course Laurel had not been aware that she was to be driving up to the party alone with Adrian. She had supposed there would be a crowd, and therefore just one guest would not be missed. Anyway, he had plenty of time now to supply her place with a substitute before they started.
But Adrian Faber set his handsome mouth haughtily. He didn’t at all like it that Laurel had let him down and spoiled his plans. Of course there was always Genevieve, but he was above fed up with her. Though—if there was no one else. It was true she might have other plans, but he was reasonably sure she would cancel anything to go to the hunt club with him. She adored the hunt club, and he really hadn’t been seeing much of her lately.
There was another young man, Royal Turner, who would be at that party that Laurel was missing. He was good-looking, too, in a merry kind of a way; reckless, black eyes and a little sharp black mustache. Laurel didn’t admire the mustache but could probably persuade him to give it up if she wanted to. He had been very attentive and had taken her places whenever she would go, plays and dances and wild rides. He was a reckless driver, and Laurel was sometimes a little afraid when she went with him. And he was always insisting that she should have a drink. Laurel didn’t drink. She had been brought up with an aversion to it. Her father and mother had been against it, and they had inculcated strong reasons into her mind why it was never the right thing to do. Laurel knew and realized dangers in drink that other young people seemed to ignore. And if she had not been taught these things, she had seen enough of the effect that drinking had on the young people she met in their crowd to make her hate it. Not even Adrian, with his quiet, reasonable persuasiveness that a little temperate drinking was necessary in company in order to be polite, had been able to move her to yield. Sometimes she felt that none of these young people were true friends, and it was in a reaction from all her social life that she had suddenly driven away to Carrollton to see about the school vacancy she had heard of through an old Carrollton schoolmate who was teaching in the city.
There were half a dozen other young men who had been attentive to Laurel while she had been staying with her cousins in the city trying to think her way through and plan a future for herself. They were not all of this high-class, wealthy type. There were a couple of young writers, newspaper men, really bright and interesting, Tom Rainey and Bruce Winter. Tom had recently returned from abroad, where he had been a special correspondent in the war zone, and he had a mysterious air that was most intriguing. He had dark hair and a way of seeming awfully important while still quite casual. Laurel was never sure whether she liked him a lot or whether she felt he was not quite sincere. Bruce Winter, on the other hand, had red hair, intense gray eyes, an almost rugged face, and a mouth that seemed inexorable when it was set in a firm, thin line under eyes that took on a stormy look. These two men were always in the same company, though not particularly friendly. Sometimes Laurel had an idea that one of them was shadowing the other, although she couldn’t be sure which was the shadowed. But they were both friends of hers, and both seemed to enjoy her company. They would likely be at that party this evening, and Tom at least would be drinking a great many cocktails. It seemed such a pity, for in many ways he was very attractive.
Then there was a young theological student who had often come to her cousins’ house. He had several times asked her to go with him to hear some fine music. Chatham Brower was his name. He was brilliant, but she wasn’t at all convinced that he was a Christian in spite of his ministerial intentions. She had a fancy that his recent interest in things theological might have been to escape the draft. But of course that was an unworthy thought. She had no real reason to doubt him. And he was good company. He had invited her to attend a lecture that evening, but she had declined on account of this previous engagement. He wasn’t so good-looking, but he was supposed to be intellectual, and he had told her she was a good conversationalist.
Laurel, as she stood at the desk waiting for the attention of the proprietress of the tearoom, remembered all those possibilities for the evening and wondered at herself for being so content to have them wiped out of the picture and to be stalled here with a comparative stranger whom she dimly remembered as a boy in the past. With the vision of all these city friends of hers in her mind, she turned and glanced back to where Phil Pilgrim stood near their table with such a strong, dependable, fine, yet wistful look on his nice face. Handsome? Yes, but those other fellows were, too, yet not one of them looked better to her than the young man who had that afternoon saved her life. And she acknowledged to herself that she was reluctant to cut short this new companionship of the day that might never come her way again.
Then the woman who had been telephoning hung up the receiver and turned toward her.
"Rooms? Yes, we ordinarily have rooms. But it just happens there is a wedding in town to-night and our rooms are all taken for the night. to-morrow I think we shall have rooms. Could you wait until to-morrow?"
Laurel shook her head.
"I’m sorry. I need a room to-night. You don’t know of any place nearby that I could get?"
"No, I’m afraid I don’t," said the woman. "We hired every room in the neighborhood to accommodate the people from the wedding."
Laurel went back to Phil.
"Nothing to-night on account of a wedding."
"Well, that’s that!" said Pilgrim thoughtfully. "But I guess there’ll be some other way. Come on, we’ll go and see about your car.
"Well, in the first place, let’s see whether the generator has come yet. If it hasn’t, we might hitch your car to mine and run it down to the city. But of course we’d have to consider that I’m pretty much of a stranger to you, and you might not feel you cared to take a long ride like that with me just coming nightfall!" He gave her a little grin.
"Nonsense!" said Laurel. "I certainly know enough about you to feel perfectly safe with you no matter how dark it is. But I am not going to allow you to take a long journey like that for me. Let’s go and see about that train. Don’t I hear it now?"
"Yes," said Pilgrim. "We’ll drive over to the station and see for ourselves. You can’t tell whether Mark may forget to go over. No, there he is heading toward the station on a dead run. Yes, there! They’ve flung him a package. That ought to be it. We’ll drive over and see."
Mark was undoing the package as they came into the garage, and he turned and grinned at them.
"They’ve sent the generator, all rightie!" he said. "And Ted and I are working overtime to-night. We’ll have her done as quick as she can be done. Maybe to-night if we don’t have too many interruptions."
"Great work, Mark!" said Pilgrim. "You can count on me to bring you a pot of coffee and cinnamon buns if it keeps you late."
"Great idea, Phil Pilgrim. I see you ain’t lost any of your big heart by gettin’ eddicated. I’ll vote for you every time."
But Laurel had been doing some thinking while the two were talking, and now she stepped up to the mechanic.
"Did I understand you to say there was a possibility that my car might be finished to-night?"
The man eyed her sharply.
"Yes, ma’am, I said that. I think if we can get this generator in before dark, we might have her ready to travel by seven o’clock. Mind you, I ain’t promising, not till I see what shape she’s in when I get the generator in, but I think it might happen, if you don’t mind paying my helper for overtime."
"Of course not," said Laurel. "It’s important for me to get the car as soon as possible."
"Okay," said the mechanic, returning to his work. "Stick around, lady, I’ll do my best. Angels can’t
