It was two days after Jane promised to marry Frederick Towne that Evans bought a Valentine for her. The shops were full of valentines—many of them of paper lace—the fragile old-fashioned things that had become a new fashion. They had forget-me-nots on them and hearts with golden arrows, and fat pink cupids.
Evans found it hard to choose. He stood before them, smiling. And he could see Jane smile as she read the enchanting verse of the one he finally selected:
“Roses red, my dear,
And violets blue—
Honey’s sweet, my dear,
And so are you.”
As he walked up F Street to his office, his heart was light. It was one of the lovely days that hint of spring. Old Washingtonians know that such weather does not last—that March winds must blow, and storms must come. But they grasp the joy of the moment—masquerade in carnival spirit[249]—buy flowers from the men at the street corners—sweep into their favorite confectioner’s to order cool drinks, the women seek their milliner’s and come forth bonneted in spring beauty—the men drive to the links—and look things over.
Oh, what a world it is—this world of Washington when Winter welcomes, for the moment, Spring!
Evans wished that Jane were there to see. To let him buy flowers for her—ices. He wondered if the time would come when he might buy her a spring hat. Well, why not? If things went like this with him! He knew he was getting back. He could see it in the eyes of women. Where once there had been pity—was now coquettish challenge. He was having invitations. He accepted only a few, but they came increasingly.
And clients came. Not many, but enough to point the way to success. He had sold more of the old books. His mother’s milk farm was becoming a fashionable fad.
Edith Towne had helped to bring Mrs. Follette’s wares before her friends. At all hours of the day they drove out, Edith with them. “It is such an adorable place,” she told Evans, “and your—mother! Isn’t she absolutely herself? Selling milk with that empress air of hers. I simply love her.”
Evans liked Edith Towne immensely. Even more than Baldy he divined her loneliness. “In[250] that great house there isn’t a soul for real companionship. Towne’s eaten up with egotism, and the cousin is an echo.”
Edith asked herself out to dinner very often. “It is perfect with just the four of us,” she told Mrs. Follette, and that lady, flattered almost to tears, said, “Telephone whenever you can come and take pot-luck.”
Edith had planned to have dinner with them to-night. Evans took an early train to Sherwood. When he reached home Edith and his mother were on the porch and the Towne car stood before the gate.
“I’ve got to go back,” Edith explained. “Uncle Fred came in from Chicago an hour or two ago and telephoned that he must see me.”
“Baldy will be broken-hearted,” Evans told her, smiling.
“I couldn’t get him up. I tried, but they said he had left the office. I thought I’d bring him out with me.” She kissed Mrs. Follette. “I’ll come again soon, dear lady. And you must tell me when you are tired of me.”
Evans went to the car with her, and came back to find his mother in an exalted mood. “Now if you could marry a girl like Edith Towne.”
“Edith,” he laughed lightly. “Mother, are you blind? She and Baldy are mad about each other.”
“Of course she isn’t serious. A boy like that.”
“Isn’t she? I’ll say she is.” Evans went charging[251] up the stairs to dress for dinner. “I’ll be down presently.”
“Baldy may be late; we won’t wait for him,” his mother called after him.
The dining-room at Castle Manor had a bare waxed floor, an old drop-leaf table of dark mahogany, deer’s antlers over the mantel, and some candles in sconces.
Old Mary did her best to follow the rather formal service on which Mrs. Follette insisted. The food was simple, but well-cooked, and there was always a soup and a salad.
It was not until they reached the salad course that they heard the sound of Baldy’s car. He burst in at the front door, as if he battered it down, stormed through the hall, and entered the dining-room like a whirlwind.
“Jane’s going to be married,” he cried, “and she’s going to marry Frederick Towne!”
Evans half-rose from his chair. Everything turned black and he sat down. There was a loud roaring in his ears. It was like taking ether—with the darkness and the roaring.
When things cleared he found that neither his mother nor Baldy had noticed his agitation. His mother was asking quick questions. “Who told you? Does Edith know?”
Baldy threw himself in a chair. “Mr. Towne got back from Chicago this afternoon. Called me up and said he wanted me to come over at once to[252] his office. I went, and he gave me a letter from Jane. Said he thought it was better for him to bring it, and then he could explain.”
He threw the note across the table to Mrs. Follette. “Will you read it? I’m all in. Drove like the dickens coming out. Towne wanted me to go home with him to dinner. Wanted to begin the brother-in-law business right away before I got my breath. But I left. Oh, the darned peacock!” Jane would have known Baldy’s mood. The tempest-gray eyes, the chalk-white face.
“But don’t you like it, Baldy?”
“Like it? Oh, read that note. Does it sound like Jane? I ask you, does it sound like Jane?”
It did not sound in the least like Jane. Not the Jane that Evans and Baldy knew.
“Baldy, dear. Mr. Towne will tell you all about it. I am going to marry him as soon as Judy is better. I know you will be surprised, but Mr. Towne is just wonderful, and it will be such a good thing for all of us. Mr. Towne will tell you how dreadfully ill Judy is. He wants to do everything for her, and that will be such a help to Bob.
“And so we will live happy ever after. Oh, you blessed boy, you know how I love you. Send a wire, and say that it is all right. Tell Evans and Mrs. Follette. They are my dearest friends and will always be.”
She signed herself:
“Loving you more than ever,
“Jane.”
[253]Mrs. Follette looked up from the letter, took off her rea............