“What are you going to do now?” demanded Paul.
“I’m going down.”
“Take my advice and stay where you are.” But Jane was already on her way down the ladder.
The party was beginning to break up. The wild tooting of horns, the shrill notes of whistles, and showers of confetti announced the New Year. Jane made her way through the tangles of colored streamers, and the knots of merry-makers toward the huge chimney-place where a group of older people were standing, watching the picturesque scene.
“Ah-ha, here’s my girl again!” cried Mr. Webster. “Come here and watch the fun with your old god-father.”
With his big hands on her shoulders, Jane leant against him, and looked on as placidly as if there were not a care in the world troubling her peace of mind. When the noise had subsided a little, she looked round and up at Mr. Webster’s face, and raising her voice a little so that it was impossible for Mr. Sheridan not to hear what she said, remarked,
“Mr. Buchanan has gone home, and left the Deacons here.”
“What? What is that?” said Mr. Webster hastily. Jane repeated her remark, glancing furtively at Mr. Sheridan, whose face had suddenly grown rather red. But he stared straight ahead and pretended not to have heard her.
“Ah, well, Sam can hitch up our sleigh in a moment,” said Mr. Webster. “I daresay he’ll be only too glad to take Lily home.” And he chuckled slyly.
For some reason, Mr. Sheridan was able to hear this remark quite distinctly. He looked around, and after a momentary hesitation said,