bearable again.
But even her mother was startled the next morning at her white face with the great dark circles under her eyes.
"We've certainly got to get out of this town right away as soon as we can manage it," she announced when the breakfast was well under way and the servants had withdrawn for the time. "I've been thinking. We'd better go to Europe. There's nothing like Europe for diverting the mind and getting away from curious people, and of course it's going to be awfully hard on Gloria being in mourning and not being able to go out at all. Charles, couldn't you get away, for a few weeks anyway, right off? You could at least take us over and get us settled in some nice, pleasant central place where we could take little trips off here and there, and then you could come back if you had to for a while. I thought we'd be able to get off by next week if you could. Of course there'll be a few more clothes to buy since we must all go into black at least for a while."
Gloria looked up most unexpectedly and spoke. She had done very little speaking for the last few days. "I'm not going into mourning, Mother," she said, "and I'm not going to Europe! The rest of you can go if you want to, but I'm not going!"
"Why, Gloria, what on earth do you mean? Of course you'll have to go into mourning! And why should you say you won't go? You don't realize what you'll be up against if you try to stay here. Everybody in the town will be watching you and pitying you, and you can't turn around but it will be in the paper. You've got to let this thing die down and be forgotten before you can comfortably live here."
"It doesn't matter!" said Gloria indifferently. "I'm not going to Europe!"
"But don't you realize what you will be doing to your sister if you insist on staying here? Of course we couldn't think of going off and leaving you behind as you suggest. How would that look? And poor Vanna would be as much tied down as you would. She would be under the shadow of your sorrow, don't you see?"
"Why couldn't you and Vanna go to the seashore as you had intended?" said Gloria, giving her mother a pleading look.
"And you stay here? What would people think of us for leaving you all alone?"
"I could go somewhere but not to any places like that!" said the girl determinedly.
Then her father spoke. "Where would you like to go, child?"
Gloria lifted sorrowful eyes to his face. "I–hadn't thought!" she said listlessly.
"Hm! I guess you hadn't!" sniffed her mother. "That's just it! You hadn't thought! You're not used to thinking for yourself. I've always done it for you, and you're not fit to begin planning for yourself now, I'm sure, not in this crisis."
"Wait a minute, Mother," said her husband interrupting. "Daughter, tell me, what was your idea? What do you think you would like?"
Gloria looked out the long french window down the terrace to the banks of blue and purple and rose and white hyacinths. Then her eyes brightened wistfully. "I'd like it if you and I could get in the car together and go somewhere riding for a while, away somewhere in a quiet place where most people don't go. I'd like to go where there's quiet–and woods and no crowds or social duties."
"We'll do it!" said her father earnestly. "When can you be ready to start?"
"Charles!" said his wife reprovingly. "Why will you encourage her in her crazy ideas? You know she's not fit to decide now."
But Gloria's eyes were on her father. "Oh, to-day!" she said eagerly. "I could get ready in an hour or so!"
"Gloria!" said her mother. "You couldn't possibly go anywhere to-day. You haven't but two black dresses, and your things are not in order for a journey."
"I don't need many things, and I don't want any more new ones!" said the girl. "I've been doing nothing for the last year but buying clothes and trying them on and having them fitted, and this is one thing I don't have to dress for. I'm only going to take along simple old things that I know I'll be comfortable in, and I'm not going to take a single black dress along! It won't take long to pack!"
"Run along then and pack, Glory!" said her father. "I'll phone down to the office and make arrangements to leave. We'll start off somewhere around noon. Get the cook to put up some sandwiches for us, and we'll eat them by the roadside."
"Charles! How plebeian!" exclaimed his wife. "Have you forgotten that every newspaper in this region will have Gloria's picture in it? Yes, and yours too if one could judge from the way the cameras were crowded nearby yesterday. People will recognize you wherever you go, and what would they think to see you eating sandwiches by the roadside? A picnic right after a funeral!"
"Nobody is going to recognize us where we're going, Adelaide. Run along, child, and get ready as soon as you can! Vanna, can you take care of your mother for a while?" There was eagerness in his eyes and voice. His wife looked at him as if he were insane.
"Charles! You simply can't do a thing like that to us all! It is preposterous. Why, you're crazy! Gloria owes a debt to her fellow townspeople! A social debt."
"I don't see for what!" said her husband, drinking the last swallow of his coffee and beginning to fold his napkin.
"Why, all those wedding presents for one thing. They'll have to be sent back, of course, and she'll have to be here to attend to them and write notes and everything."
"Yes? Well, that's all the more reason why I mean to get her away right off this morning. That child is not going through any more harrowing scenes for a while. She'll have a nervous breakdown before another week if she does. Do you know she hasn't cried a tear yet? Do you know that's a dangerous state to be in?"
"Oh, I don't think so," said the mother complacently. "It's just that Gloria is a very self-controlled girl. I brought her up not to cry over things!"
But Gloria was up in her room working fast. She did not even wait for a maid to help her. She was getting out her overnight bag and suitcase, flinging in a few necessities, toiletries, accessories, plain sports clothes, rooting out old favorites that she had not been wearing lately since her engagement was announced because her mother had said she was too much in the public eye to go around in clothes that were out-of-date. She didn't put in a single black dress. White and yellow and brown, a couple of knit dresses for cool days, a coat, and a plain little hat.
When her mother, having lost her argument with her husband and having given her orders for the day to the cook and her social secretary, finally hurried upstairs to deal with her recalcitrant daughter, she found Gloria cloaked and hatted and gloved, sitting by her window with her two bags on the floor at her feet, watching for her father's car to come around.
"Gloria, you're hurting me very much by your strange actions," began her mother, sitting down and surveying the rebel.
"I'm sorry, Mother, but I have to get away right off. I have to get away from people!"
"You're a strange child! One would suppose you would want to be with your own mother and sister! Now, while you're in trouble, one would suppose you would confide in your own mother!"
Gloria turned despairing eyes on her parent. "Mother, you just don't understand!" she said desperately. "I've got to get somewhere away from everything. I'll come back sometime when I get my bearings, but I won't go to Europe nor into society. I've got to get away from those things and find out what it all means!"
"What do you mean, ‘what it all means'?"
"I
