
there was another person under the same roof who was equally unhappy.
That person was Jean Brent. On leaving Grace she had gone directly to
Harlowe House. Ascending the stairs to her room with a dispirited step,
she had tossed aside her wraps and seated herself before the window. She
sat staring out with unseeing eyes, remorseful and sick at heart.
Grace's bitter words, "If you had obeyed me I would not be leaving Miss
Wharton's office this afternoon, under a cloud," still rang in her ears.
How basely she had repaid Miss Harlowe, was her conscience-stricken
thought. Miss Harlowe had advised and helped her in every possible way.
She had taken her into Harlowe House on trust. She had sympathized with
her when Jean had told her her secret, and she had brought upon herself
the dean's disapproval, would perhaps leave Harlowe Hous