"What a draught. Why don't you close the——" she begins; then, turning, the hammer she is holding falls to the ground with a crash, and, her hand on her heart, her eyes wide-open and startled, she stands facing Valentine Farr.
In another instant Helen has closed the door and disappeared into the drawing-room, and Farr has taken Jean's hands in his own, and is speaking to her in a voice grown very deep and tender.
"Jean, my little love, have you no word of welcome for me?"
The blood rushes into her face, then ebbs away, leaving it even paler than before.
"Ah, I have frightened you, sweetheart," Farr cries contritely, "and you are not very strong yet, are you, dear? But I have waited such a weary while; I have been so miserable for a sight of your sweet face; I could not wait to tell you that I love you. Surely you must have known it long ago, darling."
Jean's head droops lower and lower, and she does not speak.
"I want you to be my wife, dear," Farr's tender voice goes on. "Do you love me, Jean?"
Still she is silent, and Farr's face grows very white.
"What is it, Jean? Are you angry with me for speaking to you so abruptly? Oh, my love, my love, don't tell me that you cannot care for me."
Then Jean raises her eyes, and though the tears are shining in them, they are full of a great happiness.