“If taken in time it can be prevented,” quoth Oliver, airily. “The symptoms are unmistakable.”
“Haven’t you ever been exposed to it?” inquired Lansing, with a grin.
“Frequently. It takes two to catch it, though. That’s how I’ve managed to escape. So long, Jane. I shan’t see you again for a few days. Going up for the wedding to-morrow and expect to stay in the city for a day or two. Good night, Doctor.”
He took himself off in well-simulated haste. He had not been slow to size up the situation. He was de trop. A certain constraint had fallen upon the young couple at the opposite side of the steps. He had sustained the brunt of conversation for some time, notwithstanding several determined efforts on Jane’s part to do her share. Lansing seemed to have become absolutely inarticulate.
As he strode off down the street he was conscious of an extremely uncomfortable feeling that they were glad to be rid of him. Indeed, now that he thought of it, Jane had not seemed especially pleased when he dropped in shortly after supper. He recalled her long silences and the way she kept her gaze fixed on the street. Yes, they were glad to be rid of him. Any one could see that with half an eye. He smarted a little. It hurt him to think that Jane didn’t want him around. Now that she was a woman she didn’t want him hanging around. She wanted somebody else. Somehow it didn’t seem natural.
But then, he philosophized, why wasn’t it natural? She was old enough to be thinking seriously of getting married, old enough to have been in love a half dozen times or more—only he couldn’t conceive of Jane being so silly and vacillating as all that—and she certainly had a right to be annoyed with him if he came meddling around—He stopped short in his tracks, a queer little chill of dismay striking in upon him. For a moment he felt utterly desolate and bewildered. He felt lost. Why, it meant that he and Jane couldn’t be playmates or chums any longer.
Without quite knowing what he was doing, he turned and looked back in the direction from which he had come. He saw the little red tail-light far up the street, standing guard, so to speak, in front of the parsonage. A red light signified danger. It means “steer clear,” “go slow,” “beware.”
Jamming his hands into his pockets he resumed his way homeward, but now he walked slowly, his head bent in thought. Presently his face began to brighten, and soon he was grinning delightedly.
“Bless her heart,” he was saying to himself. “It’s great! What a mucker I am to begrudge her anything. I hope this guy is good enough for her, that’s all. If he isn’t—” here his face darkened again—“if he doesn’t treat her right after he gets her, I’ll make him wish he’d never been born.” His cogitations became more expansive. After a while they led him to strong decisions. “It’s up to me to give him a clear field. No butting in as if I owned the house and Jane and everything. It’s all right for me to say I’m an old friend, and all that, but old friends can make damned nuisances of themselves. I know how I’d feel if I was in love with a girl and some idiotic old friend kept on horning in on everything. Why, I’ve been up at Jane’s every night since I got to town—most of the afternoons, too. Monopolizing her. Making her unhappy. Making him—Yes, I’ve got to cut it out. It isn’t fair. She’s in love with him—at least, it looks that way. It’s going to spoil my visit down here, but I’ve got to do it. The town won’t seem natural or like home if I can’t play around with Jane—but, my Lord, our play days are over. He seems like a decent chap. I wonder how Mr. Sage feels about it? Heigh-ho! It certainly does beat the devil the way the war has turned everything upside down. Nothing is the same. It never can be the same. Let’s see—what did I say I had to do? Oh, yes—see Sammy Parr about something or other.”
And yet, with the best intentions in the world, he was not allowed to carry them out. Jane had something to say about it. She met him face to face in the street three days after Sammy Parr’s wedding, and looking straight into his eyes, asked: