Then she looked at John Everett. He was staring sternly at the toe of his boot, a most unhappy expression clouding his handsome face. "You—don't like it—John?" she faltered, with an adorable little quaver in her clear voice.
He avoided her eyes. "I—ought not to have spoken to you as I did that night," he said at last. "Jane, I don't know what you will think of me. I—knew that the inquiry had been set on foot when I rushed out after you. I meant to have told you—that. But when I saw you—" He paused to groan aloud, then went on hurriedly: "I forgot all about that confounded letter from Thorn, Nagle & Noyes; I forgot everything except that I had found you. I was so sorry for you, dear, and so angry with my sister, and—well, I've come to the conclusion that I made a confounded fool of myself, Jane. Can you—can you forgive me?"
Jane's happy face had paled during this halting monologue. "I'm afraid I don't—understand," she said in a low voice. "Do you—mean that you are sorry you—told me——"
"I ought to have waited," he said doggedly.
"And if you had—waited?" she asked breathlessly.
He raised his unhappy eyes to hers. "If you had gone back to England free and rich you would have been glad to forget America and all your unhappy experiences here; wouldn't you, Jane? Why, when I think that I have actually sat still and allowed you to hand me my coffee of a morning I—I hate myself!"
"I hope," said English Jane tranquilly, "that I shall be allowed to hand you your coffee a great many mornings. Every morning, in fact, after we—." A great wave of lovely color rolled gloriously over her fair face. "O John!" she whispered, "didn't you mean it when you told me that you loved me?"
"Didn't I mean it?" he echoed. "Well, I should say I did!" And he looked it, to her complete satisfaction. "But——"
"You loved me when all the world despised me," murmured Jane. "I shall never forget that. Besides," she added shyly, "I—love you, and it would break my heart to——"