From the wide hall, they saw the rain in silver sheets. Then the doors were shut against the beating wind.
They drank their coffee, and bridge tables were brought in. There were enough without Jane to form two tables. And she was glad. She wandered into the living-room and curled herself up in a window-seat. The window opened on the porch. Beyond the white pillars she could see the road, and the rain-drenched garden.
After a time the rain stopped, and the world showed clear as crystal against the opal brightness of the western sky. The peacock came out of his hiding-place, and dragged a heavy tail over the sodden lawn.
It was cool and the air was sweet. Jane lay with her head against a cushion, looking out. She was lonely and wished that Towne would come. Perhaps in his presence her doubts would vanish. It grew dark and darker. Jane shut her eyes and at last she fell asleep.
She was waked by Towne’s voice. He was on the porch. “Where is everybody?”
It was Adelaide who answered him. “They have motored into Alexandria to the movies. Eloise would have it. But I stayed—waiting for you, Ricky.”
“Where’s Jane?”
“She went up-stairs early. Like a sleepy child.”
Jane heard his laugh. “She is a child—a darling child.”
Then in the darkness Adelaide said, “Don’t, Ricky.”