Free THE HONOR GIRL by Grace Livingston Hill

wipe them away. She stared hard out of the window, and kept her eyes wide to prevent more tears; and, as she looked into the window-glass, she became aware of a face behind her, oddly, hauntingly familiar which gave one keen, sympathetic glance and turned away as if he would not watch what he could clearly see she wished to hide.
    She conquered her tears presently, but continued to stare out of the window and could see the reflection of the young man who had happened to be looking that way when her tears fell. He had a kindly expression, and firm lips. Where had she seen him before and why did his face remind her of something unpleasant? He did not keep looking at her curiously as some men might have done. She thanked him in her heart for that.
    She did not know that he had stood within the shadow of the great willow-tree across the corner from her father’s house, waiting for this car, when she stole furtively to the back door and ran down the street; nor did she know that he had recognized her at once as the pretty dancer of the evening before and wondered, for she did not look as if she belonged to a dejected, lonely home like that. The manner of her retreat from the house, if she had but known it, had been peculiar enough to arouse anyone’s curiosity, and, when there were added to this her weary looks and the tears, he certainly had items enough to make the situation interesting.
    Cameron Stewart had been out to Morningside to call on an old friend of his mother’s before taking his train and he had been standing at that corner when the young men arrived and had seen the man get off the up car and go into the house none too steadily. Was that the burden the girl carried? And if so, what relation did she sustain to him and to the two younger men in working clothes who had entered the house just as the girl left it? Could she by any chance be a daughter? Professor Bowen had spoken only of a rich uncle.
    He tried to forget the girl across the aisle, and to tell himself that she was nothing but a stranger to him, that he had no business to be prying even with his thoughts into her affairs; but, try as he would, the sweet face and the fresh content of the girl he had seen the evening before kept coming to him, in sharp contrast with the weary young face leaning against the window now with closed eyes and a tired droop to the lips. Curious that he could feel such interest in her now when he had despised her so thoroughly last night. But this was an entirely different view of her. In spite of his best efforts he was interested and worried about that girl to such a degree that he forgot to get off his car at the station and had to hurry away with a last wistful glance in her direction and walk back three blocks. He had half a mind to stay on the car and see where she went, but chided himself severely for the thought. It was almost time for his train, and what business had he to run after an unknown girl just because he felt sorry for her?
    When Elsie reached her aunt’s house, she found the family quite worked up about her absence. They had delayed dinner for her, and had telephoned to every possible place they could think of to find out where she was. There was company to dinner, and no time for explanations. One of Bettina’s friends had brought a college friend to see the girls, and the young men had been delighted to accept the eager invitation to stay to dinner. Elsie hurried upstairs to make a hasty toilet, both sorry and glad for the company. She felt too weary and absorbed to arouse herself to talk small nothings now, but at least she would not have to go into details of explanation as she might have had to do if only the family were there.
    “Where on earth have you been, child?” said her aunt, hurrying in as Elsie came down. “I’ve been worried sick about you. You missed the symphony concert, and you wanted to hear it so much.”
    I’ve been out to Morningside, Aunt Esther,” she said, trying to speak