But Jason Jones was improving, in a way. He had bought new clothes and a supply of linen, and although he did not wear them with the ease of one accustomed to modish dress they certainly improved his appearance. He was quiet and unassuming; he made no friends and few acquaintances; he never mentioned himself or his personal history and never referred to his wife except when forced to do so by some of "her meddling friends"—well meaning people who sought his acquaintance to condole with him or perhaps to attempt to "cultivate" him for Antoinette Seaver Jones' sake. But these found him so unresponsive that they soon left him alone.
The legal business, even though it progressed smoothly, required time for consummation, so it was somewhat more than three months before all the details were complete. Alora, a sad-faced child with no especial interest in life, kept no track of time and plodded along in her morning-studies and took her afternoon drives or walks in a perfunctory manner that rendered Miss Gorham's duties light indeed. But all this ended suddenly, and Jason Jones ended it.
He came to the rooms one morning and said to the governess in his abrupt way: "Pack up."
"What do you mean, sir?" was the startled query.
"Just what I say. Get the child's things and your own ready to move out of this place by Saturday. Also pack the personal belongings of Mrs. Jones. Put them in separate trunks and boxes, so I can have them stored. Do you understand me?"
"I—I shall need assistance," gasped the bewildered Miss Gorham.
"Then get a maid—or a porter—or both—to help you."
Alora was present and listened with awakening interest. A change of any sort would be pleasant, she reflected.
"Where are we going?" she asked, as her father turned away.
It was the one question Miss Gorham wanted to ask, too, but Mr. Jones left the room without reply.