When I returned from locking the door after Page, Zura had gone to her room.
In the night I remembered that not once had Page referred to his absence from the city.
Zura, Jane and I had not often discussed young Hanaford. When we did, it was how we could give him pleasure rather than the probable cause of his spells of dejection. But when I found Jane alone the next day and told her what we had seen in the gardens, omitting what we'd heard, she had an explanation for the whole affair.
"It is perfectly plain, Miss Jenkins. Page has been disappointed in love. I know the signs," Jane said with a little sigh, brightening as she went on, "but that doesn't kill, just hurts, and makes people moody. I am going to tell Page I know his secret. I know, too, a recipe that will soon heal wounds like his. We have it right here in the house."
"Oh! Jane Gray," I said, exasperated, "do cultivate a little common sense. Now you run along and make us some beaten biscuit for supper by that recipe that you know is infallible, and do not add to Page's burden whatever it is, by trying your sentimental remedies on him."