And Doris finally did rouse sleepily and say, “What’s the matter, Con? Have you got a toothache again? I thought you had it out!”

“I did!” snapped Constance, taking a deep breath. “I guess I ate something that didn’t agree with me!”

“Better get up and take a dose of soda,” advised Doris, turning over her pillow and returning to her dreams.

But Constance continued to toss, and just when she would think she had exorcised this demon of wakefulness and would be dropping off to restfulness, Seagrave’s face would appear before her, his eyes looking trustfully at her as they had done on the hillside that morning. No, decidedly, Constance was not at rest.

Chapter 5

She took herself severely to task next morning when, having at last dropped into a troubled sleep, she woke to find herself very late for the day and was dressing with haste and annoyance.

“This is ridiculous!” she told herself. “It’s just a case of nerves! I didn’t have enough exercise when I was at home. I ought to have played tennis all Sunday morning instead of sitting in that melancholy church service and getting all upset. I always said religion was mainly a case of emotions, and how I know it! Well, this has got to stop! How absurd to let a fanatical stranger get hold of me in this way. What do I care what he thinks of me?”

And then suddenly she knew in her heart that it wasn’t just what the stranger thought; it was this strange feeling he had given her that there was a God, and that God was looking at her and thinking about her and was not pleased with her attitude.

“And that, too, is absurd!” she said aloud. “There likely isn’t any God, nothing but a Power somewhere, and if there is, He wouldn’t bother about me. Of course Grandmother believes He does, and that likely has affected my imagination. I declare, it’s a crime to teach little children such unreasonable dogmas!”

Later in the morning there came a dainty package addressed in Frank’s scrawling handwriting, which, when opened, proved to be a tin box containing the last surviving blue hepaticas done up in wet moss.

Constance was alone in her room when she opened them, and a sudden constriction caught her throat, a flashing memory of the giver as he had stood with his hands full of them looking down at her that morning, a breath of the hillside where they had sat and watched the wind blowing the little frail blue cups, and the maidenhair fern bending low in the breeze over them like loving nurses over the baby flowers. Something almost like a sob caught in her throat, and she put her face down for an instant on the brave little drooping blossoms and cried a few tears, a great wistfulness coming over her.

An instant later she dashed the tears angrily from her face, and going to the open window she threw the flowers out and down behind the shrubs that grew around the dormitory. A great panic came over her lest Doris should come and find her weeping over dead flowers. Doris could make a lot out of a thing like that.

She hurried to splash water on her face, dab it expertly with a soft towel, and then apply powder deftly till all traces of her recent emotion were obliterated.

As she turned away from the mirror, she experienced a wild wish that she could as easily erase the memory of those flowers from her heart.

But she went over to her desk with a firm resolve to get to work and drive this nonsense out of her mind. When Doris came in a few minutes later with her hands full of letters, she was working away at her thesis.

“Listen, Connie,” cried Doris, sitting down beside the desk, “pay attention! I’ve got a letter!”

“A letter?” said Constance, looking up coolly. “Is that unusual? You seem to have many letters. And really I’m awfully busy, Dorrie!”

“But this is a special letter!” said Doris, sparkling. “It’s from Casper Coulter!”

“Again?” said Constance coldly with disapproval in her voice. “I thought you said you were done with him.”

“Oh, I am as far as that goes,” laughed Doris. “I gave him back his pin before Easter, but it doesn’t seem to faze him in the least. After all, why shouldn’t I have a good time with him? He understands that I’m not committed to him. Besides, Connie, he certainly shows a girl a good time. But anyhow that’s not the point. He’s coming down for the dance on the weekend. He just pestered the life out of me. Besides, he has a new car that is simply sublime. I couldn’t resist.”

“He’ll get drunk!” said Constance with a lifting of her chin and a slight curl of her lip.

“No, he won’t!” said Doris. “He promised me! He hasn’t been drinking at all since Easter!”

“He says so, I suppose,” commented Constance loftily.

“Yes, he says so, but Sam Warner says so, too. And anyhow, that’s not the point. He’s bringing a perfectly stunning man down with him, and he wants to know if you’ll let him take you to the dance. Now, Connie, don’t begin that I-am-better-than-thou frown! Wait till you hear.