He put his hands over his eyes and his shoulders shook convulsively. Jane and her father looked on, speechless. After a few moments, Mr. Sage arose and, with a sign to his daughter, entered the house, leaving her alone with Oliver.
“Poor, poor Oliver,” she whispered, moving over close beside him on the step. “It is all so strange and unreal. He loves you. You are everything in the world to him. I can’t understand why he treats you like this. I—I wonder if he isn’t just a little bit unbalanced. He must be. He—”
“I don’t think he is,” groaned Oliver, lifting his head. “If I thought it was that, I’d put up with anything—I’d overlook everything. But your father is right. He’s as clear-minded as he ever was. He’s got it in for me for some reason and he—”
“If I were you, Oliver, I should tell him to-morrow that you intend to stay here and go into the store.”
“I don’t know that even that would help matters.”
“Try it, Oliver,” she said gently.
The clock on the town-hall struck twelve before Oliver reluctantly bade Jane good night and started homeward. Looking over his shoulder from the bottom of the lawn, he saw her standing on the steps in the glow of the porch light. He waved his hand and blew a kiss to her. There were lights in Mr. Sage’s study windows upstairs.
On his way home, through the heart of the town, he passed the rather pretentious house in which the Lansings lived. There were people on the broad veranda. He recognized Sammy Parr’s boisterous laugh. He longed for the companionship of friends—merry friends. His heart was heavy. He was lonely. He turned in at the stone gate and walked swiftly up to the house.
“Hello, Ollie,” called out Sammy. “Just in time to say good night.”
Young Lansing came to the top of the steps to greet him.