“Am I?” unsteadily.
“Yes, dear little thing, if I had you always by my fire I could fight the world.”
When Jane and Baldy reached home that night, Baldy stamped up and down the house, saying things about Muriel Follette. “A girl like that to criticise.”
“She danced well,” said Jane, who had taken off the silver wreath, and had kicked off the silver slippers, and was curled up in a big chair as comfortable as a white cat.
“What right had she to say things?”
“People are saying them.”
“Did she have to repeat them?”
“Darling Baldy, she didn’t know.”
“Know what?”
“How you felt about it.”