If Doctor Carey’s magnetism made men admire him, it was no less an attractive force with women. As he looked into Jane Aydelot’s gray eyes, he saw a new light there. And swiftly its meaning translated itself to him. He dropped her hand and turned away, and when their eyes met again, the light was gone.
It was still Indian-Summer weather on the prairie when Doctor Carey with little Leigh Shirley reached Careyville. He had a feeling that Jim would prefer meeting Leigh in his own home, so no word had been sent forward as to the time of the coming of the two.
All through the journey, the doctor had wondered how Jane Aydelot could have given Leigh up at all. She was such a happy prattler, such an honest, straightforward little body, such an innocent child, and, withal, so loving that Carey lost his own heart before the first half day was ended. In her little gray wool gown and her gray cap with its scarlet quill above her golden hair, she was as dainty and pretty as a picture of childhood could be.
Down on the Grass River trail, the two came upon Thaine Aydelot trudging in from some errand to a distant neighbor, and the doctor hailed him at once.
“Come, ride with us. We’ll take you home,” he said, turning the wheel for Thaine’s convenience. “This is 168 Leigh Shirley, who is coming to live with her uncle, Jim. You’ll like to go to the Cloverdale Ranch more than ever now.”
Thaine was only a little country boy, unused to conventionalities, so he took Leigh on her face value at once. And Leigh, honest as she was innocent, returned the compliment. At the Sunflower Ranch, Carey drew rein to let Thaine leave them. Leigh, putting both arms about the little boy’s neck, kissed him good-by, saying: “I have known you always because you are the Thaine”—she caught her breath, and added: “You must come to my uncle Jim’s and see me.”
“I will, I will,” Thaine assured her.
Doctor Carey looked back to wave good-by just in time to see Virginia Aydelot coming toward Thaine, who stood watching the buggy. Instantly the pretty face of Jane Aydelot came to his mind, her face as she had looked on the night when they sat by the wood fire in the Aydelot farmhouse. Against that picture stood the reality of Virginia with her richer coloring.
“Nor storm nor stress can rob her of her beauty,” he thought. “However sweet and self-sacrificing Jane Aydelot may be, the Plains would have broken her long ago.”