“But, my dear, it is so very formal. And you are going to marry him.”
“He said that he had told you.”
“Ricky tells me everything. We are very old friends, you know.”
Jane said nothing. There was, indeed, nothing to say. She was not in the least jealous of Adelaide. She wondered, of course, why Towne should have overlooked this lovely lady to choose a shabby child. But he had chosen the child, and that settled it as far as Mrs. Laramore was concerned.
But it did not settle it for Adelaide. “I think it is distinctly amusing for you to call him ‘Mr. Towne.’ Poor Ricky! You mustn’t hold him at arms’ length.”
“Why not?”
“Well, none of the rest of us have,” said Adelaide, deliberately.
Jane looked up at her. “The rest of you? What do you mean, Mrs. Laramore?”
“Oh, the women that Ricky has loved,” lightly.
The winds fluttered the ribbons of Jane’s frock, fluttered her ruffles. The peacock on the lawn uttered a discordant note. Jane was subconsciously aware of a kinship between Adelaide and the burnished bird. She spoke of the peacock.