“Mother wants to speak to you.”
Mrs. Follette asked if she might change her plans for Thanksgiving. “Will you and your brother dine with us, instead of our coming to you? Our New York cousins find that they have the day free, unexpectedly. They had been asked to a house party in Virginia, but their hostess has had to postpone it on account of illness.”
“Is it going to be very grand? I haven’t a thing to wear.”
“Don’t be foolish, Jane. You always look like a lady.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Follette.” Jane hoped that she didn’t look as some ladies look. But there were, of course, others. It was well for her at the moment, that Mrs. Follette could not see her eyes.
“And I thought,” went on the unconscious matron, “that if you were not too busy, you might go with Evans to the grove and get some greens. I’d like the house to look attractive. Is the snow too deep?”
“Not a bit. When will he come?”
“You’d better arrange with him. Here he is.”
Evans’ voice was the only unchanged thing about him. The sound of it at long distance always brought the old days back to Jane.
“After lunch?” he asked.