Part 41 (1/2)
”I'm--I'm glad you're willin' we should take care of Lucy,” murmured Jane, after an awkward pause. ”Mary, 'Liza, an' I love her dearly.”
”An' I too, Jane.”
The confession came in a whisper. If Martin expected it to be greeted with surprise, he was disappointed.
Jane did not at first reply; then she said in a soft, happy tone:
”I guessed as much.”
”You did.”
The man laughed in shamefaced fas.h.i.+on.
”I ain't a bat, Martin.”
Again her brother laughed, this time with less embarra.s.sment. It had suddenly become very easy to talk with Jane.
Welcoming her companions.h.i.+p and sympathy, he found himself pouring into her listening ear all his difficulties. He told her of Ellen's will; of the wall; of Lucy's flight; of his love for the girl. How good it was to speak and share his troubles with another!
”How like Lucy to go away!” mused Jane, when the recital was done. ”Any self-respectin' woman would have done the same, too. She warn't goin' to hang round here an' make you marry her out of pity.”
”But I love her.”
”Yes, but how was she to know that?”
”She must have known it.”
”You never had told her so.”
”N--o, not in so many words.”
”Then what right, pray, had she to think so?” argued Jane with warmth.
”She warn't the sort of girl to chance it.”
”I wish I'd told her before.”
”I wish you had,” was Jane's brief retort. ”You may have trouble now makin' her see you ain't marryin' her 'cause you're sorry for her.”
”Sorry for her!”
Jane could not but laugh at the fervor of the exclamation.
”My land! Martin,” she said, ”I never expected to live to see you so head over ears in love.”
”I am.”
”I ain't questionin' it,” was Jane's dry comment.
When, however, he set foot on the porch, his lover's confidence suddenly deserted him, and he was overwhelmed with shyness.