“What is happening?”
“Jane,” I whispered, ernestly, “you have known me a long time and I have always been Trustworthy, have I not?”
She nodded. She is never exactly pretty, and now she had opened her mouth and forgot to close it.
“Then ask No Questions. Trust me, as I am trusting you.” It seemed to me that Mr. Beecher through his pen at the door, and began to pace the bath-house. Owing of course to his being in his bare feet, I was not certain. Jane heard somthing, to, for she clutched my arm.
“Bab,” she said, in intence tones, “if you don’t explain I shall lose my mind. I feel now that I am going to shreik.”
She looked at me searchingly.
“Sombody is a Prisoner. That’s all.”
It was the truth, was it not? And was there any reasons for Jane Raleigh to jump to conclusions as she did, and even to repeat later in Public that I had told her that my lover had come for me, and that father had locked him up to prevent my running away with him, imuring him in the Patten’s bath-house? Certainly not.
Just then I saw the boatman coming who looks after our motor boat, and I tiptoed to him and asked him to go away, and not to come back unless he had quieter boats and would not whistel. He acted very ugly about it, I must say, but he went.
When I came back, Jane was sitting thinking, with her forhead all puckered.