The Obsession of Victoria Gracen

This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can usually download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1915 edition. Excerpt: … CHAPTER XIII The candy-platter, which had gone its silent rounds during the afternoon, was now standing empty on the floor by Dick’s chair, and the story had reached its first climax when Hiram opened the door and brought in a tray. The boys suddenly drew up alertly, and realized for the first time that they had been listening. The consciousness that they had been off their guard was embarrassing to them; and they sought at once, boy-like, to cover this with a degree of hilarity out of all proportion to what they felt. Only the boy Wayne did not join in. He sat silent, thoughtful, with a softened, yet deeply sad, look on his face, gazing into the fire. Miss Gracen, as she looked at him, longed to ask him to tell her what was the matter. There must be something terribly wrong when a young face could wear a look of anguish such as that. On the tray were delicate sandwiches of brown and white bread with delectable filling, and a pot of hot chocolate with a bowl of whipped cream; Rebecca stepped softly behind Hiram, bearing a plate of little frosted sponge-cakes. Wayne Forrest looked at the tray startled, and arose as though he had inadvertently committed a terrible breach of etiquette. “It’s time we beat it,” he said in an undertone to Harold, whose end of the couch was near his chair. “I didn’t know it was supper-time, did you?” 178 But Tom Atterbury sprang up to help pass the plates, and cried out: “Gee! Isn’t this great? I say, Miss Gracen, you’re the right stuff!” It required Miss Gracen’s gentle, persuasive hand on Wayne’s arm, and her earnest insistence, to make him sit down again and partake of the good things. He seemed all too conscious of his shabby suit, his sleeves, which were too short, and his hands, which reached too far out…