The book lay open before us. Her hands had fallen on its printed pages. I drew them slowly into mine; drew them up and about my neck. "Jean," I whispered, "You know there is only, ultimately, one answer. Why not give it now!"
"Not yet, Frank. We shall see. Don't you understand? I must wait and see whether you have really—outgrown yourself—or are just memorizing verses with me for a prize."
"All right," I said. "I'll wait and prove it. But I warn you—I can't foresee where this thing is going to lead. It may not be content with books, only; already I'm rather sure it will want more than books. It may lead me out into the world. There are other women, there, Jean," I added, significantly.
"I know. I understand. I must take my chance. It is worth even that to be sure—in the end."
After a while I made tea, and just as we were sitting down to it came a knock at the door. It was a sharp, dignified knock; not the boisterous thump which either Jack or Marjorie would have given it.
"Who's that?" we asked each other.
"Alas, we are discovered!" Jean rippled. "It is a real adventure."
I opened the door to find Spoof's tall figure outside, and in his arms a large and pudgy and uncertain bundle. It was a moment before I saw the second figure—that of a woman. She wore a heavy fur coat, and her face was veiled for the inclement day.
"Why, Spoof! . . . . Come in!" I commanded. "Jean and I are just having tea. Let me put your oxen in."
"They are all right for the moment; they're in the shelter. I must make some introductions, first."