“No, dear,” said Amy. “He’s going to help me.”
“Amy!” cried Mrs. Jones. “Can’t you trust me? I tell you it’s all right. He won’t come tonight. I promise you he won’t!”
“Oh, you mean well!” Amy remarked. “But you’ve made plenty of mistakes before this.”
“Amy, I promise you—”
“No,” said Amy. “You told me before that I needn’t worry, that you’d ‘settled everything.’ And what happened? No; I’m afraid you’re getting old, Nanna—old and stupid. I’m going to manage for myself now. And Jimmy’s going to help me.”
“Child!” Mrs. Jones protested. “That man will ferret out—”
“I don’t care if he does,” said Amy. “He won’t tell, anyhow. Now don’t bother me any more, Nanna. I’ve simply got to go.”
Ross stepped quickly backward along the hall for a few yards; then he went forward again, with a somewhat heavier tread. And just round the corner of the corridor, he came face to face with Amy.
Her beauty almost took his breath away. She wore a dress of white and silver, and round her slender throat a short string of pearls. And against all this gleaming white the pallor of her skin was rich and warm, with a tint almost golden; and her misty hair was like a cloud about her face, and her black eyes so soft, so limpid.
“Jimmy!” she whispered. “Do I look nice?”