“Well,” said Jane, “of course.”
He leaned back in his chair and looked at her. Again he was aware of quickened emotions. She revived half-forgotten ardors. Gave him back his youth. She used none of the cut and dried methods of sophistication. She was fearless, absolutely alive, and in spite of her cheap gray suit, altogether lovely.
So it was with an air of almost romantic challenge that he said, “What would you advise?”
“I’d let her alone, like little Bo-Peep. She’ll come home before you know it, Mr. Towne.”
“I wish that I could think it—however, it’s a great comfort to know that she’s safe. I shall give it out that she is visiting friends, and that I’ve heard from her. And now, about the things she wants. It seems absolutely silly to send them.”
“I don’t think it’s silly.”
“Why not?”
“Oh, clothes make such a lot of difference to a woman. I can absolutely change my feelings by changing my frock.”
“What kind of feelings do you have when you wear gray?”
“Cool and comfortable ones—do you know the delightful things that are gray? Pussy-willows, and sea-gulls, and rainy days—and oh, a lot of things”—she surveyed him thoughtfully, “and old Sheffield, and—well, I can’t think of everything.” She rose. “I’ll leave the list with you and you can telephone Baldy when to come for them.”