[20]

Again her hand was on his arm. He laid his own over it. “You’re the best ever, Janey,” he said, huskily—and presently he went away.

Jane, going in, found that Baldy had telephoned. “He kain’t git here until seven,” Sophy told her.

“You had better run along home,” Jane told her. “I’ll cook the steak when it comes.”

Sophy was old and she was tired. Life hadn’t been easy. The son who was to have been the prop of her old age had been killed in France. There was a daughter’s daughter who had gone north and who now and then sent money. Old Sophy did not know where her granddaughter got the money, but it was good to have it when it came. But it was not enough, so old Sophy worked.

“I hates to leave you here alone, Miss Janey.”

“Oh, run along, Sophy. Baldy will come before I know it.”

So Sophy went and Jane waited. Seven o’clock arrived, with the dinner showing signs of deterioration. Jane sat at the front window and watched. The old cat watched, too, perched on the sill, and gazing out into the dark with round, mysterious eyes. The kitten slept on the hearth. Jane grew restless and stood up, peering out. Then all at once two round moons arose above the horizon, were lost as the road dipped down, showed again on the rise of the hill, and lighted the lawn as[21] Baldy’s car made a half circle and swept into the garage.

[21]

Jane went through the kitchen to the back door, throwing an appraising glance at the things in the warming oven, and stood waiting on the threshold, hugging herself in the keenness of the wind.

Presently her brother’s tall form was silhouetted against the silvery gray of the night.

“I thought you were never coming,” she said to him.

“I thought so, too.” He bent and kissed her; his cheek was cold as it touched hers.

“Aren’t you nearly frozen?”

“No. Sorry to be late, honey. Get dinner on the table and I’ll be ready——”

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