Jane shook her head decidedly. "I'd like you awfully well for—for an uncle," she said regretfully, "or a—grandfather— There! I oughtn't to have said that. You're really not old enough for a grandfather. But mine are both dead, and I've always thought it would be lovely to have one."
Mr. Towle swallowed hard. "Go on," he said encouragingly, "you'd like me well enough for a—a grandfather, but not for a husband. Is that what you meant to say?"
"It wasn't a bit nice of me to say it; but then I'm always saying dreadful things. That is why"—dejectedly—"nobody likes me."
The Hon. Wipplinger Towle gazed down at the little figure with a very kind look indeed in his deep-set gray eyes. "Oh, well," he said, "I might have known better. I did know better, in fact. But from something Lady Agatha said to me I fancied that perhaps I—that perhaps you——"
Jane held out her hand. "Good night," she said.
Mr. Towle took the offered hand in his very gently. It was cold, and the small fingers trembled a little in his own big, warm palm. "Good night," he said; "I can't—by force of cruel circumstances—be your—er—grandfather; but I'd like to be your friend, Jane; may I?"
"Why, yes," said Jane, smiling up into the keen gray eyes, "you may. And—and I thank you a whole lot for being so—game."