“No, I—” Jeanne’s voice trailed off. “I—I couldn’t. I—”
“You need more faith,” Florence said quietly. “Did you ever think, Jeanne, that nothing really worth while is ever accomplished without a tremendous amount of faith? You must believe in things and in people. You must believe that this picture is awfully worth while. You must believe in Mr. Soloman and your young Italian. Most of all, you must believe in yourself! Faith! That’s a grand word!”
“Yes. And I will have faith!” Springing to her feet, Jeanne went into such a wild whirl as set her blood racing and brought her back to her place at last with cheeks as rosy as those of her little Kentucky mountain friend.
“Do you know what?” she whispered, as if afraid of being overheard. “Jensie told me the old hearse at the back of the Tavern was in its place as usual this morning!”
“Of course. What did you expect?”
“But there were horses!” Jeanne’s tone carried conviction. “There were two black horses. I saw them. And there was a coffin! I saw that too. And the horses were hauling the hearse away!”
CHAPTER XVI
MAGIC FROM THE EAST
Long after Florence had retired for the night Jeanne paced slowly back and forth in that magnificently furnished living room. Her bare feet sank deep in the softest of Oriental rugs. Her filmy gown shimmered in the moonlight.
Oblivious of all these surroundings, Jeanne was deep in thought. “Faith!” she murmured. “Faith! Faith in one’s self, in one’s associates, one’s tasks. Faith in one’s future. Faith in a kind Providence.
“Faith. Faith. Ah, yes, I shall have faith.”