“Must I be content with this?”
Her quick breath told her agitation. He drew her to him, gently. “Come, my sweet.”
Oh, money, money. Jane learned that night the power of it!
Coming in with Frederick from that wild moonlighted world, flushed with excitement, hardly knowing this new Jane, she saw Bob transformed in a moment from haggard hopelessness to wild elation.
Frederick Towne had made a simple statement. “Jane has told me how serious things are, Heming. I want to help.” Then he had asked for the surgeon’s name; spoken at once of a change of rooms for Judy; increased attendance. There was much telephoning and telegraphing. An atmosphere of efficiency. Jane, looking on, was filled with admiration. How well he did things. And some day he would be her husband!
Towne was, indeed, at his best. Deeply in love with her, all his generous impulses were quickened for her service. When at last he had gone, she went to bed, and lay awake almost until morning. Doubts crowded upon her. Her cheeks burned as she thought of the bargain she had made. He would pay her sister’s bills—and she would marry him. But it wasn’t just that! He was so tender, so solicitous. Jane had not yet learned that one may be in love with being loved, which is not in the least the same as loving. Against the benefits which Towne bestowed upon her, she could set only her dreams of Galahad, of Robin Hood! Of romantic adventure! Her memories—of Evans Follette.
She sighed as she thought of him. He would be unhappy. Oh, darling old Evans! She cried a little into her pillow. She mustn’t think of him. The thing was done. She was going to marry Frederick Towne!