And now this letter had come after Towne’s second visit:
“Baldy, dear, I am very happy. And I want you to set your mind at rest. I am not marrying Mr. Towne for what he has done for us all, but because I love him. Please believe it. You can’t understand what he has been to me in these dark days. I have learned to know how kind he is—and how strong. I haven’t a care in the world when he is here, and everything is so—marvellous. You should see my ring—a great sapphire, Baldy, in a square of diamonds. He is crazy to buy things for me, but I won’t let him. I will take things for Judy but not for myself. You can see that, of course. I just go everywhere with him in my cheap little frocks, to the theatres and to all the great restaurants, and we have the most delectable things to eat. It is really great fun.
“Judy is so happy over the whole thing, that it is helping her to get well. She says she was half afraid to advise me, but she knew it was for my happiness. Bob simply walks on air. He says when business grows better, he will pay back every cent to Mr. Towne. And of course he must. But we haven’t any of us been made to feel that we ought to be grateful. Mr. Towne says that he simply held out a friendly hand when we needed it, and that’s all there is to it.
“Well, dearest dear, I wish I could hear Philomel sing o’ mornings, and see Merrymaid and the kit-cat on the hearth, but best of all would be to have your own darling self on the other side of the table.”
Since he had heard the news of Jane’s approaching marriage, Evans had lived in a dream. The people about him had seemed shadow-shapes. He had walked and talked with them, remembering nothing afterward but his great weariness. He had eaten his meals at stated times, and had not known what he was eating. He had gone to his office, and behind closed doors had sat at his desk, staring.
Nothing mattered. All incentive was gone. He spoke of Jane to no one. Not even to his mother. He had a morbid horror of hearing her name. When he came across anything that reminded him of her, he suffered actual physical pain.
And now this letter! “You see what she says,” Baldy had raged. “Of course she isn’t in love with him. But she thinks she is. There’s nothing more that I can do.”
Evans had taken the letter to the library to read. He was alone, except for Rusty, who had limped after him and laid at his feet.
She loved—Towne. And that settled it. “I am marrying Mr. Towne because I love him.” Nothing could be plainer than that. Baldy might protest. But the words were there.
As Evans sat gazing into the fire, he saw her as she had so often been in this old room—as a child, sprawled on the hearth-rug over some entrancing book from his shelves, swinging her feet on the edge of a table while he bragged of his athletic prowess; leaning over war-maps, while he pointed out the fields of fighting; curled up in a corner on the couch while he read to her—“Oh, silver shrine, here will I take my rest....”
He could stand his thoughts no longer. Without hat or heavy coat, he stepped through one of the long windows and into the night.