“Nice, for Jane?” they threw the sentences at her.
“Oh, can’t you see why she has done it?” Baldy demanded. He caught up the note, pointing an accusing finger as he read certain phrases. “It will be such a good thing for all of us ... he wants to do everything for her ... it will be such a help to Bob....”
“Doesn’t that show,” Baldy demanded furiously, “she’s doing it because Judy and Bob are hard up and Towne can help—I know Jane.”
Evans knew her. Hadn’t he said to her not long ago, “You’d tie up the broken wings of every wounded bird.... You’d give crutches to the lame, and food to the hungry....”
“I don’t see why you should object,” Mrs. Follette was saying; “it will be a fine thing for her. She will be Mrs. Frederick Towne!”
“I’d rather have her Jane Barnes for the rest of her life. Do you know Towne’s reputation? Any woman can flatter him into a love affair. A fat Lothario.” Baldy did not mince the words.
“But he hasn’t married any of them,” said Mrs. Follette triumphantly. She held to the ancient and honorable theory that the woman a man marries need not worry about past love affairs since she had been paid the compliment of at least legal permanency.
“But Jane,” Baldy said, brokenly, “you know her. She’s a child, a darling child. With all her dreams——” He ran his fingers through his hair with the effect of a ruffled eagle.
Evans’ lips were dry. “What did you say to Towne?”
“Oh, what could I say? That I was surprised, and all that. Something about hoping they’d be happy. Then I beat it and got here as fast as I could. I had to talk it over with you people or—burst.” His eyes met Evans’ and found there the sympathy he sought. “It’s a rotten trick.”