“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?”
“Er—yes; very nice,” Ross answered stiffly.
She came close to him, put her hand on his shoulder.
“Please, Jimmy!” she said, earnestly. “I do so awfully want to be happy—just for a little while!”
Ross had a moment of weakness. She was so young, so lovely; it seemed important, even necessary, that she should be happy. But he valiantly resisted the spell.
“Who doesn’t?” he inquired.