Could anybody be lovable who had such an unnatural feeling toward her own child as had been shown this morning? Stay – was she perhaps not an own child!
Her eyes grew wide with horror and she stared at the waiter blankly as he brought her order and set it in array before her. The thought seemed to rear itself up before her eyes like a great wall over which she could never climb, and for a moment she seemed to be sinking down into a horrible place from which there was no possible exit. For, like a convincing climax, came the words she had heard from Evelyn just before the door closed: “Did she never suspect that she wasn't ——!"
Wasn’t what? What could it possibly mean but “wasn't an own child”?
All the pent-up loneliness of the years came down upon her like a flood to overwhelm her then, and she sat staring blankly before her, forgetting where she was or that there were people looking at her.
“Will you have your coffee now or latah, lady?” the hovering waiter broke in upon her unhappy reverie. He felt that something was wrong and could not quite make out why she sat and stared ahead with her dinner all nicely before her.
She roused herself then and summoned an answer, scarcely knowing or caring what it was, but the floodtide of her thoughts surged back into more natural channels. How ridiculous for her to think of such a thing! She was just like a girl in a story, imagining a thing like that. Of course that was not true; for she could remember her father telling her about the night she was born and how he sat alone and thought about the little new soul that was coming to his home and for which he would be responsible; and how a surge of great love came over him at the thought. He had told her that one night when he bade her good-bye at the boarding school, and she had been more than usually dreading the parting. He had seemed to understand her so well and to anticipate her dreads and to know just what she needed to make her own soul strong. Oh, why did he have to be sent to South America just now when she was coming home? If only he could have been here for a day so that she might have had a few minutes' talk with him! If only he were somewhere in this country now that she might fly to him and ask him the meaning of all this that had come upon her!
She turned to her plate and her healthy appetite reasserted itself and made everything taste good. It was comforting to think over her father's little note, left on her dressing table under the linen cover just where he used to leave bits of surprises for her sometimes when she was at home for brief vacations, or in her little girl days before she had gone away at all. The note was so precious. He had not forgotten her even in his hurry. She knew every word of it, every line of every letter was graven in her heart:
“Dear Little Pat:" it ran,
“This isn't the kind of homecoming I had planned for you at all. A cable has called me to South America to look after my business interests there, and I have only an hour to catch a train that will get me to the boat just in time, I'm overwhelmed with sorrow not to be at your commencement, little Pard, as I told you in my telegram. If I had twenty-four hours leeway I would wire you to go with me, but there isn't an hour to spare, I must make this boat or lose out. But never mind little Pat, you're my own brave little daughter, and we'll make it up when I get home, so be of good cheer, and don’t mind the bumps on the road till I get home.
Your disappointed old Dad, who loves you more than tongue can tell."
As she went over the letter in her mind her face brightened. Surely, surely, how had she forgotten! He called her “his own brave little daughter.” What a silly she had been to imagine she was a stray child he had picked up on the street, or taken from some hospital!
And what would he think of her running off in this frantic way at the very first "bump on the road”? Would he blame her and say she should have stayed behind and borne it? Oh! No! Surely not that! But would he have said she ought to have asked an explanation before going away? Perhaps – but if she had they would have been obliged to keep her whether they wanted her or not, because it was their duty. This way they were relieved of her without any act of their own – and she was relieved of them! Yes, that was the truth, she just couldn't have faced them and kept an unmoved countenance after what she had heard. She would always be thinking how Evelyn had said she hated her, and the dreadful tone their mother had used in reply, quite as if she agreed with Evelyn, only it was not wise to say so. Patty gave a little shiver as she remembered the hard, cold tone. Somehow each time she thought of it the hurt was just as keen and new. She drew a deep breath and tried to get away from it all for a few minutes, forcing herself to watch the people around her.
Back in her compartment she faced the now darkened window and frowned into the night face to face with her problem again.
Oh, if she could have gone with her dear father! And yet even that might have made trouble, for it had often seemed to cause jealousy when she was alone with him for long, and sometimes when he had stopped at school to visit her he had apologized for bringing no message from them, saying that they did not know he was coming that way or they would have sent one, and she had often suspected that he had a reason for not telling them, so that there grew up between her father and herself a quiet understanding like a secret pact.
Somehow in the light of what had happened things in the past seemed to take on a new significance. It was like the time when she went to call across the way on a neighbor never visited before, and looked over at her home in astonishment that it seemed so different from what she had thought, so now she seemed to be standing outside of her own life and finding out what it really had been.
The thoughts whirled on an endless chain in her mind, and she was no nearer to a decision about things. Her mind simply seemed to refuse to act farther, except to throw back upon her the words she had heard that morning. Lying at last upon her berth she fell into a troubled sleep in which she seemed to toss in an endless round of puzzle and bewilderment.
The second morning of her journey the train rolled into the Pennsylvania Station in New York and Patricia Merrill, no nearer a decision about what she ought to do, but neatly groomed and with shining eyes sat up and watched the approach eagerly. Somehow during the night the mists had rolled away from her mind and she was at peace again.
Whatever had been the cause of the trouble, whatever was to be the outcome, she was here in the great city of her heart's desire, and was all a-quiver to see the glories which she had read and dreamed about for many years.
Plans, she had none. She grasped her shiny suitcase and fell into line with her fellow-travelers, for a little moment forgetful of the terrible thing which had driven her forth from her home.
An attentive porter speedily relieved her of her baggage, and it seemed quite natural that she should give him a generous tip, unmindful of her rapidly diminishing resources. The porter herded her with a chosen few around a sheltered way to an elevator, and so, still in the state of luxury to which she had been born, she rose to the station floor to face an unfriendly world single-handed and alone.
It was not until the porter enquired where she would go that it suddenly occurred to her that she had made no plans whatever, and in a small panic she dismissed him and sat down in the waiting room. With a gasp of dismay she realized that in her unchaperoned condition she must be exceedingly careful. Her years of school and college had been unusually sheltered ones, and certain laws of social life and etiquette had been drilled into her very nature. Not in an instant could she face the new and strange complexity of her situation and solve her problem.
There were acquaintances and friends in New York, of course, whom she might look up and be at once sheltered and welcomed. But that was out of the question under the circumstances. She must do nothing to bring disgrace or scandal on her father's honored name. No one must know she was there!
She knew the names of hotels of wide repute, of course, but shrank
