“Where can we go?” Jack asked in despair. “It’s out of all reason to expect me to behave all the time.”
“We can’t go anywhere,” said Mrs. Rosscott; “we must resign ourselves. I’ve learned that it’s the only way. Dear me, when I think how long I’ve been resigned it certainly seems to me that you might do a little in the same line.”
“Well, but I haven’t learned to resign myself,” said her lover, “and what is more, I positively decline to learn to resign myself. You should do the same, too. Where is the sense in humoring her so? I wouldn’t if I were you.”
Janice lifted up her lovely eyes.
“Oh, yes, you would,” she said simply. “If somebody’s future happiness depended upon her you would humor her just as much as I do.”
Jack was touched.
“You are an angel of unselfishness,” he exclaimed, warmly, “and I don’t deserve such devotion.”
“Oh, don’t be too grateful,” she replied, dimpling. “The person to whose future happiness I referred was myself.”
They both laughed softly at that—softly and mutually.
“Nevertheless,” Jack went on after a minute, “if to all the other puzzles is to be added the torture of being unable to see you or speak freely to you, I think the hour for action has arrived.”