Mrs. Belknap spoke in a tone of crisp decision which betrayed her rapidly growing conviction that Jane would not "do."
Jane divined this, and it piqued her pride, already sorely wounded. She walked into the dining room, with her pretty head held very high indeed, to encounter Mr. John Everett's blue eyes fixed upon her with an expression of respectful sympathy. He had thoughtfully installed his small nephew in a tall highchair, and was awkwardly tying a bib about his neck.
"I'm to feed Master Buster, if you please, sir," said Jane, with a severe tightening of her pretty lips.
"All right," agreed Mr. Everett cheerfully. "Now Buster, if you'll be a good boy and eat your supper without howling for your mother, I'll go down to the grocery store and buy you some candy. Do you hear, young man?"
"Yeth," assented the infant, fixing solemn, expectant eyes upon Jane. "Will you bwing her some, too?"
Apparently Mr. Everett did not hear this question. "Now, mind, Buster," he said seriously, "no kicking, no howling for mother. Sit up; be a man, and eat this supper like a Trojan. I'll be back before you're through, with at least four chocolate drops."
Jane sternly suppressed the feeling of gratitude, which threatened to well up in her homesick heart, with an exuberance entirely disproportionate to the occasion. But John Everett had already caught the upward flicker of the girl's long lashes, and the shadow of a smile which hovered about her mouth. This particular young American was thinking of many things as he strode briskly toward the grocery; but chiefly of the arena presented by his sister's small kitchen, and of the varied actors therein.
"Man's inhumanity to man may be a live topic," reflected Mr. Everett sagely, "but what about woman's inhumanity to woman? And yet sis doesn't mean to be unkind."