Jane, going to the deserted ranch house, threw herself down on her bed and sobbed heart-brokenly. She did not hear the tap on the door, nor was she conscious that Merry had entered until she heard her voice: “Jane, dear, have I done anything to hurt you, to make you unhappy?” The tenderness in the tone of her best friend was unmistakable. All at once Jane felt ashamed of herself. Holding out a fevered hand, she said: “Indeed not, dear girl. It isn’t your fault at all. Any boy would like you better than me. You are so sweet and unselfish and lovable.” Merry’s eyes widened, for she was indeed perplexed, “Jane, I don’t understand,” she said. “What boy likes me better than he does you?” Then, slowly a light dawned. Taking both hot hands in her own, she cried, her blue eyes glowing, “Oh, Jane, dearest Jane, did you think that Jean Sawyer cared for me? Did you think for one moment that I, knowing how much you liked him, would even want him to care for me? Indeed not, Janey! But now that I think about it, I realize that you might misunderstand. Dear, it’s a long story. Let’s go out on the veranda in the moonlight. There is no one around. They all went up the foothill trail and will be gone for an hour.”
Jane permitted herself to be led to a vine-sheltered corner of the veranda, where they sat close together in a hammock swing. Merry piled the soft cushions behind her friend, whose flushed face assured her that the head was really aching. Jane sighed as she sank back among them, but it was a sigh of relief. How wrong it had been to doubt for one moment the loyalty of this, her very best friend. But Merry was beginning the story. “Dear,” she said, placing a cool hand on the hot one near her, “when you first introduced me to Jean Sawyer, did you notice that my brother Bob drew me away to whisper something to me before I could acknowledge the introduction?”
Jane nodded, both curious and interested. “Why did Bob do that? I wondered at the time.” Merry continued: “I was just about to exclaim, ‘Why, Jean Sawyer Willoughby, so this is where you disappeared to when you left home last February!’ but I did not, for Bob gave me no time. What he whispered was, ‘Don’t let on you know Jean. He wants his identity kept in the dark. He is using his mother’s maiden name. Get the cue?’
“Of course I got it, but as soon as I could I asked Jean to go for a canter with me that I might tell him how heart-broken his family was because he had disappeared as he did.” Jane was no longer reclining among the cushions. She sat up, listening intently.
“You and Bob know Jean’s family?”
“Yes, indeed, both his father and older brother Ken. We met them every summer on the coast of Maine, where our parents had cottages next to each other.”
“Jean told me of that cottage where he went that summer, alone with his mother,” Jane said. “I mean the summer she died.”
“Poor boy! He never was happy in his home life after that,” Merry replied. “Ken, his brother, is a commissioned officer on one of the war boats. He had little shore leave and that left Jean and his father quite alone in their big house in New York. They never had been congenial in their interests, but the final break came when the father entered into some oil deal which Jean considered dishonorable. He told his father exactly how he felt about it. He said that he refused to inherit money that was taken from the poor who had invested their savings in the wildcat scheme, believing the firm to be honest. Of course his father was angry, and Jean, refusing to take one penny of what he called ‘tainted’ money, left home to make his own way in the world.
“The father did not seem to care at first, for he had always loved Ken more than he did Jean, but when Ken came home on a leave he took Jean’s part, and also denounced his father’s dishonorable business methods.”
Jane was sitting very erect and her breath came hard. At last she interrupted. “Merry,” she said in a voice she could hardly recognize as her own, “Jean’s father, Mr. Willoughby, was my father’s partner.” Then she burst into unexpected tears. “Jean was nobler than I! Oh, Merry, I never can be his friend again. I am not worthy of him. I want you to be his best friend. You are so good. I am sure that in his heart of hearts he must love you.” Merry leaned over and kissed her friend tenderly. “I hope Jean does love me,” she said simply. “He is to be my brother, for I am engaged to Ken Willoughby. His three years in the navy are nearly over. Ken is coming home for good on September first.”