The Prodigal Girl Read Free Page A

own. Such a thing could never touch his family, reared in refinement, guarded and taught the right from babyhood with such a home and such a mother! No, of course not! Betty would never allow intimacies! And yet these boys had dared—Had said that she—
    He would get to that point and every time would halt and recall the boy’s words, phrases what Betty had said, what Betty had—Oh, God! Could there be any punishment for desecration like that?
    Oh, yes, the boys and girls had stolen kisses when he was young, and thought it smart, had held hands on a sleigh ride or a hayride, or coming home in the moonlight. But nothing like this!
    Petting parties! Was that what they meant when they mentioned in the papers and magazines the doings of young people? And referred to them lightly! The writers could not have understood! Oh, it could not be that a thing like this, a loathsome cancer, could steal into the heart and life of a rose of a girl like his Betty and defame it!
    Yet all the while in the back of his mind was that fear growing as he dragged his heavy feet along the path, the fear that Betty had inadvertently been a party to the whole thing. Giddy and pretty, fun loving, daring, she might have led her companions on unwittingly He got no further than that. Yet it was something that might bring shame on her sweet self if brought to the light of inquiry, and what was he to do?
    He groaned aloud so that a passerby hurrying down to the next train turned and looked after him and wondered if he ought to offer help.
    And now the necessity for getting home and seeing Betty rose within him like a frenzy. One look at her sweet flower face would of course dispel these groundless fears and give him strength to go out and bring vengeance on her maligners. He felt sure that all he needed to set his spirit right and give it the accustomed strength to act was to look in his Betty’s eyes and see her sweet, pure smile. His little daughter Betty!
    And then he came within sight of his home, a comely stone dwelling with welcoming windows set with shaded lamps and a glow of firelight in the cheerless night.
    He paused a moment to look at it all once more and think how dear it was before he stepped within and learned the truth. Before its charm could be shadowed by anything that could sadden the beautiful life they had lived within. Why had he thought they needed another home? This one had been so gracious, so wonderful, so satisfying. Even if he came to have millions, why should he change such a home as this for the fairest mansion earth could offer?
    There was Eleanor standing by the fire, one foot resting on the fender, and Doris hanging on her mother’s arm. Jane was playing something on the piano, a dashing little jazzy melody that rang out cheerily through the closed window. Chris was seated in the window reading the sports page of the evening paper, and John was working away in the corner with his radio. Thornton saw all this as he stepped up on the porch and hungrily looked in the window. His home! Why hadn’t he been more mindful, more grateful for having such a home?
    And they were all waiting for him. He must be very late! It seemed ages since he had got off the train and started to walk home. He could see through the open door beyond that the table was ready. The pantry swing door opened a crack, and the maid looked in crossly and out again.
    But where was Betty?
    His heart contracted sharply, and he hastened to open the door and step within to dispel that ghost of fear again.
    Betty was just coming down the stairs as he closed the door and looked around. She was dressed in a little rosy taffeta, slim and straight to her narrow waist and then hooped on the hips and flaring out like the petals of a lovely flower. Her exquisite head with its sleek gold cap of close-cut shining curls was tilted delicately as if she knew her power, and her slim, white lovely arms and neck gleamed against the darkness of the staircase as if they were also