Part 27 (2/2)
”Well, all I've got to say is that if he knows what is good for him, he'll cut _that_ out,” observed Carl drily.
”I guess-I guess he's just doing it for fun,” said Jane.
”He won't think it fun if father catches him. But it's none of _my_ business, I suppose. Go on.”
Jane went on reading, furtively glancing aloft every now and then to see if the tell-tale puffs of smoke were still issuing from the open window.
To her intense relief they had stopped after a few minutes, and presently she heard Paul talking to her mother in the kitchen.
”Do you really like this book?” she asked at last, looking at her brother pathetically.
”Very much. But you needn't read any more if you're tired. Here's Elise, now, anyway.”
Elise had just entered by the garden gate.
”Carl! Jane! What do you think! The most exciting thing-”
”Lily Deacon is engaged to Mr. Sheridan,” said Jane promptly. Elise stared at her, her round blue eyes wide with amazement.
”How did you know?”
”I put two and two together. Aren't I clever?”
”No, how _did_ you guess, Janey? Lily hasn't told anyone but me.”
”Well, I knew it _was_ going to happen, and I knew that you'd been up to see Lily this afternoon, and I guessed the rest. Isn't it _nice_, though!” cried Jane, clapping her hands. ”And you know _I'm_ really responsible for it.”
”_You_!” hooted Carl derisively.
”Yes, me. When did it happen, Elise, and when are they going to be married? I do so love a wedding, and there hasn't been one here for ages. Do you suppose she'll wear a veil?”
Elise, who under her placid exterior had the most romantic of souls, sat down to recount all the details that she had gleaned from her best friend.
”And she's going to live in that lovely house, and she'll travel, and she-goodness, do you suppose Paul has burned up _another_ batch of cakes?” she broke off short in her rhapsody over Lily's prospects to sniff the air.
”Don't you smell smoke? I do hope he hasn't had another disaster-he's been getting along so well. Well, anyway-where was I?”
”You said she was going to travel. What _I_ want to know is when the wedding is going to be,” said Jane.
”Oh, that isn't decided yet-in the spring, I think. You know, that doesn't smell like cake burning. It smells like rags. I suppose somebody's burning trash.”
Carl laughed and looked at Jane; but the burning smell did not resemble tobacco at all, and besides, Paul was still in the kitchen with Aunt Gertrude.
”Go on and tell some more, Elise,” said Jane.
”I've told you all I know. I must get you your milk, Carl.”
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