Yet when they came down and joined us just before supper- time, it was only too evident from their tired faces that they had reached no happier conclusion than ours.
George Keets and my Husband brought the May Girl down. Claude Kennilworth, quite in his old form, save for his splinted arm, superintended the expedition.
"It's her being so beastly long," scolded Kennilworth, "that makes the job so hard!"
In the depths of the big leather chair the May Girl didn't look very long to me, but she did look astonishingly frail.
With a gesture of despair. Ann Woltor turned to her companions, as if she had read our thoughts.
"There isn't any solution," she said.
Why all of us turned just then to Allan John I don't know, but it became perfectly evident to everyone at that moment that Allan John was about to speak.
"It seems quite clear to me," said Allan John simply. "It seems quite natural to me somehow," he added, "that you should all come home with me to my ranch in Montana. The little girl needs it—the big outdoors—the animals—the life she craves. You need it," he said, turning to Ann Woltor, "the peace of it, the balm of it. But most of all John Stoltor will need it when it is time for him to come. Far from prying eyes, safe from intrusive questionings, that certainly will be the perfect chance for you all to plan out your new lives together. How much it would mean to me not to have to go back alone I need not say."
Startled at his insight, compelled by his sincerity, Ann Woltor saw order dawn suddenly out of the chaos of her emotions.
From her frankly quivering lips a single protest wavered.