The House of a Thousand Candles by Meredith Nicholson (good ebook reader .TXT) 📖

CHAPTER XVII

SISTER THERESA

 

There was further information I wished to obtain,

and I did not blush to pluck it from Stoddard before

I let him go that night. Olivia Gladys Armstrong lived

in Cincinnati; her father was a wealthy physician at

Walnut Hills. Stoddard knew the family, and I asked

questions about them, their antecedents and place of

residence that were not perhaps impertinent in view of

the fact that I had never consciously set eyes on their

daughter in my life. As I look back upon it now my

information secured at that time, touching the history

and social position of the Armstrongs of Walnut Hills,

Cincinnati, seems excessive, but the curiosity which the

Reverend Paul Stoddard satisfied with so little trouble

to himself was of immediate interest and importance.

As to the girl in gray I found him far more difficult.

She was Marian Devereux; she was a niece of Sister

Theresa; her home was in New York, with another

aunt, her parents being dead; and she was a frequent

visitor at St. Agatha’s.

 

The wayward Olivia and she were on excellent terms,

and when it seemed wisest for that vivacious youngster

to retire from school at the mid-year recess Miss Devereux

had accompanied her home, ostensibly for a visit,

but really to break the force of the blow. It was a pretty

story, and enhanced my already high opinion of Miss

Devereux, while at the same time I admired the unknown

Olivia Gladys none the less.

 

When Stoddard left me I dug out of a drawer my

copy of John Marshall Glenarm’s will and re-read it for

the first time since Pickering gave it to me in New

York. There was one provision to which I had not

given a single thought, and when I had smoothed the

thin type-written sheets upon the table in my room I

read it over and over again, construing it in a new light

with every reading.

 

Provided, further, that in the event of the marriage of

said John Glenarm to the said Marian Devereux, or in the

event of any promise or contract of marriage between said

persons within five years from the date of said John Glenarm’s

acceptance of the provisions of this will, the whole

estate shall become the property absolutely of St. Agatha’s

School at Annandale, Wabana County, Indiana, a corporation

under the laws of said state.

 

“Bully for the old boy!” I muttered finally, folding

the copy with something akin to reverence for my

grandfather’s shrewdness in closing so many doors upon

his heirs. It required no lawyer to interpret this

paragraph. If I could not secure his estate by settling

at Glenarm for a year I was not to gain it by marrying

the alternative heir. Here, clearly, was not one of those

situations so often contrived by novelists, in which the

luckless heir presumptive, cut off without a cent, weds

the pretty cousin who gets the fortune and they live

happily together ever afterward. John Marshall Glenarm

had explicitly provided against any such frustration

of his plans.

 

“Bully for you, John Marshall Glenarm!” I rose

and bowed low to his photograph.

 

On top of my mail next morning lay a small envelope,

unstamped, and addressed to me in a free running hand.

 

“Ferguson left it,” explained Bates.

 

I opened and read:

 

If convenient will Mr. Glenarm kindly look in at St.

Agatha’s some day this week at four o’clock. Sister Theresa

wishes to see him.

 

I whistled softly. My feelings toward Sister Theresa

had been those of utter repugnance and antagonism. I

had been avoiding her studiously and was not a little

surprised that she should seek an interview with me.

Quite possibly she wished to inquire how soon I expected

to abandon Glenarm House; or perhaps she wished to

admonish me as to the perils of my soul. In any event

I liked the quality of her note, and I was curious to

know why she sent for me; moreover, Marian Devereux

was her niece and that was wholly in the Sister’s favor.

 

At four o’clock I passed into St. Agatha territory

and rang the bell at the door of the building where I

had left Olivia the evening I found her in the chapel.

A Sister admitted me, led the way to a small reception-room

where, I imagined, the visiting parent was received,

and left me. I felt a good deal like a school-boy

who has been summoned before a severe master for

discipline. I was idly beating my hat with my gloves

when a quick step sounded in the hall and instantly a

brown-clad figure appeared in the doorway.

 

“Mr. Glenarm?”

 

It was a deep, rich voice, a voice of assurance, a

voice, may I say? of the world—a voice, too, may I

add? of a woman who is likely to say what she means

without ado. The white band at her forehead brought

into relief two wonderful gray eyes that were alight

with kindliness. She surveyed me a moment, then her

lips parted in a smile.

 

“This room is rather forbidding; if you will come

with me—”

 

She turned with an air of authority that was a part

of her undeniable distinction, and I was seated a moment

later in a pretty sitting-room, whose windows

gave a view of the dark wood and frozen lake beyond.

 

“I’m afraid, Mr. Glenarm, that you are not disposed

to be neighborly, and you must pardon me if I seem to

be pursuing you.”

 

Her smile, her voice, her manner were charming. I

had pictured her a sour old woman, who had hidden

away from a world that had offered her no pleasure.

 

“The apologies must all be on my side, Sister Theresa.

I have been greatly occupied since coming here—

distressed and perplexed even.”

 

“Our young ladies treasure the illusion that there

are ghosts at your house” she said, with a smile that

disposed of the matter.

 

She folded her slim white hands on her knees and

spoke with a simple directness.

 

“Mr. Glenarm, there is something I wish to say to

you, but I can say it only if we are to be friends. I

have feared you might look upon us here as enemies.”

 

“That is a strong word,” I replied evasively.

 

“Let me say to you that I hope very much that nothing

will prevent your inheriting all that Mr. Glenarm

wished you to have from him.”

 

“Thank you; that is both kind and generous,” I said

with no little surprise.

 

“Not in the least. I should be disloyal to your grandfather,

who