Jane paused and examined him calmly, struggling for her control. When she spoke her voice had sunk to a trembling note scarcely above a whisper.
“Can you prove that story was a lie?”
“Prove it? No. But I believe it was.”
“You didn’t believe so once. Have you heard anything to make you change your opinion?” she insisted.
He was tempted to lie but thought better of it, and his hesitation cost him victory.
Jane turned toward the door. “I’m going away somewhere—abroad, if you’ll let me, away from here. I will not see Mr. Gallatin—ever. I despise him—utterly.”
She left her father standing in the middle of the room, his mouth agape, and eyes staring at the door through which she had disappeared. Keen as he was, there were still some things in the world, he discovered, about which he needed information.
The next day Mr. Loring received a polite note from Mr. Gallatin which still further mystified him. Mr. Gallatin thanked him for his kind expressions of good will and expressed the intention of studying further to deserve them; but hoped that Mr. Loring would comprehend that reasons which it were better not to mention, would make it impossible for him to take advantage of Mr. Loring’s personal kindness in his cordial invitation.
Henry Loring was on the point of tearing up the note in disgust but thought better of it. Instead, with a subtlety which showed that he had not yet lost the knack of taking advantage of the lesser lessons of life, he left it obtrusively upon the dressing table in Mrs. Loring’s boudoir, where later, in her mother’s absence, Jane found it.