Mrs. Atkins thinks she's smart. Anyway, I
didn't tell mother."
"Well, suppose you run now and tell her that I am here."
"Can't. The door is locked."
"Then let us have some of the music you promised. I'll sit here and
wait."
Strange to say, Jane's music was not unsoothing. She had a smooth, light
touch and the little airs she played tinkled sweetly enough from the old
piano. The weary, nerve-wrung man was more than half asleep when she
grew tired of playing and slipped off to bed without disturbing him. The
moments ticked themselves away on the big hall clock. Mrs. Coombe did
not come, nor did the doctor waken.
He was aroused an hour later by a voice upon the veranda. It was
Esther's voice and in response to it he heard a deeper murmur, a man's
voice without doubt. There was a moment or two of low-toned talk, then
"Good-night," and the girl came in alone.
She did not see him as she came slowly across to the table. He thought
she looked grave and sad, older too--but, so dear! With a weary gesture
she began to pull off her long gloves.
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