“Don’t you? Well, I beg your pardon. I’ll beg it again when I get you here. Briggs will reach Sherwood at about seven. I would drive out myself, but I’ve an awful cold, and the doctor tells me I must stay in. And Cousin Annabel is sick in bed with a cold, so you must take pity on me and keep me company....”
Jane hung up the receiver. It would, she decided, be an exciting adventure. But she was not sure that she liked Frederick Towne....
Evans walked home with her. The air was warmer than it had been for days, and faint mists had risen. The mist thickened finally to a fog which rolled over them as if blown from the high seas. Yet the sea was miles away, and the fog was born in the rivers and streams, and in the melting snows.
They found it somewhat difficult to keep to the road. They were almost smothered in the thick gray masses. Their voices had a muffled sound. Evans’ hand was on Jane’s arm so that they might keep together.
“Jane,” he said, “I made a fool of myself about Towne. But honestly—I was afraid——”
“Of what?”
“That he might fall in love with you——”
“He’s not thinking of me, Evans, and besides he’s too old——”
“Do you really feel that way about it, Jane?”
“Of course—silly.”