An Unwilling Guest
An Unwilling Guest
Grace Livingston Hill
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Outside Quarantine
Chapter 2
Contrasts
Chapter 3
The Maid-of-All-Work
Chapter 4
Allison's Fears
Chapter 5
The Arrival of Maurice Grey
Chapter 6
Maurice Grey's Vow
Chapter 7
A Strange Love Story
Chapter 8
A Promised Prayer
Chapter 9
An Unexpected Summons
Chapter 10
New Reading for Miss Rutherford
Chapter 11
Rebecca Bascomb on Evening Dress
Chapter 12
The Club and Bert Judkins
Chapter 13
Allison's Meeting
Chapter 14
"Yours Dismally, Dick"
Chapter 15
On a Mission to Dick
Chapter 16
Miss Rutherford Plays Nurse
Chapter 17
Mr. Worthington's Repulse
Chapter 18
A Hospital for China
Chapter 19
Farewell to Doctor Grey
Chapter 20
Bert Judkins Makes a Call
Chapter 21
Allison's Invitation to New York
Chapter 22
Allison Finds a Mission
Chapter 23
A Gleam of Light
Chapter 24
A Visit to Jerry McAuley's
Chapter 25
Enchantments
Chapter 26
Trouble in China
Chapter 27
The Coming of the Boxers
Chapter 28
A Battle with the Fever
Chapter 29
Rebecca Bascomb on the Wedding
Chapter 1
Outside Quarantine
The gray horse stopped by a post on the other side of the road from the little wooden station as if he knew what was expected of him, and a young girl got out of the carriage and fastened him with a strap. The horse bowed his head two or three times as if to let her know the hitching was unnecessary but he would overlook it this time seeing it was she who had done it
The girl's fingers did their work with accustomed skill, but the horse saw that she was preoccupied and she turned from him toward the station a trifle reluctantly. There was a grave pucker between her eyebrows that showed that her present duty was not one of choice.
She walked deliberately into the little waiting room occupied by some women and noisy children, and compared her watch with the grim-faced clock behind the agent's grating. She asked in a clear voice if the five-fifty-five New York train was on time, and being assured that it was she went out to the platform to look up the long stretch of track gleaming in the late afternoon sun, and wait.
Five miles away, speeding toward the same station, another girl of about the same age sat in a chair car, impatiently watching the houses, trees, and telegraph poles as they flew by. She had gathered her possessions about her preparatory to leaving the train, had been duly brushed by the obsequious porter who seemed to have her in charge, and she now wore an air of impatient submission to the inevitable.
She was unmistakably city bred and wealthy, from the crown of her elaborate black chiffon hat to the tip of her elegant boot. She looked with scorn on the rich farming country, with its plain, useful buildings and occasional pretty homes, through which she was being carried. It was evident, even to the casual onlooker, that this journey she was taking was hardly to her taste. She felt a wave of rebellion toward her father, now well on his way to another continent, for having insisted upon immuring her in a small back-country village with his maiden sister during his enforced absence. He might well enough have left her in New York with a suitable chaperon if he had only thought so, or taken her along—though that would have been a bore, as he was too hurried with business to be able to give time and thought to making it pleasant for her.
She drew her pretty forehead into a frown as she thought the vexed question over again and contemplated with dread the six stupid weeks before she could hope for his return and her release from exile. She pouted her lips in annoyance as she thought of a certain young man who was to be in New York during the winter. She was to have met him at a dinner this very night. She wondered for the hundredth time if it could possibly be that papa had heard of her friendship with this young fellow and because of it had hustled her off to Hillcroft so unceremoniously. Her cheeks burned at the thought and she bit her lips angrily. Papa was so particular! Men did not know how to bring up a girl, anyway. If only her mother had lived she felt sure she would not have had such old-fashioned notions, for her mother had been quite a woman of fashion, from what people in society said of her. There was nothing the matter with this Mr. Worthington either—a little fast, but it had not hurt him. He was delightful company. Fathers ought to know that their daughters enjoyed men with some spirit and not namby-pamby milk-and-water creatures. Probably papa had been a bit wild in his youth also; she had heard it said that all men were, in which case he ought to be lenient toward other young men and not expect them to be grave and solemn before their time. Mr. Worthington dressed perfectly, and that was a good deal. She liked to see a man well dressed. Papa was certainly very foolish about her. With this filial reflection the young woman arose as the train came to a halt and followed the porter from the car.
Several passengers alighted, but the girl on the platform knew instinctively that the young woman in the elegant gray broadcloth skirt and dainty shirt waist, carrying on her arm her gray coat, which showed more than a gleam of the turquoise blue silk lining, and unconcernedly trailing her long skirt on the dirty platform, was the one with whom she had to do.
Allison Grey waited just the least perceptible second before she stepped forward. She told herself afterward that it made it so much worse to have that porter standing smiling and bowing to listen. She felt that her duty was fully as disagreeable as she had feared, yet she was one who usually faced duty cheerfully. She could not help glancing down at her own blue serge skirt and plain white shirt waist, and remembering that her hands were guiltless of gloves, as she walked forward to where the other girl stood.
"Is this Miss Rutherford?" she asked, trying to keep her voice from trembling, and hoping her mental perturbation was not visible.
The traveler wheeled with a graceful turn of her tall figure that left the tailor-made skirt in lovely curved lines which Allison with her artist's eye noted at once, and stared. Evelyn Rutherford's eyes were black and had an expression which in a less refined type of girl would have been called saucy.
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