Margaret was searching in her mind for some tenderest phrase of warning when Jean anticipated her.
"Well, it's a good thing I don't care!—I thought at first I didn't like his hair that way, but I do now—better than the other way. He was telling about college."
"He finishes this year, doesn't he?"
"Yes. He's going in with his father next year—unless he makes up his mind to go to Yale. But he doesn't think he will. His father wants him here; and he's about decided that's best."
"Marg'ret," called a thin, querulous, broken voice from within the house; "ain't it time you was gettin' supper?"
Margaret opened the door to call back in a loud, clear voice: "Not yet, Mother."
Jean slipped off the railing. "I must go."
"It really isn't time yet. Mother gets nervous, sitting all day. And she doesn't care to read any more. Stay a little longer."
These snatches of Jean's confidence were delicious to her.
"Oh, I've got to go."