But Jane got between him and the door and stood with her back to it. "No, Larry, you are not going away like that. Go into the study." Larry looked at her in astonishment. This was indeed a new Jane to him. Wrathful, imperious, she stood waving him toward the study door. In spite of his irritation he was conscious of a new admiration for her. Feeling a little like a boy about to receive his punishment, he passed into the study.
"Didn't Mrs. Allen give you my message?" he said.
"Your message, Larry?" cried Jane, a light breaking upon her face.
"Did you leave a message for me?"
"I did. I told Mrs. Allen to tell you where I had gone--Helen was so anxious to go--and that I would be right back." Larry's voice was full of reproach.
"Oh, Larry, I am so glad," said Jane, her tone indicating the greatness of her relief. "I knew it was all right--that something had prevented. I am so glad you came in. You must have thought me queer.""No," said Larry, appeased, "I knew all the time there must be some explanation, only I was feeling so miserable.""And I was miserable, too, Larry," she said gently. "It seemed a pity that this should happen on our last night." All her wrath was gone. She was once more the Jane that Larry had always known, gentle, sweet, straightforward, and on her face the old transfiguring smile. Before this change of mood all his irritation vanished.
Humbled, penitent, and with a rush of warm affection filling his heart, he said, "I should have known you were not to blame, but you are always right. Never once in all these years have you failed me. You always understand a fellow. Do you know I am wondering how I shall ever do without you? Have you thought, Jane, that to-morrow this old life of ours together will end?""Yes, Larry." Her voice was low, almost a whisper, and in her eyes an eager light shone.
"It just breaks my heart, Jane. We have been--we are such good friends. If we had only fallen in love with each other.--But that would have spoiled it all. We are not like other people; we have been such chums, Jane.""Yes, Larry," she said again, but the eager light had faded from her eyes.
"Let's sit a bit, Larry," she said. "I am tired, and you are tired, too," she added quickly, "after your hard day."For a little time they sat in silence together, both shrinking from the parting that they knew was so near. Larry gazed at her, wondering to himself that he had ever thought her plain. Tonight she seemed beautiful and very dear to him. Next to his mother, was her place in his heart. Was this that he felt for her what they called love? With all his soul he wished he could take her in his arms and say, "Jane, I love you." But still he knew that his words would not ring true. More than that, Jane would know it too.
Besides, might not her feeling for him be of the same quality?
What could he say in this hour which he recognised to be a crisis in their lives? Sick at heart and oppressed with his feeling of loneliness and impotence, he could only look at her in speechless misery. Then he thought she, too, was suffering, the same misery was filling her heart. She looked utterly spent and weary.
"Jane," he said desperately. She started. She, too, had been thinking. "Scuddy is in love with Helen, Macleod is in love with Ethel. I wish to God I had fallen in love with you and you with me. Then we would have something to look forward to. Do you know, Jane, I am like a boy leaving home? We are going to drift apart.
Others will come between us."
"No, Larry," cried Jane with quick vehemence. "Not that. You won't let that come.""Can we help it, Jane?" Then her weariness appealed to him. "It is a shame to keep you up. I have given you a hard day, Jane."She shook her head. "And there is no use waiting. We can only say good-bye." He rose from his chair. Should he kiss her, he asked himself. He had had no hesitation in kissing Helen an hour ago.
That seemed a light thing to him, but somehow he shrank from offering to kiss Jane. If he could only say sincerely, "Jane, Ilove you," then he could kiss her, but this he could not say truly.
Anything but perfect sincerity he knew she would detect; and she would be outraged by it. Yet as he stood looking down upon her pale face, her wavering smile, her quivering lips, he was conscious of a rush of pity and of tenderness almost uncontrollable.
"Good-bye, Jane; God keep you always, dear, dear Jane." He held her hands, looking into the deep blue eyes that looked back at him so bravely. He felt that he was fast losing his grip upon himself, and he must hurry away.
"Good-bye, Larry," she said simply.
"Good-bye," he said again in a husky voice. Abruptly he turned and left her and passed out through the door.
Sore, sick at heart, he stumbled down the steps. "My God," he cried, "what a fool I am! Why didn't I kiss her? I might have done that at least."He stood looking at the closed door, struggling against an almost irresistible impulse to return and take her in his arms. Did he not love her? What other was this that filled his heart? Could he honestly say, "Jane, I want you for my wife"? He could not.
Miserable and cursing himself he went his way.
