“Y—you were quite right,” said Jane in a suppressed tone.
Nina glanced at her and went on.
“We sat all night huddled in our furs on opposite sides of that dreadful parlor stove. I don’t think I can ever forget it. I’ve never been so miserable in my life—never! We spoke to each other in monosyllables for a while and at last—er—I went to sleep in disgust. I woke up with a frightful pain in my back from that dreadful chair. What a night! And to think that it was for this—this, that Phil and I have been talked about! It’s maddening, Jane. If we only had given them a little flame, just a tiny one—for all this smoke! Poor Phil! He was terribly provoked about it this morning. He wants to kill that wretched chauffeur, for of course the whole story came from him. You know, Jane, I discharged him as soon as we got back to town, and this was his revenge. Sweet, wasn’t it? It seems as if one was very much at the mercy of one’s mechanician. They’re servants, of course, but you can never get them to think that they are. I haven’t dared tell father. I don’t know what he would do about it. I’m afraid——”
Jane Loring had risen and was looking out of the window into the gathering dusk.
“What’s the use, Nina?” she asked quietly.
“The use of what?”
“Telling me all this. I understand, I think.”
“I hope you do,” said Nina quickly. “I wanted you to. That’s why I told you.”
She got up and took a few rapid paces forward.
“Jane!” she cried suddenly. “What do you mean? That I—you believe—? Oh, how could you?”